Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Jackpot.”

Till words were muffled through his helmet, the visor tinting everything around him a deep, inky black. He parked his motorcycle and removed the helmet, shaking out his hair to shake off the heat trapped underneath. He hoped to find relief, but strangely, this place was so cold–the air so crisp that it almost hurt his lungs. He breathed out, nonetheless, and took in all that was before him. 

An airplane had crashed, and the sight of it wasn’t pretty. The debris was scattered across what used to be a lush, green field–now reduced to scorched earth and ash. The flames had swept through everything, leaving behind only brittle, greyish grass that crunched under Till’s boots as he swung his leg off the bike. The plane itself was unrecognizable, settled a couple of yards away from where he entered the area. The wings had been snapped clean off the body–one wing had been driven into the ground on impact, while the other was crushed beneath the tail, which had flung into a water-filled ditch.

Till whistled, climbing off his bike and drawing closer to get a better look. Bent metal, twisted wires, and broken panels were scattered in the grass, and he couldn’t tell where any of it originated from within the plane. The closer he got, the worse the stench became–maybe he shouldn’t have taken off his helmet. The air reeked now of burnt fuel and melted plastic–a smell that clung to everything long after the explosion, leaving all this in its disarray. 

He’d first heard about the crash while riding through the city’s central square. The news said the aircraft had been carrying weapons and paraphernalia before it malfunctioned and slammed into an empty field–not far from their base. But Till wasn’t interested in the plane crash itself, he was more concerned with anything he could salvage from it. He had some hope, but that started to fade as he sifted through wreckage, his gloved hands pawing at twisted metal and scorched parts, brushing off soot only to drop them again when they turned out useless. He hadn’t come with anything specific in mind–but he was always curious about what he could find in the ruins. 

Once, he’d scored a flat-screen TV from an abandoned Alien bar. Another time, he found a toppled truck full of “pet” clothes on the highway and managed to snag some high-end sneakers for the kids. Dewey swore he had something to do with that one, but Till was adamant on his innocence. Well–kinda.

Dewey called his little hobby odd, and Isaac preferred to phrase it as resourceful, though both often reminded him that the base was well off enough that he didn’t need to go “dumpster diving” for anything. The only one who ever seemed genuinely interested in his finds was Vivi. So he always looked a little harder for her sake, just in case he stumbled on something she might like. But this haul–this stuff, a certain someone would grumble when Till came back lugging a bookbag full of junk–was shaping up to be exactly what he always said it was; useless crap. Till should’ve known from the video tapings, but he couldn’t help himself. Curiosity always got the better of him. Just as he was about to give up and head home, he found the body of the airplane. 

The cockpit was torn off, and Till climbed into where it used to be. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck raise up in a state of unease. Though the exterior was scorched like the rest of the wreckage, and that burnt, gasoline smell–through subtle–still lingered, everything else was almost untouched. Chillingly so. He heard a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him not to go any further. But seeing as to who it belonged to, Till ignored it, and stepped inside. The aircraft’s metal panelling was exposed, and the wires that weren’t frayed sparked with electricity. Till moved carefully, watching where he placed his hands as he made his way deeper into the fuselage. Just from the looks of the seats, the intact flooring, and the build’s shape–Till absently wondered if someone could have survived this. By some miracle, it took less of the brunt force. Maybe the flames hadn’t reached this deep, and the rain that night had done more than just slow the spread of the fire. On the news, the aliens weren’t concerned of there being any survivors, seeing that the plane carried two people who inhabited the cockpit. And even if the aliens cared enough about human life–there was no way they could’ve survived that.

Till shook off the senseless theories and turned his attention to the passenger cabin, beginning his usual routine. He checked the overhead compartments; empty, of course. Nothing but scorched metal and hollow space. As he pushed himself off the seat, his knee pressed onto something soft. It was a small pink stuffed teddy bear. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands, and it was surprisingly intact–just a little singed at the edges, but the stitching had held on. He ran a thumb over its soft fur, then unzipped his bookbag and slipped it inside. He’d wash it, and give it to Vivi. Though she wasn’t sure what she liked, Till knew, at most, that she liked cute things.

When the rest of his search turned up nothing, Till hopped out of the fuselage. He was ready to cut his losses and move on, there were better ways to spend his time. But as his gaze drifted from the wreckage to the open mouth of the cargo hold, he paused. He remembered how they said it held weapons, and other military grade items. Stuff like that could be traded and sold with the base–or even bartered to the aliens if they were desperate enough to want it back. Till slung off his backpack again and unzipped one of the side compartments, pulling out his flashlight. He tossed it lightly into the air, caught it, then aimed the beam toward the cargo hold. It was pitch black inside–his flashlight barely made a dent in the darkness. If he wanted to see anything, he’d have to go in. The crawlspace was just wide enough to fit his body if he stayed on his knees. 

Though mildly uncomfortable, he could definitely see better. He scanned the opening area–and immediately knew this section had come out the winner in the ‘who-survived-the-crash-the-best’ competition. The metal walls were intact–no scorch marks, no signs of impact, totally clean. If anything was stored in here, it might still be good as new. Till imagined Dewey giving him a pat on the head, Isaac telling him how proud he was. And that other guy –he’d finally admit that Till’s “dumpster diving” wasn’t so useless after all. That thought alone pushed him forward, snickering to himself the closer he got to the goods. Just as Till got closer to the back of the cargo hold, his light illuminated luggages stacked on top of each other, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d figure this was the end. But he did know better. Till froze, and narrowed his eyes. He flashed his light around the gaped edges of the stack–and saw nothing. His heart picked up, and he blew out a slow breath before willing himself to move, and snapped the light higher–over the tower of bags. And that’s when he saw him.

A guard. 

Before Till could scramble back, the guard moved, shoving the luggage aside and lunging through the gap toward him. Till dropped his flashlight, spinning wildly as it hit the floor. He crawled backward fast, flinging whatever he could get his hands on; bags, the items that fell out of them–anything to slow the figure down. But he was fast. Everything happened in a blur, there was no time to think. His brain snapped into survival mode–a feeling he hadn’t experienced since that stage, under all those green lights, hope slipping through his fingers. Instinct took the wheel long before reason had a chance to catch up.

Fighting back wasn’t an option anymore. Till crawled as fast as he could through the space, back towards the clouded daylight outside. If could just get himself outside. Breathes left him in ragged huffs as he put arm over arm, his gloves scraping for purchase across the metal to slide him further through the hatch. The man was hot on his tail, but Till forced his eyes to stay ahead–not to worry about the distance between them. And then he tumbled out of the entrance, landing straight onto his back with a grunt. 

He didn’t notice it right away–but it was pouring, and it soaked through his clothes in seconds. He staggered to his feet, quickly yanking the backpack off and throwing it to the ground–it was slowing him down. The moment it hit the dead grass, the guard burst out of the cargo hold and slammed into him, tackling him hard to the ground. Till gasped out, the ability to breathe slipping away the more the water came down on him in relentless cascades. He lashed out blindly, fists landing wherever they could–each hit was numb, as if his body had disconnected from the pain. Until he realized bone met the armour of his suit, then the aching rang out all over him, but Till didn’t stop. He hadn’t fought like this since his days in Anakt Garden, swinging his weight off him, just for the boy to latch back on with so much volition, there were times Till felt like he was going to die. Sure–most days–Till started it, but he knew how much bigger he was than Till–admitted it when they were older and didn’t fist fight anymore–and it showed in every arm he swung his way with his eyes crazed and lips brimming with a smile. 

Till let out a raw shout that echoed through the open field, and drove his knee into the guard’s stomach–right where the padding in the armor was soft, just thin enough to hurt. The impact was solid, and Till felt it ricochet through his leg. The guard let out a stifled grunt, his grip on Till’s neck loosening. The pressure eased from his windpipe, and the guard’s legs, once tightly straddling him, shifted open. With a desperate, miserable heave, he shoved the man off of him, grappling to overcome the scuffle.

Gasping, Till flopped onto his stomach and clawed his way toward his bookbag. His fingers just barely snagged one of the straps when the guard’s hand clamped around his ankle and yanked him back. Panic surged through his body, and Till tore open the largest pocket of the bag, fingers searching inside until they closed around cold metal–he pulled the handgun free. Just as the guard hauled him around and forced him onto his back again, moving to climb on top of him, Till fumbled with the weapon, trying to cock it with shaking hands. The guard pressed his weight down, knees pinning Till in place, leaning in until his helmet was close to his face. Till pressed the barrel into the padding and pulled the trigger. The shot was the loudest thing amongst them, louder than the rain, and louder than the pounding of Till’s heart in his ears. 

He watched as the guard cradled the area, bloods spilling over his gloved hand. He didn’t react with a scream, or show any semblance of pain. Perhaps he was in a state of shock, but Till couldn’t tell–didn’t care. The guard slowly looked up at him again, a light breath slipping from his lips–deep, and reluctant, before he slumped over, his head falling onto Till’s shoulder. Till hands dug into the ground beneath him, shivering–a combination of the cold and the circumstances. He stayed frozen there, until he felt the guard’s heartbeat pulsing against him, uneven and fading. Then, with a shrug, he rolled the body off. It hit the ground with a dull thud, limbs limp, blood pooling from the wound in his stomach.

Till had learned a lot since the rebellion took him in. He learned how to ride a motorcycle, how to cook, how to care for others, and he learned that the guards were human. Human beings who followed the aliens’ will, no matter what it entailed. At first, it was hard to fight them. They looked like him under all that armour, and bled like him. But they didn’t hesitate when they turned their weapons on him, and so, eventually, neither did he–and he never hesitated again. Till stopped caring about what was under the mask, nor did he allow himself to think about the technicalities of it all– but they’re human, too. They have feelings. They’re manipulated for the aliens’ use. He just dusted himself off, and kept on pushing. 

Yet all he did was sit there, and stare. Though it was over, his body was still in fight mode; anxious all over. He shook his head, and water flew off his hair like a wet dog the longer he laid there. He knew it was against his own beliefs–something he told himself in order not to fold. But he couldn’t help it, like he couldn’t help a lot of things. They always called him stubborn, and impulsive, and Till started to understand what they meant. Because even after all that, Till found himself inching toward the guard’s body. He felt like he held his breath the entire entire time he hovered over his unconscious body. His hand trembled as he extended it towards the mask, his fingers curling under its edge. He didn’t wish to prolong this, so he pulled it off, and a mop of black hair draped from underneath, falling over his face. 

Till paused, and his eyes widened. He dropped the helmet and swept the hair out of his eyes, his heart pounding faster as the face beneath it came into focus; familiar in a way that made his stomach twist. His eyes travelled around the familiar features–just older, but the same; thick eyebrows, long eyelashes, and that tooth, peeking over his lip even though his mouth was closed. Till’s chest heaved, and he pulled off his gloves so that his shaking hands could cradle the face, thumbing underneath tired eyes. This had to be a dream, and he was going to wake up soon–any second now. But time only stretched on, and he was still there in that downpour, hovered over his unconscious body.

“Ivan?” Till squeaked out–a name he hadn’t said aloud in nine years. To anyone else he was always that guy, that brat, that… feeling I didn’t understand until you were gone.

Briefly, scarier than anything, Till thought that maybe this was another hallucination. He hadn’t had one of those since he was twenty-six–when he finally decided to be as honest as he could with himself, and finally let go. But Ivan was always the same age, or teenager, or a kid. He was never older. But he was always, somehow, drenched. It brought him back to round six of Alien Stage, when he fell to his knees, and clung onto him as tightly as he could. When cries and screams clawed up his throat as the guards dragged him away from Ivan’s body, reaching out–

But this wasn’t a hallucination. No–this was real. Till pulled Ivan into his lap, and struggled to bring his chest to his face, pressing his ear against it–terrified. It was like time froze as he tried to pick up a heartbeat, his fingers searching for a pulse on his wrist. As if hearing his quiet pleads, it answered in slow, faint murmurs. Till gasped, relief flooding him when he realized he hadn’t killed him. He gently lowered Ivan back to the ground and pulled his backpack into his lap. Hands shaking, he pulled out his phone, fumbling with the screen before pressing it to his ear.

“Isaac,” Till said, his voice raspy. It was never the same after he got shot–and he was insecure about it. “I found someone who needs medical assistance immediately. I can’t carry them back on my bike.”

“Is it a kid?” Isaac’s voice crackled through the speaker, the background noise of the base bar unmistakable; music, glasses clinking, people laughing. “Just tie them to your back like you always do.”

“It’s not a kid,” Till pressed, turning back briefly to make sure Ivan was still there. Where could he go in that state? But given everything, he had to be sure. “This is going to sound crazy, but it’s–it’s Ivan.”

It was quiet on the other side for a moment, then Isaac said quietly, “Till are you feeling okay?”

Till groaned in annoyance. “You think I’m losing my mind? I think I’m losing my mind! Okay?” Till snapped into the phone. “You can run all the tests you want on me when I get back–just send someone. Please.”

He heard Isaac sigh, then the clack of the landline hitting the wall as he let it go. Muffled voices followed, a brief back-and-forth, before Isaac's voice came through the receiver. “Dewey is on his way. You’re at the crash site, yeah?”

Till paused. “How did you know?”

“It was the light in your eyes. You only get that when you’re up to no good,” Isaac said through a chuckle. “He’ll be there soon, alright? Press on wound, check for a pulse, and–”

“Hang tight,” Till finished his sentence. “Okay.” 

Till ended the call after that–now waiting for Dewey to come with the van. He went back to Ivan, and dragged him underneath the cargo hatch, trying to shield them from the rain. He caressed the man’s face, lax, and unmoving, attempting to make sense of all of this. He couldn’t help but feel he was going home with the biggest score of all, better than anything he’s salvaged before–Ivan.

Everything that happened after leaving the crash site went by in a haze. He didn’t know how he came to be sitting in a chair near Ivan’s hospital bed–but that’s where he was. Ivan had been unconscious for two days now, and Isaac kept reassuring him with medical jargon Till barely understood, all of which boiled down to: Ivan wasn’t going to die, and he’d wake up when his body was ready. Till passed the time sketching in his notebook or entertaining the kids when they stopped by with the sole purpose of being nosy. But he knew they were genuinely worried about him, especially Vivi, who stayed the longest. She hated being home alone, but understood that Till was worried about his friend. 

Till slumped in the chair, and a knock on the door stirred Till awake, and jumping a little with how close the blond was to his face. 

“Luka,” Till mumbled, flinching slightly as the man loomed close, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Do you have to be that close?”

“No,” Luka shrugged. “But it’s funny watching you jump. You look like a feral cat. It’s funny.”

“So funny you just had to say it twice,” Till rolled his eyes. Luka only grinned, handing him a cup of coffee. He set a tray down nearby, a bowl of oatmeal, that’s when Till finally noticed the baby strapped to Luka’s chest in a carrier, patting her back to keep her soothed. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Luka said, settling into the chair beside him. “I never got to see the stuff you brought back from the crash site. I’ve been itching to make fun of it.”

“Well, tough luck. All I came back with was a pink teddy bear and a guy I almost killed,” Till replied dryly. Luka frowned at the news, leaning back in his seat. The baby cooed softly, and he dipped his head to check on her. He looked exhausted–but duty called, and it always happened to be at the oddest hours.

“She’s growing,” Till murmured, brushing a finger over the baby’s fine strands of hair. “I was worried about her those first couple of months.”

Luka hummed, his hand following Till’s, stroking her head once he pulled away. The back of Luka’s hand was a deep, burn-scarred purple, darker than the natural light purple hue of his fingers. Early on, he used to hide it, unwilling to reveal that part of himself to strangers who might use it against him, like Heperu had. He still wore sweaters in the dead of summer, but sometimes, he let more of it show. His curly blond hair had grown longer over the last nine years, now brushing the nape of his neck. He kept most of it gathered in a low bun as the rest fell over the left side of his face, where the flames had scorched him years ago. Sometimes, when he pushed it back to rub at his tired eyes, Till caught a glimpse of his pale, pupil-less iris–now a mute blond like the rest of him.

“Of course. She’s tough,” Luka told him. “She survived in the woods by herself for days.”

Till nodded. He was the one who found her, luckily before the aliens did, clinging to her mother’s corpse. Her mother likely fled a caretaker facility and starved to death out there. Isaac hadn’t thought she’d make it, but she had–and that was thanks to Luka. Luka never took credit for the kids who flourished under his care, but everyone knew it. Even now, he gave the baby all the credit as he chalked her survival up to her stubborn will to live. Dewey once told Till that Luka had been terrified at first, convinced he didn’t have the instincts–or the heart, to connect with her. Luka simply saw it as a task, a responsibility bestowed onto him. Something to carry out, and complete; feeding them, clothing them, and teaching them the extent of what he knew was right from wrong–but he kept himself at a distance even then. It wasn’t on purpose, he just didn’t know how to close it. Emotional connection didn’t come easily for Luka, and it was a work in progress.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sound was the rhythm of Luka’s hand patting the baby’s back. Till sipped on the coffee, exhaling as the heat slid down his throat. Absentedly, he raised his free hand and scratched at his neck. The scars there had faded, but he knew they were there–the cause of his own actions. He clawed at his skin to keep ‘Ivan’ at bay, and he’d been quiet for years. Now he scratched at them out of a habit–an odd form of comfort he couldn’t shake.

“I still can’t believe it,” Luka murmured, his gaze fixed on the rise and fall of Ivan’s chest. “When they told me, I really thought you’d lost it.”

Till slid a hand down his face. “Luka, he’s supposed to be dead . I mean–I saw them kill him.” Till opened his palms in front of him, remembering. “When I held him, just for that minute, he wasn’t there. Or maybe it just felt that way.”

Luka ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncertain on what to say. “Dead bodies. They’re still warm after death, they don’t grow cold until a couple of hours afterwards. There was really no way you could tell in such little time.”

Till slowly looked at him, but he wouldn’t look back. Luka looked blank, stating a fact he knew so well. He did that a lot–derive the most eerie things he knew, and he only had knowledge of it because he lived it. Till quietly wondered how many dead bodies did Luka actually see, apart from his two appearances on Alien Stage. He never wanted to talk about back then–it was evident he was ashamed of it. Disgusted with his actions derived from survival. Disdained that, in some twisted way, his act on stage had been entertainment in an otherwise abusive, numbing life. Their first interaction after their performance flashed into Till’s mind, and he grimaced. It was an uncomfortable moment for both of them, and somehow, they’d come a long way since then. 

“Are you happy?”

Till blinked. It left Luka in a whisper–almost bitter. The question lingered, as he thought about it, and selfishly shook his head though the blond couldn’t see it. 

“I don’t know.” He replied honestly. “But I was relieved. I think.”

“I suppose that’s natural,” Luka muttered. “Time can do that.”

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” Till waved his hand, dismissing the topic. 

“I’m the one that bought it up,” Luka countered, a little offended. “Obviously, I want to talk about it.”

“I don’t know–you just sound uninterested," Till said sheepishly, stare trailing to the ceiling. 

“Till, I always sound uninterested,” Luka deadpanned. “The kids are constantly confused because of it, and I have no idea how to fix it.”

“Maybe try changing your tone,” Till suggested. “Say, ‘Wow, Suella, did you do this?’ Like you’re actually impressed.”

Luka stared at him, blank as ever, then repeated, “Wow. Suella, did you do this?” in the flattest voice imaginable.

“Great job,” Till said dryly. “Suella just gave up on her dreams of painting.”

Luka rolled his eyes and sucked his teeth. “Thanks a lot.”

“Treat it like acting,” Till offered, knowing he was toeing the line. “Like back then. You were always so cheery.”

“I don’t think I can,” Luka said honestly. “It was a tool for survival, which I no longer need. It was exhausting, and the kids deserve better than that.”

Till gave him a closed mouth smile in understanding. He regretted even bringing it up. 

“For what it’s worth,” Till said. “I think Suella knows you like her drawings.”

“If I’m being honest,” Luka said, leaning in with a hushed voice. “Even if she can’t tell–sometimes I lie.”

Till snorted, but quickly said. “Let’s keep that between us.”

“Right.” Luka nodded, the baby curling her small hand around the finger he idly offered her. 

Till smiled at him, and Luka returned it, though it was hardly noticeable. Then, the moment between them was interrupted by the slight shifting on the cot. Till stood up, and turned toward Ivan. The man’s eyes were open, almost sluggish as he took in his surroundings–flicking to and fro to what he could make out without having to turn his head. Then, jarringly, he snapped his gaze to Till, causing him to step back. 

“Ivan,” he said, trying not to startle him. “It’s okay. You’re safe–”

But Ivan wasn’t listening. His head didn’t turn, but his eyes shifted to Luka. He stared at him with an unreadable expression, as if trying to match his face to something else in his mind. Then, without warning, Ivan sat upright, peeling the blanket off himself in one smooth motion, his eyes still locked on the blond.

“Um,” Luka muttered, wrapping his arms around the baby as she started to squirm, like she even sensed the shift in the air. “What’s he doing?”

“I don’t know,” Till gritted, inching forward to attempt and calm down whatever was happening right now. “Ivan, it’s me–Till. Do you remember who I am?”

“I found him,” Ivan finally spoke. Though his words weren’t accusatory, he didn’t sound angry, or upset. He didn’t sound like anything. His tone was mechanical, devoid of any emotion. 

Luka looked around, and it would’ve been comical if not for how confusing this all was. “Who?” Luka asked when he wouldn’t explain himself further. 

Ivan inched closer, and Till pressed a palm against his chest. “You.”

Luka’s eyes widened, and the baby girl started to whimper. Till’s heart pounded, and he grew anxious. How was he supposed to explain a year of history in so little time? Of course Ivan would be upset, undoubtedly still reeling with hatred for Luka after everything they’ve been through. Till wondered how much he knew, but he didn’t seem like he was willing to sit down and talk. Ivan swayed slightly, still weak, but whatever was fueling him now had overtaken his need for rest. Till opened his mouth, his brain scrambling for a way to reason with him. 

“You’re wanted by the PDA,” Ivan stated suddenly, and Till’s face fell. It should be a relief that he wasn’t talking about Alien Stage and all that conspired. But somehow, Till felt that this was worse. “I must turn you in at once.”

The PDA stood for the Pet Disciplinary Association. It was where captured wanted pets were sent once found–sentenced to death upon discovery. Why on earth was he talking about that? Before Till could make sense of it, Ivan looked down at him with those lifeless eyes. For a split second, it resembled the way the hallucination would look at him as it scrutinized him, and blamed him for his past, death, and everything afterwards.

“You are too,” Ivan grabbed his wrist, and Till immediately tried to yank it back. “Both of you are to return with me.”

Luka sprung out his seat, and bolted toward the door–the baby’s wailing vanished down the hall with him.

Ivan’s grip grew tighter–a silent round two. But this time, Till couldn’t find it in himself to fight back. He was in a state of shock. Ivan shoved him against the wall, his feet scraping uselessly against the tile.

“Failure to comply will result in immediate death,” Ivan kept on, as if reading off of a script. But by his force, so strong despite his near-death experience, Till could tell he was serious. 

“Ivan,” Till stammered, “stop. You’re scaring me.”

“Your emotional well-being is not my concern,” Ivan replied without inflection. “I am authorized to use all necessary force to apprehend the fugitive pet.”

“I’m not a pet!” Till seethed, pushing him away but he stood tall like a brick wall. “I’m your friend, Ivan.” 

“Guards are not permitted acquaintances,” Ivan said, unmoved. He couldn’t be reasoned with. Whether by design or by choice, he had a counter for everything Till tried to say. “What existed in the past is no longer an extension of me. My sole function as a weapon is to secure fugitive pets and maintain the integrity of the Segyein structure.”

A weapon. So that’s what they meant on the news. There weren’t any guns, knives, or bombs on the plane. Just guards–the aliens' weapons. If that were the case, why was Ivan the only one there?

“Alright,” Till finally gave up. This wasn’t the man he remembered. This Ivan was hollow, remnants in a familiar shell. Just flesh, a snaggletooth, and those deep red eyes tethered him to who he used to be. Back at the crash site, in the rain, Ivan had looked like his Ivan as he laid unconscious in his arms. But Till had been wrong, he hadn’t known who this was at all. “Just–let me go, and I’ll go with you.”

Ivan stared at him, unwavering. Abruptly, his grip loosened, then dropped completely.

“You asked If I remembered you,” Ivan caught his attention, and Till forced himself to meet the coldness of his gaze. “I do have recollections of you. But those memories mean nothing to me.”

Till could only stare at him with shaky eyes, mouth ajar, and he couldn’t move. Long ago, he came to terms with Ivan’s death, and all the things that he could only shout into the wind. It was frustrating at times, to be hit with a memory–a regret. To think about how differently it could've gone. Like if he just showed Ivan his stupid drawings, or if he gave him the flower crown with an explanation.

Escaped with him under the falling stars. 

If they both weren’t so hot headed, inexperienced disasters created by their environment. Yet, to know he was alive all this time, remembering the things that haunted Till so much-and to feel absolutely nothing towards it? It hurt. Hurt like hell. 

Till sniffled, and ran his sleeve under his nose. Ivan continued to give him that blank look, as if observing how he would proceed. Like a robot. But Till just stood there, lips threatening to spill out cries he wouldn’t be able to control. Ivan began to say something in that same dead tone–something about retrieving Luka–when a dart whistled through the air, and lodged into his neck.

Till went rigid. Ivan’s eyes widened–just slightly, as he made a fist around the tranquillizer. He didn’t even get to attempt to yank it out, his eyes rolled over, and his body hit the tile beneath them. Till snapped his head towards the doorway, and Isaac stood there with a tranq gun, lowering it when he deemed the threat subdued.

“You okay?” he asked him, walking into the infirmary. Luka stood at the threshold, bouncing the fussy baby, watching him with those solemn eyes of his. He’d gone to get help.  

Till nodded, his hand crawled up his throat, and wrapped around his neck. “I’m alright. Just–shaken up. I guess.”

Till exhaled, and quickly went to help Isaac lay Ivan back into the cot. He staggered, and fell back into his seat beside the bed. He was so confused, the man’s words kept playing in his head. A total stranger in a body he used to know. Isaac gazed at him, as if sensing his inner turmoil.

“I’m going to go feed her,” Luka mumbled, the baby’s limbs flailing with growing protest. He unbuckled her from the carrier and cradled her in his arms. She settled instantly, her cries melting into his sweater.

“Okay,” Isaac said, giving him a small wave.

Luka gave Till one more of his sad, unreadable almost-smiles before turning down the hallway and disappearing out of the building. Till wiped at his eyes, his gaze falling to the scuffed toes of his boots. Isaac pulled up a chair beside him and sat quietly, and a moment passed before he placed a hand on his lap.

“I should’ve told you,” Isaac said slowly. “That this is how guards are. I just… never thought it would matter.”

“So they’re all just unfeeling robots?” Till spat, bitter. Not at Isaac. Not even at Ivan. He wasn’t sure who the anger was for anymore.

Isaac gave a reluctant nod. “Humans are emotional by nature. You can’t be a guard with that still intact.” He hesitated, but carried on. “We’re still not certain, but the theory is that the aliens repurpose the ones who flunk out of Anakt Garden. Brainwash them, condition them, and then assign them some other purpose.”

“But Ivan didn’t flunk out,” Till strained, persistent. “He died, Isaac–”

“I know,” Isaac cut him off, his head snapping away–voice stiffening. “I was there. Remember?” 

Perhaps there was more to that action, and those words.

“Look,” Isaac said gently, gathering Till’s hands in his. This was when he felt most like a big brother; when the urge to comfort outweighed the bitter, blunt truths he could’ve given instead. “For whatever reason, the aliens decided he was more useful alive than dead. I don’t know why, and I doubt even Ivan knows why. But we count that as a win. Alright?”

Till nodded, though his heart still felt the impending doom. That dark ozone of emotions that wouldn’t dissipate anytime soon. “When he wakes up, he’s just going to want to turn Luka and me in again.”

“I’ll handle that,” Isaac assured him. “I know it’s painful to see him like this, Till. But we have to remember not to be angry with him. There’s always different degrees to this stuff–and we just have to be patient.”

“He said I meant nothing to him,” Till said. It wasn’t sad. It wasn’t angry. Just a fact.

“He won’t be like this forever,” Isaac stressed. 

Till didn’t believe him. It felt impossible that this cold, mechanical version of Ivan could ever be the one he once knew. That version was gone, Till wasn’t stupid–he knew that.

 “Everyone is capable of change. Look at Luka. See how much he’s changed?” 

Till felt a smile twitch at his mouth, and Isaac caught it, grinning as he latched onto it. He gave Till’s hand a squeeze, nudging him with his shoulder.

“Look at you ,” Isaac said, his voice thick with something close to fondness. “How far you’ve come. The Segyeins might think no one’s beyond their reach–but no one stays in their grasp forever, either.”

Though the words left Isaac’s mouth with confidence, Till could see the uncertainty in his eyes. The truth was, this was going to take time, and everything Isaac said felt more like hope than fact. They’d never taken in a guard before. No one really knew how deep the grooming went, how far those vines twisted around the mind–if they remained permanent. Their eyes drifted back to Ivan. He looked peaceful, maybe because being asleep was the only time he ever got to actually be. There was no telling when he’d wake up again, but he needed the rest in order to heal. All Till knew was that it was probably best he wasn’t here for it. He let Isaac pull him up from the chair and guide him out of the infirmary. They tossed him one more look over their shoulders, and then Till flicked off the light and closed the door. It pained him to watch Isaac lock it behind them–but they had to.

Chapter Text

Till would never forget the day that his actions–despite all the hate in the world he could justifiably hold in his heart–solidified to everyone around him that he was undeniably, without a doubt, a good person. 

It was another day of riding around, another night of a failed solo search party for Mizi, when he was blinded by all the billboards in the middle of the city. It was a lot more crowded than usual, many Segyein’s were walking around with their ‘pets’ strapped to leashes. They even stopped to look at the lit up signs behind them, and Till–though it was best to keep it pushing–also stopped, and just looked. 

REMEMBERING THE 50TH ALIEN STAGE TRAGEDY. THE WITCH STILL MISSING AFTER 7 YEARS.

Oh.

Till didn’t keep up with the anniversary date which plagued his friend as a monster and subsequently became a painful memory of his despite being the only one to make it out alive. Isaac always told him it was better that way; to carry on, and not to fester on the past. And for his own good: never to mention Mizi around the base. Dewey and Isaac never called her a witch, though that didn’t stop from expressing their anger in regards to her actions that night. Initially, Till was too disoriented–too busy with his own nightmares–to really understand. But eventually, he did move on, and he never mentioned Mizi to any other rebellion members besides those two. Instead, he quietly continued to search for her between rescuing kids and digging through deserted areas for things to give purpose. Her wanted posters were defaced with eerie sketches, black and red ink slashing through her face to turn her into a devil, a witch. Calling her insults outside of the dotted lines–he tore them down.

Mizi’s image filled the largest screen on the glass building–though it was only her back the camera caught. Her pink hair, jagged in uneven curls, swayed as she watched flames devour everything that had stolen her loved ones. To the rest of the world, it was a tragic sight. To Till, it was hauntingly beautiful. Her final act of humanity had been to ask for help from the very people she just betrayed in order to save his life. He’d long since outgrown the childish crush he’d once had on her, but the ache to see her again never left. To pull her into a hug, to tell her she could let go, and to mourn together the only family they had ever known. Every time he walked the crowded streets, his face covered by his helmet, his eyes lingered on every human woman just a little bit longer–searching for her in every passerby.

His eyes widened and a breath escaped him when he lowered his gaze from her picture as it faded away to advertise the new memorial museum they just completed in order to continue mourning the tragedy. He only caught the words ‘GENTICALLY ENGINEERED CHILDREN OF ALL PARTICIPANTS!’ when he became glued to the billboard below it. 

LUKA’S BACK!

A memory flashed into his head, that night where his ear got nicked, attacked on a mission that went sideways and got his partner killed. There was a billboard there that illuminated the night–Heperu was answering the press's questions as cameras flashed. It felt like the entire world was talking about it at the time; Luka. Fans were growing impatient waiting on Luka’s return to stardom, saying they wouldn’t wait for much longer–that was three years ago. Heperu kept insisting that it wouldn’t be long, and they were working on ‘restoring’ his body, and that they had to understand that things took time. To give Luka leniency as he continued to recover from the tragedy that took a massive toll on his body.

 No one seemed to care about Luka’s mental state, or his feelings–or the hidden truth that, during that very period, he’d tried to take his own life five separate times. Back then, Till hadn’t cared either. Couldn’t find it in himself to care, not after everything. So he tuned it out. But he never forgot.

So he couldn’t understand that feeling that hit him. That pressed on his heart like dumbbells at the words that passed idly on the screen. Why did he even stay to read them as they went by? No one else had. Luka was to return to Alien Stage and go up against the winner of the previous season–the round was already decided. They were always decided, never randomized–it was how the Segyein’s kept their audience. Who would care if Luka went against a random new contender. A veteran against what his fans called his protege–that was what the creatures wanted to see. How ironic; they called Till his protege, too.

“Till,” Dewey set down a couple cups of beer, foam threatening to spill over, for the group at the table. “We don’t get involved in that stuff.”

Till trailed him, scribbling in his notebook before shoving it under Dewey’s nose. “But you saved Mizi that one time.”

Dewey’s lips pressed thin. He smacked the notebook out of his sight and slipped past Till’s stubborn frame to get behind the bar. “We didn’t go there to save her. We went to put our plan into action. There’s a difference.”

Till still caught the muttered, “And look where that got us.”

Till grumbled, his pencil working on the pad. He sat at the bar, and slid the notebook over to Dewey. He just ignored it, grabbing more cups to prepare another group of alcoholic concoctions. The bar was crowded that day, and Isaac was too busy to help him. Till was technically supposed to be helping, but he wasn’t in an act of protest. Dewey always did this–ignore Till’s notes, because frankly if he didn’t read it, he didn’t have to acknowledge him. The other rebellion members told Till that once upon a time, Dewey used to be cool. He was the laid back one between him and Isaac, and was usually down for anything. After… everything, Dewey changed. It wasn’t like he wasn’t forthcoming to new people that landed themselves in their base–it was their duty, after all. But he wasn’t trustful. It took Till a year and a half to get on his good side.

“He needs our help.”

Dewey paused halfway through pulling the beer squeezer from its slot and stared at him. Back then, Till barely talked–his hallucinations of Ivan had stopped after the night he got nicked, but the habit of silence was harder to shake. Secretly, he feared that if he spoke too long, Ivan might appear again. It took countless monologues in the mirror before that fear finally went away. Dewey, though? He was easy. Sometimes hilariously easy. One spoken sentence from Till and he’d fold, because that was proof Till was serious. His voice still faded toward the end of every sentence, and he couldn’t push past a certain volume without his throat aching, but he could talk.

Dewey threw the squeezer back into the slot and leaned over the counter, eyes narrowed at him. 

“Why do you suddenly care about him?” Dewey asked. “There was a time you refused to watch anything with him in it. A time where you hated his guts so much, you told Isaac if you ever saw him again, you’d beat him harder than Mi–she ever did.”

Till made a cross with his arms. “I don’t care about him,” he corrected him. “But… no one deserves to die that way.”

“What makes you think he’ll lose?” Dewey went back to work when someone barked that they ordered minutes ago. This time Till stood up and went behind the counter to assist him. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s Luka, after all.”

Till shrugged, pouring a bottle of wine into two flute glasses. “No one thinks they’ll lose until those gun lights are fixed between your eyes.”

“Luka’s never felt that. Or anything, for that matter,” Dewey said matter of factly.

“Not yet,” Till insisted. “After all these years, that night still affects us. He’s still human. In the end. I’m sure it affects him in some way, too.”

Till never knew he’d learn just how badly.

Dewey collected the glasses from him, putting them on his tray as he prepared to haul them towards another table. “Hyuna talked about saving him once. But it got complicated.”

“Why?” Till asked, opening a bottle of vodka.

“Because if we saved Luka, we would have to save everyone else,” Dewey explained simply. “Alien Stage–it’s a rotation. It won’t ever stop until the aliens get bored. After the 50th season, they just rebuilt it and carried on. Going for one person won’t break the pattern." 

“So. What?” Till was growing irritated, and he didn’t know why. “We just let him die? Let them all die?”

Dewey twisted back towards him, impatient. “That’s the world we live in, Till. You should know this by now. Now hurry up with the rest of those drinks before you make us lose out on tips.”

Till huffed, slamming another cup onto the bar. He didn’t even know why he expected Dewey to understand him. Maybe he was hoping for the old Dewey he heard so much about–the one that believed in Hyuna, and what she stood for no matter the risks.

“Think of it this way,” Dewey sighed, voice softer. Till reluctantly met his eyes. “If the roles were reserved, would he save you?”

Till tucked in his lips, gentle with the other cups he set onto the counter. Dewey flashed him a soft smile, and turned away, yelling at the table to hold their horses or find somewhere else to get wasted. 

Urak had forced Till to study Luka; his walk, his voice, the way he sang, the way he presented himself. Till watched him so closely he could predict the exact words Luka would give in interviews. Luka always pandered to Segyein’s, thanking them for their support and the “wonderful” life he’d been able to live. It made Till scoff–made him vow to never be like him. If their roles were reversed, Luka wouldn’t have saved him. Heck, maybe he didn’t even think about any of them at all. But Till wasn’t Luka. He was him. And he would go back and save Luka from that cruel fate. He had less than a month to come up with something, and regardless of what Dewey said, he was going to try.

Till managed to put a team together, it was somewhat small, but he deemed it enough to get the job done. They were the only ones unafraid of Isaac’s wrath if he found out what Till was planning, and while a few of them made him doubt they could actually pull it off, he wouldn’t back down. He drew up a plan and spent most of his days secretly preparing between bartending and rescue searches. The sleepless nights wore on him, and Isaac started giving him odd looks when he willingly hung around Cariah–the base’s well-known slacker–of all people. Still, by the time D-day came, he had gotten away with it. Or… at least he thought he did. 

Till and his group were just about to slip out of the base, their gear stashed in the back of the community van under the guise of “late-night patrol.” They hurried into their guard suits–Till’s handiwork, hours poured into making them look authentic. The process took him back to the days he designed his own outfits for photoshoots and interviews, always rebelling against whatever Urak had picked for him. Now, that creativity was one of his biggest contributions to the base, and his team had been openly impressed at how perfectly he’d replicated the guards’ armour.

“Till’s so talented,” one of his partners said, voice muffled through the headpiece.

“Right?” another chimed in. “No way we’ll look out of place.”

Till felt his cheeks warm.

“Do I get a uniform?”

They all paused, and snapped their heads around. It was Dewey, his arms crossed as he leaned against the van. On cue, the group turned to Till with worried expressions–as if he wasn’t as anxious as the rest of them. 

“Dewey,” Till mumbled, stalking up to him. Dewey looked down at him, unimpressed by the words he didn’t even get to say yet. “I know–I’m totally screwed. But we’ve all prepared so much for this mission. If you’d just let us–”

“I knew, Till.” Dewey cuts him off, a grin slowly tugging at his lips despite his best attempt to look angry.

“You knew?” Till asked, confusion laced in his voice. “How?”

“Drunk people,” Dewey replied flatly, plucking the headgear from Till’s hands. “They talk, like–a lot. And you’ve got four chatterboxes in your group.”

There were seven of them in total, including Till. Slowly, he turned to his suspects–they avoided his eyes, breaking into the fakest casual conversation he’d ever heard. Till rolled his eyes, and followed Dewey to the back of the van. He opened the trunk, and began to inspect their gear, nodding, pleased at the setup.

“Does Isaac know?” Till whispered, too nervous to say it aloud. 

“No.” Dewey slammed the trunk after taking out a uniform. “And we’re going to keep it that way. Until we come back with Luka and then… we’ll figure something out.”

“Thank you.” Till bowed his head, hands braced on his knees. “Thank you so much, Dewey. I swear, we won’t fail.”

“Yeah, well,” Dewey snapped the helmet into place and tossed Till a new one. “Two people I knew once had wackier ideas. Like trying to send a missile into space. Rescuing the Segyein’s Pretty Boy? Compared to that, this is a piece of cake.”

Till smiled at him brightly, and Dewey patted his head before gesturing for him to put his headgear on. He wasted no time and pulled it down, the group finding their places in the van. Dewey took the driver's seat, reviving the engine before they flew down the road. 

“Run the plan by me again,” Dewey requested with a finger wag. “Kinda hard to get the full details through drunken mumbling.” 

A few people nervously laughed, but quickly died down when Till didn’t join in. 

Getting into the auditorium wasn’t the hardest part. Nor was slipping past security. Or taking down guard after guard just to jam their hacked access key into the panel and open the way to the audience seats. No. The hardest part was standing there and watching Luka go head-to-head with Frow.

Till didn’t watch Alien Stage. Naturally, some humans found it entertaining–and in hindsight, Till guessed it could be. But having been on that stage, watching his friends meet their demise one by one, and having to eventually come face to face with his own–he’d much rather watch the news. He knew nothing about the contestants who came after him; their talents, their weaknesses, whether they too faced people they called friends. But curiosity had a way of sneaking in–one moment, he was just browsing the internet, and the next, Frow’s artist profile was open. The kid was only nineteen, yet already huge. He debuted just a year earlier, with a single that dominated countless number-one charts. His voice was impressive, he had a range that had caught Till off guard the first time he heard it. Till couldn’t bring himself to watch any of his Alien Stage performances, but the articles painted him as self-centered when it came to competition–soaking up so much attention his opponents might as well have been invisible. He just had that kind of presence, straight out of Luka’s own playbook, only with his own twist.

Frow took the lead in the duet, and the crowd roared the instant the spotlight caught him. His voice was as expected; angelic, clear, and strong. Lightsticks rippled across the stands, some swaying in sync, others jerking wildly as fans lost themselves in the moment. Till’s ears rang from the screams, human and Segyein alike. Frow had that aura of confidence around him. His dark hair was tied high in a curly ponytail, and his trendy outfit, leather and zippers in abundance, caught the light. Till had heard his owner was young for an alien, the type to grant him a lot of freedom, and it showed in the way he carried himself. He had the same careless vitality as the teenagers back on base; untouched by the world–as if nothing could ever touch him. And, having won the previous season, maybe he had every right to believe that. 

Luka had carried that same exuberance once; bright, untouchable, almost infuriating in how it left him with ease. Till’s jaw tightened as the memory blindsided him: Luka laughing behind his hand when Till missed his cue during Blink, Gone.

Why the hell was he even here, again?

As if Till just called the Devil’s name, Luka’s voice resonated around them in a long high note when Frow’s faded away. The crowd somehow grew louder, a tidal wave of sound; the pounding of feet against the floors rattled the seats, the whole venue thrumming with anticipation for Luka’s long-awaited return. Till’s gaze locked on one of the jumbotrons just as Luka rose from beneath the stage, breaking into the camera’s frame.

He didn’t change at all. Of course he didn’t.

He greeted the crowd with a wave into the camera, that innocuous smile graced his lips.

 Isaac told Till about how hard that night affected everyone who went to carry out the mission. Especially the burn victims. Till empathised with them, and was grateful that he managed to make it out unsatched–Mizi’s body shielded him from the flames as she cradled him in her arms. Isaac recalled, more-so, Luka being engulfed in the fire as he stared down at Hyuna’s body. They watched the news in Till’s infirmary room,  and a Segyein reporter named the survivors among the ones that were lost. Urak had died that night, but Luka’s name was among the survivors.

Isaac had only whistled before saying, “He’s not ever going to be the same.”

Till believed him because who could walk away perfectly fine from such a living inferno? The base had lost people, and many who survived carried scars that would never fade. As Luka’s recovery stretched on, Till assumed he was one of them, that it was impossible to make him whole again. But as he looked at him, his skin was smooth–not a blemish in sight. His hair was swept out of his face, and he bore no remnants of injury there either. Those two blond eyes narrowed carelessly. Perhaps he refused to perform again, and all that talk about repairing his body and tissue repairments were just excuses. 

Frow and Luka both dominated the stage, singing their hearts out, and even combining parts in a way that felt more like a collaboration than a competition–just a performance all in good fun. Maybe Luka knew Frow wasn’t the type to fall for his tricks, and decided his talent alone would be enough to win. Till was worried for nothing after all. Like Dewey said–it’s Luka.

“Something’s off,” Dewey hunched over to say into his ear. Till whipped his head up at him. 

“What?” Till narrowed his eyes at him behind the headgear. Nothing seemed amiss to him. 

Dewey’s hand found Till’s arm, his grip firm. “The song’s about to end. Get ready.” He didn’t wait for questions before disappearing down the stairs, vanishing into the crowd.

Till shook his head, snapping out of thoughts. He brought his gun’s scope to his eye, aiming towards the guard in front of him. His own beam stayed off, the guard’s light fixed on the stage.

Till heard it before he saw it. The song was in its last minute–that last stretch was always the most important. The beginning of the song didn’t matter, nor did the middle. Every participant knew that it was always the end that determined if you lived or died. The crowd dwindled off of their high at that point, and became more cynical and judgemental, no longer watching from a fans perspective–but a lousy gods. Luka, as seasoned as he was, knew that better than anyone.

So why did he stop singing?

Till whipped his head up when Frow’s voice started to overpower Luka’s. Luka kept walking the stage, his mic gripped loosely in his hand at his side. He was still smiling–but it was more solemn than before; tired. His eyes that were once widened in the ecstasy of performance were half-lidded in something akin to drowsiness. He stared into the crowd like he was memorizing it, soaking in the last seconds as the instrumental bled out. The scoreboard changed numbers rapidly, until they stopped before the song ended–already decided. Till had seen that only once before–when he went against Ivan.

FROW: 92 LUKA: 81

Luka closed his eyes. Dewey’s warning hit Till like wet slathers of cement.

Luka had thrown the round.

Luka was going to kill himself.

The jumbotron flashed FROW WIN! Just as Till pulled the trigger, the guard in his sights dropped. The others fell in quick succession, just as planned. For a breath, the arena went dead silent–then the panic hit, screams surging through the air. Till didn’t wait, he vanished into the archway, slipping into the chaos of the bleachers. He ran down the flights of stairs, towards the stage. Frow looked around rapidly, scared and confused. But Luka stayed where he was, eyes still closed through the chaos waiting for the bullet to pierce through his neck. Dewey made it up the stage before him, and began to usher Frow away and he quickly followed. Till rushed up towards Luka, and yanked his arm.

“We have to go,” Till said urgently. “Before they figure out what’s going on.”

Only then did Luka’s eyes flutter open. He snapped his gaze towards Till. 

Till expected confusion, or disorientation. He didn’t expect to be met with a flash of anger. 

“Why didn’t you shoot me?” Luka’s voice was hard. 

Till reeled back a little, taken aback. He couldn’t give him an answer. 

“You were supposed to kill me!” Luka got louder, yanking Till closer from the strap of his gun. “I lost. So kill me!”

Till froze up when Luka brought the end of his gun against his own chest. He looked crazy–his eyes trembling, his hands shaking so badly that he had to reposition the gun a couple of times to where he wanted Till to shoot him. 

“Till!” Someone yelled at him. “Move!”

Till blinked, and pulled his gun out of Luka’s frail grip. He grabbed Luka’s wrist again, and dragged him along. Luka didn’t fight back, and only let Till pull him down the stage steps, towards the backroom, and out of the arena–into the rising sun.

Luka’s first night at the base was terrible.

“Till, go get Isaac!” Dewey yelled at him from down the hall, head peering out Luka’s room in the infirmary. Till had come by to check on him, but it seemed Dewey beat him to it. 

“What? Why?” Till asked as he drew closer. But the smell of blood made him abruptly stop, and turn on his heels to find Isaac. 

Later, they’d find out Luka had used the fork from his untouched dinner to hurt himself. No one knew exactly how he’d managed to make himself bleed that badly, but from that night on, he wasn’t allowed forks–or solitude. Isaac couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at them for trying to hide him, along with the fact that this year's season of Alien Stage was cancelled due to their stunt and Frow was not returning due to the lack of safety–his Segyein was adamant about that part. It was apparent they had a bigger fish to fry–Luka.

No one could talk to him. When Luka wasn’t asleep, he was crying. On the nights Till stayed with him, the sobs seemed to cling to him, following him even when he wasn’t in that draining infirmary room–a sorrow not even belonging to him sat heavy and unshakable in his chest. At first, Till pitied him. A selfish thought gnawed at him; that maybe he should’ve ended Luka’s misery when he had the chance. But another, darker thought kept returning, sounding a lot like Mizi’s voice.

That Luka needed to live, and suffer. That he didn’t deserve the sweet escape of death. 

As weeks passed, Luka wasn’t getting any better–mentally, or physically. His health started taking a dip for the worse.

“Is it because he’s not eating?” Dewey asked, peeking over Isaac’s shoulder to read Luka’s medical chart. 

“No,” Isaac muttered, flipping through the pages. Till stood nearby, arms crossed, listening. “I found foreign pathogens in his system. They’re multiplying fast, and it’s like… his body is degenerating.”

“Degenerating?” Till echoed, frowning. “You mean… breaking down?”

Isaac turned toward them with a grave expression. “Remember how I said Luka couldn’t have made it out of that fire without severe injuries?”

Till gave a cautious nod.

“Well, if I’m right–he didn’t. Heperu’s whole idea about restoring his damaged cells with new tissue was accurate. But the only way it could have worked was because he was getting regular stem cell infusions. Now that he’s not, the tissue is breaking down.”

“So, should we be doing that?” Dewey asked him.

“It wouldn’t help,” Isaac said quietly, defeated almost. “His congenital heart disease stopped being treatable a long time ago. Heperu just froze the process somehow. His body is reverting to what it was before years of treatment, and the heart disease is making it worse. Even if we had the resources for more stem cell shots–which we don’t–it would only prolong the inevitable.”

Till and Dewey slowly turned towards each other. They didn’t need an explanation for what that meant. It seemed like all the scientific methods Heperu went through to keep Luka in his state didn’t reduce the fact that he was human. He was the reason Luka had heart issues in the first place, and he tried to fix that problem with even more problems.

It started with Luka’s left eye.

Isaac explained that Luka’s weakened immune system left him vulnerable, and they had to get the infection under control before it spread. Despite a week of treatment, the swelling worsened, the pain became unbearable, and there was no sign of healing.

“It has to go,” Isaac said at last, right in front of him. Luka’s eyes widened in fear. “If we don’t, it could kill you within days.”

He was able to keep his eye, after they gouged out the affected areas, and the sickness went away. Isaac was beginning to see improvement. That was until Luka’s tissues began to fail, the damage creeping back through his body. Deep purple scars–darkened by poor circulation from his heart disease–spread down his arms, across the left side of his face, and into other places he refused to reveal beyond the line of his torso. Luka was miserable, and no one could blame him. Still, Till found himself missing the quiet, because Luka’s complaints, justified as they were, had become relentless. He hardly let anyone look at him, and the crying only grew worse.

For some unexplainable reason, Till’s patience had run thin with Luka. He thought back to when he was in Luka’s position–clawing at his own skin and dealing with Ivan’s ghost–and how no one had coddled him. He could be in active psychosis and Isaac would be on his case about things he couldn’t give a damn about–stop clawing at your throat. Your vocal cords aren’t fried, try to say something. Forget, forget, forget. But for Luka, it was always: he just needs time. He never got to cope with the severity of his illness. He’s depressed and suicidal, Till–you clung onto life, he wants to let it go. It got old. Real quick. 

It all came to a head when it was Till’s turn to stay the night with him. He had bought Luka dinner–curry rice and salad on the side–prepared to shovel it down his throat. When he opened the door, Luka was in bed. He was always in bed, and Till wondered if he ever got tired of lying there. In his hands, he held a small, circular mirror, staring intently at his reflection. Dewey had given it to him on request, and Till wished he hadn’t. Luka spent all day with that thing, angling his face this way and that, his gaze hardening at the purple blemishes inching past his chest and creeping toward his neck. It was like he was dissecting himself, and it was uncomfortable to watch, a man so used to being beautiful, now watching that beauty slip away.

Till placed the tray on the table next to his cot, stabbing the spoon into the pile of rice. 

“Time to eat,” Till muttered, already exhausted from the fight he knew was coming.

“I’m not hungry,” Luka mumbled, words barely corrigible, as he slid his fingers down the side of his burn ridden face. 

“You say that every time,” Till replied, dryly, turning toward his bed. “Come on. Put that down and eat.”

The news droned in the background: It’s been two months since Luka went missing. Sources now say it wasn’t a kidnapping, but a deliberate act of escape–

“Are you deaf?” Luka whipped his head up, his eyes narrowed in anger. “I said I’m not hungry.”

‘Be patient,’ Isaac’s voice flew through Till’s mind–but he swatted it away, stepping closer towards him. 

“Are you?” Till shot back, immediately regretting even taking the bait. “You’re lucky I bought you anything at all.”

“Get out,” Luka growled through clenched teeth.

“I don’t even want to be here–”

“I said get out!” Luka’s scream filled the air. Till flinched as Luka hurled the mirror; it missed his face by inches, shattering against the wall.

Till saw red.

He closed the distance in two strides, grabbed Luka by the front of his shirt, and yanked him upright.

“Listen here, you disrespectful, conceited–”

Luka managed to pull his arms off his shirt, and Till expected him to shove him away. But instead, he collected Till’s wrist in his grasp, and wrapped them around his neck. Till didn’t see Luka at that moment–he saw Ivan. Staring at him with those lifeless eyes, the red specks didn’t sparkle like they used to. Till gasped for air, fluttering his eyes enough times until he saw Luka again–eyes closed, expectant. Waiting for Till to choke the life out of him. Instead, Till fisted a hand in his hair and hurled him out of the bed, sending him onto the floor.

“I don’t know why I ever gave a damn about you,” Till spat, bracing a hand against the wall like he might fall. “Why I–why I even felt sorry for you. When all my friends are dead because of you! Hyuna died because of you! You manipulated me–made me think–” his voice broke–you were him–and then hardened again, “I almost died. Because. Of. You!”

Luka gathered himself onto his knees, hands spaced on the hardwood beneath them. His head was bowed, and he was breathing hard. Till didn’t even know if he could stand on his own. He almost bent down to help him out when time stretched on, and Luka said nothing. It was useless, trying to talk to him. Luka was just a lump of nothing, drowning in self-pity instead of facing reality.

“Forget it,” Till huffed. “You don’t care.”

Luka muttered underneath his breath.

“What?”

“I’m… sorry,” it came out small, a struggle as it left his lips. “I’m so sorry.”

Till stared down at him, stunned. Luka's shoulders started to shake, and sobs raked through him like thunder. He pulled in breath like he couldn’t breathe, and Till didn’t know what to do. Slowly, Luka crawled forward, pressing his forehead against the front of Till’s boot. Till could feel his weight, the frail clutch of his fingers around his ankles.

“I’m sorry,” Luka said louder through tears. “I’m sorry!”

He kept repeating two words like a mantra, each one more desperate than the last as his grip held on strong to him. Till knew he wasn’t apologizing because he felt remorseful, or because anything Till said had actually affected him. They sat together for hours some days, not a word spoken among them–Till drawing in his notebook, and Luka staring straight ahead at the wall. As if looking at something that was watching him. It was eerie, try to get his attention and he’d never look at you–just straight past you with fear in his eyes. If Luka wanted to apologize for anything, he could have long ago. No–these sorry’s weren’t for him–not directly. 

They were ragged, and scratched up Luka’s throat like a man who had given up. Luka was hoping, in some twisted sort of way, Till could give him release. From the pain, from the thoughts running wild in his head, from life itself. That he would just give him what he wanted–death. He felt useless now–just a scar ridden man who no longer served a purpose. Till thought he would be saving him, but he now knew Luka didn’t feel that way.

But Till couldn’t give him death. Wouldn’t. 

Luka might have cheated death countless times, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. Maybe he didn’t deserve to live, but he had to. Even now, he was selfish, silently asking Till to set him free. Till would be selfish right back. He would keep him here, until the day Luka wanted to live on his own.

Till bent down and lifted Luka’s head. He brushed away the tears with his thumb, offering only a somber smile. He simply shook his head at him, and that only made Luka cry harder at the rejection. Till sat on the floor, and pulled the man to his chest, letting him heave like a fish out of water until he exhaustion took him under. He never imagined he’d be holding Luka, of all people–but in that moment, he understood what Isaac meant. To be so broken, so stripped of touch and love, that dying felt easier than facing a second chance at life. It was just another chance at screwing it all up.

Luka got well enough to leave the infirmary, but he proceeded to stay there. Practically live there because they didn’t know what to do with him. 

“He can’t go on missions,” Isaac said around the end of a chewed-up pencil, eyes on his notebook. The bar needed an inventory restock, and Till was helping by rattling off what was low or missing. “I don’t trust him not to screw everything up chasing death.”

Dewey reluctantly nodded in agreement. “I mean, maybe he could work at the bar.”

Till shook his head. “He might try to give himself alcohol poisoning."

“Oh, come on,” Dewey grumbled. “You think he’s that bad?”

The look both Till and Isaac gave him was answer enough. Isaac threw his hands up. “Okay. Noted.”

They tossed ideas back and forth… until Till brought the memorial children back to the base.

 He finally had a plan to break them out. Most days he went as a “visitor,” sketching escape routes in his head, interacting with them through the glass. It irritated him to see them like that. The silver-haired girl was always jittery, hiding behind the blond whenever he tapped the glass. The brown-haired boy was the most outgoing; Till taught him rock-paper-scissors, and the kid beat him constantly. The smallest one, with Luka’s pale blond eyes, hung back beside the brown-haired boy, wringing his hands. Till coaxed him into a game of tic-tac-toe, and actually got him to smile when he won, three O’s in a row. The pink haired one, Till noted, liked him the most.

 Though she never talked–he couldn’t hear the ones that tried, which was a bummer–she stared at him a lot. Her eyes captivated him, and sometimes he had to look away when he'd get a shiver up his spine. The red of her eyes were just like Ivan’s, and the shade of her was the same as Mizi’s. They’d just stare at each other most days, seeing who’d blink first, and he caught the small smirk on her lips when he’d lose.

 The worst part about visiting them was that he was always the only one there. It was great for when he’d eventually bust them out–but it made him incredibly sad. They were locked up to commemorate a moment the Segyein’s swore was the worst tragedy they ever experienced since their colonization of Earth, but no one came to see them. What was the point of even creating them? But that wouldn’t be the worst thing they did to humanity, so Till wouldn’t be surprised. 

“Woah,” Dewey blew out when Till returned with them late at night. “I didn’t expect them to be mini… everyone.”

The five of them still wore their white uniforms, though Till had removed their collars. They stood in a tight cluster, hands laced together, shrinking back as Isaac and Dewey approached. Till murmured reassurances to them and they eased up a little. 

“I told you,” Till said with a cheeky shrug. “It was eerie at first. But they're so cute you kind of just get over it.”

“Right,” Dewey nodded slowly, then muttered through closed teeth, “Yep… still not over it.”

Isaac gave him a shove and crouched down so he wouldn’t tower over them. “Hello! I’m Isaac, and that’s Dewey. Dewey, stop making that face.”

“Sorry.”

“Do you guys have names?”

They blinked at him with doe eyes, and the tallest–the blond–spoke first. 

“Subject One…?”

“Oh,” the brown haired boy said, as if getting it. “I’m Subject Two.”

Isaac’s smile faltered. “…Uh-huh. Yeah, that’s not going to work.” He waved their words away. “You know what? Till will give you all one.”

Till pointed at himself. “Wait–me?”

“You know the rules,” Dewey smirked. “You find them, you name them.”

“But–all five of them?”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with good names,” Isaac reassured him. He took the littlest hand, and the others latched onto one another like babies on a mama possum, putting them themselves in a neat single file line. “Come on, you guys. I know you’re hungry!”

“No.”

“Luka. Come on,” Till said with his hands pressed together. Luka stared at him bleakly–at least his eye contact was getting better lately, even if it was always bitter. “I can’t name them all myself.”

“I’m not helping you name our clones,” Luka spat out, he sat on his bed, talking around a spoon full of ice cream.

 Till bought it in an attempt to convince him, but he refused to budge. Luka ate a lot. He demanded Till to go back to the cafeteria and get him seconds. Till didn’t appreciate being treated like a servant, but he’d take Luka’s gigantic appetite as a win.

“They’re not clones,” Till reiterated. “They’re their own people. Who happen to share our DNA?”

“Clones,” Luka repeated, deadpanned. 

“Children,” Till flopped onto the edge of the bed, prodding Luka with his forehead against his knee. Luka jerked away. “Who need names. How can you deprive innocent children of individuality?”

Luka just stared at him. 

“You’d have no problem doing that, actually,” Till muttered, and that actually pulled a snort from Luka. 

“It’s only five brats,” Luka said, shoving the spoon back into his mouth. “How hard could it be to name them?”

“Fine,” Till grumbled. “But you can’t complain about the names I choose.”

“Trust me, I won’t.”

It took Till a few days but he decided on the perfect names. He gathered Dewey and Isaac in Luka’s infirmary room, notepad at the ready–three expectant sets of eyes on what he could have possibly chosen for everyone. 

“For the tall girl who looks like me,” Till started off, writing down the name and displaying it to his audience. “Suella.” 

“I like it,” Dewey clapped, and Isaac nodded in approval. 

Till wrote down the next one. “For the brown haired boy with the teal eyes–who… also looks like me: Taehyun.”

“A mix of your name and Hyuna’s?” Isaac pointed out, and Luka visibly flinched. “Nice.”

“He looks like a Taehyun,” Dewey agreed. 

“For the littlest one, Louie.”

“Louie?” Dewey repeated, a little uncertain. “Gonna take some time to grow on me.”

“It’s basically your name with a ‘L’,” Luka pointed out. 

“You’re right,” Dewey said like it just dawned on him. “On second thought, I like it! I’m gonna call him Lou.”

Till smiled, and jotted down the next name. “The pink-haired girl, I call her Vivi.”

“The names just keep getting weirder,” Luka muttered. 

“Actually… I’ve been calling her that for a while,” Till admitted, rubbing his neck. “I guess it could be short for Vivienne.”

Isaac and Dewey eyed him, almost calculatingly before they shared a look. Till bit his lip, knowing he couldn’t hide that innuendo from them. 

“Around everyone else, she’s Vivienne. Alright?” Isaac warned, and even Luka looked at him concerningly. Till nodded hesitantly, his head dropping. As he wrote down the last name, he couldn’t contain his laugh, which shifted the room. 

“What’s the last name?” Dewey asked, tilting his head. 

Till held it up. It took a moment, but Isaac and Dewey busted into laughter before they could even think better of it. Luka shot up from his bed, face growing red. 

“No!” His voice was teeming with anger. “Absolutely not.”

Dewey wheezed, barely able to speak. “What’s wrong with the name–Luka Senior?”

“Change it,” Luka gritted out, trying to snap the notebook out of Till’s hand, as if it’ll erase the name Luka Junior from existence. 

“Nuh-uh,” Till countered, lifting the notepad out of his reach. “You said you wouldn’t complain about the names I chose!”

Luka tried to grab it a couple of more times before he gave up, dropping back into bed. He laid down and turned away with them–a tantrum brewing.

“Fine!” Luka grumbled. “Not like I’m gonna see those brats anyways.”

“Actually,” Isaac intervened, getting up. He sounded serious now, leaving no room for questioning. “You’re their guardian.”

Luka whipped his head up so fast, Till flinched back. “What?”

“Everyone here at the base has a duty. Which is to contribute to the people in some form of fashion.” Isaac explained, he gestured around. “For me–it’s my medical expertise. Dewey, he’s the planner; he’s the reason our missions are successful. Till has done a lot of rescue work for us over the years. Those kids wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him risking his life.”

“Yep,” Dewey chimed in hesitantly–Luka already looked like he might blow a fuse. “You’re well enough to help around the base now. Those kids–they’re not like the other ones here. They have had little to no human interaction. They’re scared, and they won’t grow in an environment that the orphanage provides. They need a sole provider. Someone they can trust.”

“And what makes you think I’d be good for that?” Luka sounded scared, and Till frowned. “I can barely take care of myself. I couldn’t… possibly be the person they’d need me to be.”

“Luka,” Isaac sighed out, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I think, as it stands, you may be the only one to understand those kids. How lonely isolation feels, the unwillingness to trust those around you, and that it gets worse before it can ever get better. I’m not saying you have to love them. But you have to care for them–in the sense that they get provided for and the enrichment they need. Once I deem them fit to integrate into the orphanage, your task is complete.” 

Till watched the screws turn in Luka’s head, how he grabbed onto the usage of the word ‘task’. It was a command. The conditioning–that need to complete said task–that dragged him along hasn’t dissolved yet. A way to be useful. 

Luka agreed to take on the ‘task.’ He moved into the house up the hill with the kids, and began his mission caring for them until they were ready for the orphanage. At first, it was comical; watching Luka wrangle five kids like ducklings, visibly irritated whenever they insisted on being, well, kids. When they really started talking? His expressions were unmatched.

But then one day, it all clicked for him. Till would watch them, all five crowded around a table, calling for Luka in chirped unison. The chorus that once disoriented him, now withdrew an easy response, every question answered, and every plea met without a hint of irritation. He’d smile at their drawings, pointing out tiny details and asking follow-up questions like they were masterpieces. He’d blow on scraped knees, or get dirty with them in muddy puddles. In a way–it was almost like Luka was a kid again. Isaac would never say it, but that whole speech he said was only partially true. He gave Luka purpose, and wrangling up five kids left little room to stew in your emotions. Till would come to learn even one was enough. 

“Hey,” Luka tapped him, Lou hanging onto his hand. “Have you seen L.J?”

“L.J?” Till asked him, turning away from his work to stare at him in confusion. 

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?” Till insisted, genuinely lost. 

“... Luka Junior.”

Till tried not to smile. He really did. “You gave him a nickname?”

“Well,” Luka retorted like it was obvious. “We can’t both be Luka, now can we?”

Till laughed, and Louie took his thumb out of his mouth to copy him. Luka only rolled his eyes. 

“Dewey gave him some money to go buy everyone ice cream.”

“I told him they could have ice cream after dinner,” Luka muttered. He stomped away–but only acutely, so that Lou could keep pace. As if he ever listened to his own advice. 

Luka’s knack for working with kids soon became impossible to ignore. Isaac began assigning him more; especially the shy ones who needed coaxing out of their shells, or the sick ones who needed the kind of care only Luka could give. When given a task, he always saw it through, and most of the children in his care recovered within days. Many were ready for the orphanage in just weeks. 

But of all the children who passed through his care, those five never left his side; except for Vivi, who eventually became Till’s. Four months ago, he was tasked with an infant–only three weeks old, and Till had never seen him so fretful and exhausted. But he also looked fulfilled, happy to help another child be able to have a childhood free of stress and abuse. Though Luka wasn’t the most expressive, and as he struggled with connecting beyond the surface level–he changed a lot. 

Luka liked to claim he couldn’t act–but he did, all the time. He acted when he spared the kids’ feelings, or when he pretended to feel their pain when they were hurt or sick. And though he’d never admit it, he even acted like he loved them. But Till knew that wasn’t an act, Luka just didn’t recognize the feeling that tightened in his chest. He hadn’t understood it when Hyuna was alive, and he doesn't understand it now. But one day, he would. One day he’d learn to tell the difference between the pang of love, the dip of guilt, and the reluctant pull of responsibility.

Till had to believe that if Luka could change this much in just over a year, then Ivan could too. His head insisted it was impossible, but his heart refused to listen. His heart told him it was. And he would do anything he had to to get Ivan back. The Ivan he knew… and loved. 

Chapter Text

“Having him is… Unsha doesn’t want… Should we just dispose of him?”

The voices were warped, like they were speaking through water. Ivan drifted in and out, the edges of their words slipping away before he could hold onto them. His body felt weightless, his thoughts sluggish. He tried to open his eyes, but each attempt ended with his lids sinking shut again.

“We invested too much… he’s still functional… sell him to the PDA…”

The conversation continued onwards like that–murky words that Ivan couldn’t make out, until eventually, he let the darkness take him. When his eyes closed, a face flickered in his mind, as it always did: wide-eyed and shocked, clinging to his neck as Ivan hit the cold floor. There was a time he could put an emotion to that face, along with the regret, and the sadness he couldn’t put into words after all this time. But when he woke up again, alone in a sterile white room, the face was still the first thing he thought of. And this time, he felt nothing at all. 

When he recalled that memory, or any other ones from his ‘former’ life, he was never that dark-haired boy stealing glances or pestering the grey-haired one into a fight that tumbled them into the grass–he now saw it as if through glass. It was someone else’s story–someone else’s life. The feelings had been severed, disconnecting him from the memories. It left him empty, apathetic–almost weightless, in a sense. What remained was only the shell of him, stripped down to a body that moved, thought, and breathed for the Segyein’s bidding alone. He never told anyone that he had these memories, he knew he wasn’t supposed to. He didn’t know why they lingered, they didn’t matter to him either way. Yet, selfishly, he liked them–because they kept him company at nights. 

Till had to be told when Ivan had woken up again. He was too scared to go visit him after that day, instead he poured his time into other things. He was still shaken up, and he struggled to understand why it affected him so badly. Isaac said that it all was a lot to take in, and so the confusion was only natural. Dewey echoed his sentiments, adding that seeing someone you thought had died, only to find they’d been alive all along while you mourned them and then only to learn they were now a Guard–would shake anyone! He’d said it exactly like that, word for word. It didn’t help at all.

“Ivan’s awake,” Luka announced, hanging his head into the archway of Till's apartment. Luka had knocked close to noon, Louie and the baby in tow. Louie was incredibly shy, and whilst he got along with his siblings, he struggled with everyone else. The only time he wasn’t hanging off of Luka’s side was either when he was asleep, or when he was at school. 

“Hi, Lou. Why aren’t you in school?” Till asked him, and the boy only offered a lethargic blink of those blond eyes, lifting his thumb between his lips. Without thinking, Luka lightly nudged Louie’s hand away from his mouth. He had read in one of his many pet care books that you shouldn’t let kids suck their thumbs, or else they could get an overbite. Though Till didn’t like those books, they did hold overall valuable information when it came to physically caring for children. Louie didn’t seem to care–but Till had seen Mizi with braces, and if he had a picture of her from back then, Louie might start to. 

“He wasn’t feeling well,” Luka answered in his stead. “So he’s hanging out with me today. Didn’t you hear me? I said Ivan’s awake.”

Till opened the door wider. Louie immediately let go of Luka’s hand and flopped onto one of the couches, the TV still playing some kids’ show Vivi had been watching before school. Luka busied himself with maneuvering the baby’s stroller over the threshold, and Till stepped in to help.

“Oh, right,” Till muttered, guilt pulled at him for not being more excited by the news. But all he could think about was Ivan’s rough hand around his wrist, staring at him like a stranger. “That’s… great.”

“Can you make it sound less end–of–the–world-y?” Luka asked, unbuckling the baby from her seat. She babbled in delight as Luka laid her on her belly next to Louie. “He’s a lot more mellow today. If that helps.”

Till looked at him in surprise. “You went to see him?”

Luka shrugged, turning back towards him. “Yeah. And good news, he didn’t threaten to turn me into the authorities. Whatever Isaac said to him worked.”

That did make Till feel a little better. “He hadn’t eaten in three days. He must be starving.”

Luka gave him an uncertain expression, dragging his eyes elsewhere. “I found him eating the oatmeal and coffee I left for you the other day.”

“What?” Till stepped forward, completely baffled–probably with a look of disgust. “That stuff is two days old.”

“That’s what I said,” Luka raised his hands in defense. “He only responded, ‘Guards do not concern themselves with the quality of meals, only that they are enough to stifle hunger in the midst of war.’ Or something like that.”

“Why’d you say it like that?” Till pointed at him accusingly. 

Luka threw his hands up, sinking down into the couch, gathering the baby into his arms. “You’re the one who said I needed to work on my tone.”

“You know, you’re just two pitches from sounding exactly like him,” Till teased.

“Sounding like your robot boyfriend?” Luka muttered, eyes glued to the television. To be fair, those talking puppets were weirdly addictive. “I’ll pass.”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” Till said firmly, watching the little makeshift family slowly take over his couch. “He was–is–my friend.”

Luka trailed his eyes from the TV, and gave him a sluggish smile. “Go see him, Till. There were days where I felt like I didn’t want the company. But I did appreciate it. He’s probably lonely.”

“You’re right,” Till sighed out, his shoulders sagging. “I’ll go visit him.”

“Can we stay here?” Luka asked, gesturing to the scroller. “Once she’s out, it’s hell to put her back in.”

“Yeah,” Till waved, and Luka dragged himself off the couch. 

He waved the baby’s hand in Till’s direction. “Tell Till goodbye! We definitely won’t raid his fridge while he’s away.”

Till scoffed, but offered the kids a goodbye–Louie thumb effectively back in his mouth–as still closed the door behind him. 

Till took a detour to the bar to grab Ivan food that didn’t fester in the air of a hospital room. When he arrived, he took a moment to pull himself together, staring blankly at Ivan’s door until he couldn’t possibly call what he was doing ‘preparing.’ If he lingered any longer, it would mean he was scared. And he wasn’t scared. Or at least… he didn’t want to be. 

Finally, he twisted the doorknob, and the door was unlocked. That was a good sign–Ivan was no longer deemed a threat, and could be left with the door open. Ivan most likely heard it turn, and he didn’t want to alarm him, so Till pushed the door all the way open. He expected Ivan to still be laying down, but he wasn’t in bed. His bed was made neatly, and he positioned himself at the far end of it, hands folded neatly in his lap. When Till stepped inside, and he snapped his gaze towards him.

“Good morning,” Till muttered as he slipped inside, closing the door behind him. His back stayed turned for a moment too long, nerves already getting the best of him. 

“It’s not wise to turn your back on someone you’re scared of,” Ivan said flatly. “It leaves you susceptible to ambush. Or worse.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Till immediately spun around, his smile nervous. “I’m just…”

Till shook his head, and Ivan only stared at him with those emotionless eyes. “Here,” Till said instead, setting down the paper bag onto the table. “I bought you some food.”

Ivan tore his eyes away from him–finally–and towards the brown bag. He was most likely still hungry–hopefully Luka didn’t let him continue to eat that oatmeal. 

“It’s–uh–it’s just a burger,” Till pointed out, voice thinning out.

Ivan reached over, and grabbed the bag. His eyes flicked over to him. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Till dismissed his gratitude, ease overcoming him, enough to actually sit down. 

Ivan opened the bag and pulled out the cheeseburger. Without hesitation, he unwrapped it and tore into it in big bites. Till tried not to stare, but three days without food must do that to a person. The only sound was his chewing until Ivan dragged his forearm across his mouth, smearing away the ketchup that had run down his chin. It couldn’t have been that good; the bar’s cook had grimaced the entire time he made it–but maybe Till didn’t want to know what Ivan normally ate to make two-day-old oatmeal seem acceptable, and a greasy bar burger feel like the finest meal since those five-star restaurants Unsha and Urak used to take them to. 

“I would like to formally apologize for my conduct,” Ivan said at last, breaking the silence. Till blinked at him. “I have been informed I was out of line. It will not happen again.”

“Oh,” Till smiled, surprised. Till didn’t expect Ivan to apologize for that day. He understood that everything must’ve been very jarring to Ivan–having just survived a plane crash, getting shot, and then waking in their infirmary. Till couldn’t fault him for just trying to do what he was conditioned for, and he seemed remorseful about it. Perhaps he realized that turning them in was wrong. “It’s alright.”

“I have also been briefed on my revised duties while stationed here,” Ivan continued.

Till froze, tilting his head. “What duties?”

“You and the others are already contained,” Ivan said, his voice monotonic as he explained. “This facility is for observation; studying the cognitive dissonance of fugitives in a controlled environment. My interference would compromise the experiment. I now understand this.”

Till was left speechless. His heart felt heavy as he stared at Ivan, completely unbothered by the spill that just left his mouth. He still saw them as criminals, and not only that, he was completely under the impression the base was a PDA ‘lab.’ He didn’t know why he was so hopeful. Till laughed dryly, running a hand through his hair the more ridiculous he felt. Ivan’s expression remained blank, not fazed by Till’s sudden bout of laughter. 

“So… what?” Till decided to humor him. “You’re supposed to follow me around, or something? Observe my behaviour?”

“Precisely,” Ivan nodded, like it was simple. Till stopped smiling. 

What in the world did Isaac tell him?

A couple of knocks landed on the door, and then Isaac walked in. The smile on his face faltered with just once glance at Till. Till stood up and marched towards the door. 

“Isaac–can I talk to you? Outside?”

“Uh–Sure,” Isaac barely got to get the word out, Till already leaning against the wall. Isaac gave Ivan an excuse before closing the door behind him. “What’s wrong?”

“You told Ivan that we were already contained inmates just–living it up under the PDA’s watch?” Till waved his hands, exasperated. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Hey,” Isaac hissed, grabbing his shoulders. “It’s the dumbest thing you’ve heard. Not Ivan. We tell him the truth, and he escapes to hand in our coordinates,” Isaac jerked his head, trying to get Till to understand. “Or we tell him he’s on assignment inside a PDA study, and he thinks he’s just doing his job–and we remain safe.”

That made sense, and if Till was a brainwashed Segyein weapon, he’d probably believe it, too. 

“Okay,” Till whispered, exhaling. “But what’s this whole thing about ‘observing’ me?”

Isaac gave him a sheepish grin, and he didn’t like it. “Ivan should be healed up enough in the next few days in order to leave the infirmary. You want to help him, right?.”

Till’s stiffened. “I didn’t agree to being monitored.”

“Yeesh,” Isaac clicked his tongue. “You make it sound like I told him to watch you while you sleep–”

“Which he very well might do.”

“Till,” Isaac squeezed his shoulders. “It’s like I said; it’s just for the meantime. Just until we break down some of those walls.”

“And what exactly am I supposed to do with him until then?” Till asked, genuinely lost.

It had been naive to think Ivan could make real progress overnight, but now Till had to play along with a fabricated story? It was too much. How was he going to explain this to Vivi? That some mechanical man was moving into their apartment and would be watching their every move because that was his ‘duty’?

“Ivan needs purpose,” Isaac explained softly. “Find out what he’s good at. What catches his interest. If he latches onto something, it might be the key to breaking past that exterior, and getting him settled onto the base.”

“So should I just bring him on a mission–?”

“No missions,” Isaac cut in before the sentence could even escape fully. “Anything but guns, fighting, or–you know–guard-esque things.”

“Okay,” Till said after a moment, nodding his head reluctantly. “I’ll do it.”

“I believe in you, Till,” Isaac fist pumped the air. Without warning, he spun Till back towards the door and pushed him back inside. 

“Ivan,” Isaac cleared his throat, trying his hardest to sound authoritative. “As previously stated, Till will be your assigned subject for this mission. You will reside in his quarters and monitor his activities–excluding sleep and bathroom breaks. I expect thorough reports and a positive outcome, Guard 7089.”

Till’s breath caught. Ivan sat up straighter, lifted a hand to his forehead in a sharp salute, eyes narrowing with focus.

“Yes, sir.”

Till bought Ivan home a couple of days later. He followed behind him closely–eyes calculating, so much so that Till thought he might actually become successful in burning a hole through the back of his head. He kept his route deliberate, avoiding Luka entirely. No telling what Ivan might say if he saw the group of kids; Till hadn’t caught Luka up on the new arrangement yet. That explanation would come over text tonight, hopefully along with ideas for what in the world to even do with Ivan. Having so many kids kept Luka on his toes, fresh with ideas–maybe he’d have something up his sleeve. 

 He lived on the third floor of the apartment compound–had since he was discharged from the infirmary all those years ago. It only got more lively within the last year when Vivi moved in, but he didn’t know if his new addition would add more brightness or envelope them in the dark. Once his key twisted the door open, Till sighed out as the cool breeze of the AC greeted him.

“I’m home,” Till called out, catching himself. “Uh–we’re home.”

Ivan didn’t step inside until Till gestured for him to. His gaze swept the room briefly before he copied Till’s motion of removing his shoes. Isaac had given him a couple sets of clothes, and Till supposed it was up to him to supply the man with more. When Till got no reply, he stalked out of the living room and to the kitchen, Ivan close behind.

“There you are,” Till smiled in relief. Vivi sat on a stool at the kitchen island, shovelling handfuls of dry cereal into her mouth. “You remember Ivan, right? He’s all better now and has come to live with us!”

Vivi only responded in a slow blink, but she did hop off of the stool. Till rounded the island, and placed his hands on her shoulders. Ivan stared at them from across the counter–expression unreadable. They stayed like that for what felt like an excruciating moment until Till slipped out a small, awkward huff of a laugh. 

He guessed he had to the introductions. 

“Okay,” Till stretched the word out, forcing a smile. “Vivi, this is Ivan.” He gestured across the counter. “And Ivan, this is Vivi–”

“She is also a fugitive,” Ivan interrupted, factually. “However, I would not classify her as a pet, given her lack of an owner.”

Till eye twitched, and Vivi looked up at him, lost. The clock on the wall ticked on.

“Are you a pet?”

Both men looked down towards where the soft voice came from. Vivi stared straight at Ivan, the question hanging in the air. 

“No,” Ivan answered. “I am not a pet. I belong to the PDA.”

“So,” Vivi said slowly, “you’re a fancy pet.”

“Alright,” Till overpowered her voice with his wobbly one. “Did you do your homework?”

Vivi shook her head. “I’m confused about a few math problems. I was waiting for you to get home to help me.”

Till patted her head, and ushered out of the small kitchen. “Get your homework out in the living room, and I’ll help you.”

Vivi nodded, and she shuffled away to do what he said. Once she was out of ear shot, Till whipped his head toward Ivan. 

“You have got to stop doing that,” Till hissed.

“Doing what?” Ivan cocked his head, that the fact he was genuinely clueless made Till’s blood pressure rise.

“Pointing out who’s a fugitive,” Till slammed his hands onto the counter, leaning over it. Ivan remained bothered. “You’ve done it the whole way here, and it’s really embarrassing.”

“I am simply stating observations,” Ivan countered flatly. “For my reports.”

“The only person you’re supposed to be observing is me,” Till jabbed a thumb at his chest. “Not strangers on the street, not random kids, and definitely not my daughter.”

“Then what do you prefer I do as an alternative?”

“Um, I don’t know–lie?” Till said like it was obvious. 

“That’s a request I cannot adhere to,” Ivan remained rigid across from him. 

“Why not?”

“I cannot lie.”

Till paused. “Everyone can lie.”

“Guards are prohibited from lying,” Ivan replied. “I am incapable of falsification, unless disclosing the truth results in putting the PDA at risk. ”

“Okay,” Till leaned back, scrunching his face. “Whatever that means.” He didn’t want to think about it.

Ivan only blinked, making no move to clarify–and he really didn’t need to. 

“Just,” Till stumbled over the words, irritation edging in. “Do your little fugitive tally in your head, alright? No one needs to hear what they already know. It’s depressing–especially when we’re… you know, in a PDA camp and all.” 

The words scraped out of his throat, leaving a sour taste behind. Till was never much of a liar, but by the look on Ivan’s face, it was clear the man didn’t even consider the possibility that someone might lie to him. That blind trust was almost–sad. Sure, it was stitched together from Segyein propaganda, but in the context of real human interaction, it sounded brutal. Made Till feel guilty. 

“Very well,” Ivan replied curtly. “I will refrain from such statements. All verbal observations will be limited to matters directly concerning my subject: you.”

Till could only give him a shaky thumbs up, unable to respond with words; he didn’t have any. For some reason–despite the lack of emotion–it sent a chill down his spine. The living room light clicked on overhead; Vivi was ready for help with her homework. Just as Till was stepping out of the kitchen, Ivan’s voice followed him.

“From my recollections,” It was still deep--almost a like warm blanket, yet devoid of any trace of emotion; happiness, anger, calmness. Cold. “You have never demonstrated above-average competency in mathematics.”

Till ignored him, though heat crept up the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure if there was a soul buried anywhere inside that shell, and he hated that–despite knowing better–he still let the words get under his skin.

Observation Report – Subject: Till
Filed by: Guard 7089 (Ivan)
Date: 05-09
Time Span: 1500–2230

Summary of Activities:

1500–1515: Arrival at Subject’s quarters. Environment: climate-controlled, third-floor position. Presence of minor civilian “Vivi” confirmed. Vivi identified as fugitive. Subject exhibited agitation upon verbalization of this fact.

1516–1525: Subject attempted formal introduction between Guard 7089 and Vivi. Interaction disrupted by my factual clarification regarding Vivi’s status. 

1516–1525: Vivi questioned Guard 7089 regarding pet status. Guard clarified affiliation with PDA. Vivi concluded this classified Guard as a “fancy pet.” Subject redirected civilian with task completion order (“homework”). Vivi complied.

1516–1525: Subject expressed frustration regarding my observation methods. Subject issued verbal directive to cease “fugitive identification” aloud. Suggested alternative course of action: deception. Request declined due to Guard protocol prohibiting falsification unless truth-telling results in termination. The subject did not request further explanation. Alternatively, Subject requested internalization of fugitive counts. Agreement reached: verbal observations to be restricted to matters directly concerning Subject.

1516–1525: Guard issued observation regarding Subject’s historically substandard mathematical competency. Subject ignored comment. Physiological reaction noted: ear tip flushing, rigid jaw, clenched fist. Emotion classified: … Cannot classify.

1525–1630: Subject assisted Vivi with mathematics. Observed State: neutral to mildly exasperated. After “homework” Vivi participated in activities in the confinement of her sleeping quarters. Did not emerge until “dinnertime.”

1901–2130: Subject and Vivi consumed dinner. Contents: instant noodles, carbonated beverage. Minimal verbal exchange: Vivi exhibits signs of selective mutism. Post-meal activity: viewing of animated moving-picture involving anthropomorphic animals.

2131–2230: Vivi retired to sleeping quarters, accompanied by Subject, who read aloud from a fictional novel, eventually ceasing activity. Subject exhibited signs of fatigue: slower speech, extended yawns. Subject entered a sleep state: unknown. Guard not permitted access to the sleeping quarters.

OVERALL CONCLUSION: 

Subject displays a low level of threat. His cooperation level is moderate–stubborn but compliant to alternative solutions. Psychological stability is unstable but non-hostile. Displays sensitivity to perceived criticism.

Continue observation. Maintain proximity to Vivi for potential information on Subject. Avoid verbalizing fugitive identification to preserve Subject’s integrity. Refer to recollections for leverage on emotional vulnerabilities. 

End of Report
Guard 7089 – Ivan

Chapter Text

Having Ivan around made it hard to do, well… Anything. 

Till couldn’t go on missions because Isaac forbade him from doing so, and he couldn’t leave the base due to Ivan being under the assumption no one could leave. He had been stuck inside his apartment for the last three days, Ivan towering over him when he so much as moved his pinky toe. The best part of being rescued by the rebellion was that he had freedom–he could go anywhere he wanted, do anything he wanted, eat anything he wanted. Now with him being tasked as Ivan's ‘Subject’, Till felt extremely limited–like the walls of his apartment were shrinking in around him. Vivi was at school during the weekdays, and he always spent time with her during the weekends. But now he had to incorporate Ivan into the equation. 

Till laid sprawled across the couch, the TV droning on with some cartoon he’d long since tuned out, letting an afternoon nap take him. When he finally cracked his eyes open, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

“How long have you been standing there?” Till blurted, his voice pitching higher as he scrambled upright, gripping the back of the couch.

“Aproximatly two hours, twenty-two minutes, and 35 seconds,” Ivan replied without missing a beat. His arms were clasped behind his back, head angled downward–as if to get the best view of him. Till blinked rapidly, calming down enough to slunk back down into the sofa, throwing his arm over his eyes with a long exhale. 

“Didn’t Isaac say you can’t watch me while I’m sleeping?” Till shifted his arm, peering over at him.

“He prohibited me from entering your sleeping quarters,” Ivan clarified, making a small gesture to the space around them. “This is a public area.”

“It’s my living room,” Till deadpanned.

“Yes,” Ivan said with a decisive nod. “And I am permitted to observe you within its corners.”

Till groaned, finally sitting all the way up; nap thoroughly ruined. “You can watch TV, make yourself something to eat, go outside and get some fresh air. You don’t have to watch me twenty-four-seven.”

“You are my subject,” Ivan replied, straightening to his full height. “No other past-time activities are of relevance.”

“Not even food?” Till raised an eyebrow at him. 

Ivan's stomach growled between them, yet he remained rigid to its grumbling sound. 

“Guards do not concern themselves with the quality of meals, only that they are enough to stifle hunger in the midst of task completion,” Ivan replied.

“I thought Luka was exaggerating,” Till mumbled over his shoulder.

“Please refrain from inaudible vocalization of thoughts,” Ivan’s eyes followed him as he got up from the couch. “It will cause inaccuracies in my reports.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Till waved the comment away, already heading toward the kitchen. “Come eat.”

Ivan didn’t retort this time, instead following behind him.

 Till sat beside him, taking bites out of one of the sandwiches he lazily put together–just some of Vivi’s lunch meat, leaves of lettuce, a tomato slice, cheese, and whatever condiments were still lingering in the fridge. Yet by the way Ivan was gobbling it up, one would assume Till had created a meal worthy of its own restaurant.

 Ivan never expressed hunger, or thirst–Till just had to guess, or else the man would sit there otherwise. It took Till some time to get used to making three plates at dinnertime instead of two, and whilst Vivi picked at her plate, Ivan always gave it back cleaned of its contents, making it known that he ‘completed his obligation.’ Till had always told Vivi to at least touch everything on her plate, and he figured Ivan had taken that as a command, too. 

When Till looked up from the sandwich in-between his hands, Ivan still chewed idly on his last bite. The side of his mouth had leftover mustard.

“You have some mustard,” Till said, tapping the corner of his own mouth. “Right there.”

Ivan shifted, tucking his sleeve into his fist like he was about to drag it across his face. Till’s eyes went wide, hands flying up.

“No, don’t do that,” Till strained. He hated when Ivan did that the first time he’d seen him eat. The man consumed food so messily, like it was going to run straight off his plate. “Here, use this.”

Till extended a paper towel towards him, and Ivan took it with some hesitation. He roughly wiped it around his mouth, but the yellow streak remained. Till tried giving directions– left, no right, up a bit –but Ivan kept missing, each attempt more awkward than the last. With a resigned sigh, Till took the paper towel back. One hand held Ivan’s face steady while the other swiped the mustard away, the motion quick and automatic, something he could almost pass off as parental instinct. Ivan stayed still under his touch, until he abruptly twisted his head out of Till’s grasp and stared down at the floor. The suddenness of it left Till blinking, a little stunned, before he tossed the napkin onto Ivan’s empty plate.

“Got it,” Till mumbled, resting his chin in his palm.

“Is this what your usual day-to-day routine consists of?” Ivan asked, seemingly recovered from his initial discomfort.

“What do you mean?” Till said, gathering up both their plates.

“Sleeping, eating, more sleeping–staring at the wall until your dependent returns to the residency?” Ivan recited, and Till shot him an unimpressed look.

 “What you’re describing is called ‘boredom.’ And no, this is not what my typical day looks like.”

“I don’t believe I will gather sufficient intel for my reports if you continue this act of ‘boredom,’” Ivan stepped up beside him at the kitchen sink. He watched with the same unnerving intensity as always, like Isaac was going to personally review and critique Till’s dish-washing technique.

Till exhaled, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling. If Ivan could just keep his uncomfortable thoughts to himself, maybe they wouldn’t have to haul up in his apartment. He’d been turning over ideas on what to do with him for days, but every option seemed to end in some form of humiliation. Isaac had told him to figure out what Ivan was good at, but so far the man seemed perfectly content to do absolutely nothing; just sit there, looming, under the guise of “observation.” There had been a time when Till used to daydream about all the things he could do with Ivan, places he’d found since his death that he thought Ivan would’ve loved. The beach, the underground arcade, and the spot where they’d first watched the stars. Till had gone back there once, alone, and the sky wasn’t like it had been that night. No streaks of falling light, just a starless, vast, midnight blue.

Till shook his head, shoving the thoughts away. He had told Luka about the whole situation, and after laughing in his ear for what felt like a full minute, Luka had actually suggested bringing Ivan to his house. 

“What do you think about baking? Or cooking?” Till stared back down at the kitchen sink.

“Nothing,” Ivan replied quickly. Of course. "Guards do not require such technical skills to complete their obligations.”

“Not entirely,” Till challenged him, pressing a towel into Ivan’s chest. He held onto it, and Till handed him a plate he finished washing. Ivan looked between the items, and eventually put it together that he had to dry the dish. “What if I’d never found you? How would you have ‘stifled’ your hunger then?”

Ivan only stared back at him, and Till decided that meant he’d made a point.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” he said, turning back to the sink. “We’ll go to my friend’s place, he’s a great baker. Maybe you’d like it.”

“Friend?” Ivan echoed. “Is this the disfigured fugitive man with the baby?”

“Hey. His name is Luka,” Till emphasized, shocked at the words Ivan used.

“I am aware of his name. I am not to personify fugitives,” Ivan stated. Till could practically feel his own eyes roll into the back of his head. “By doing so, we risk equating them to well-behaved pets. Which they are not.”

“I’d ask you to say that again,” Till said slowly, pressing his hands together, “so you can hear how insane you sound. But I already know you won’t.”

“There is nothing ‘insane’ about my proclamation,” Ivan replied, even. “It is simply a fact.”

Till only smiled at him, and Ivan remained straight-faced. He couldn’t even be mad–the man genuinely believed what he said. At least now it made sense why Ivan never used his name–it was always ‘Subject’, ‘You’, or a stare so intense Till had no option but to acknowledge him. 

“Don’t refer to him as that. Okay?” Till patted his shoulder, handing him another dish.

Ivan didn’t respond, and Till’s stomach twisted with anxiety. They stayed quiet for the remainder of time they spent washing dishes. Though Till was the one under observation, he found himself watching Ivan instead. It was about as thrilling as watching paint dry; Ivan moved with mechanical precision, drying each plate until not a drop remained, then setting it on the rack with the faintest turn, perfectly aligned–never crooked. 

“Is my obligation here completed?”

Till blinked, realizing Ivan was staring right at him. The red flecks in Vivi’s eyes were large, nearly swallowing her irises. He wondered if they’d spread as she grew–like Ivan’s had. Even when her expression looked flat and disinterested, Till could read her mood by how the light reflected in her eyes. With Ivan, it was different; he could never read them at all–except for the last time he looked into them, when he wasn’t sure if it was sorrow he saw, or just the blur of his tears. But now, as he started into his eyes–they were dim, and lifeless. He snapped his gaze away, leaning over the sink as a feeling too familiar crawled up his spine. It washed over him, and he hated the way it lingered.

“Yes,” Till nodded, voice strained as he forced the word out. “Thanks for the help.”

He could feel Ivan’s eyes on him, but he knew he wasn’t accessing him. Not in the way he used to–not with the intention to get under his skin, or to question his sudden shift in his demeanor. No mischievousness, or odd flashes of genuine care. Nothing at all. 

“I will return to the living room now,” Ivan said, pivoting on his socked feet. “Since you are doing nothing worthy of notation.”

Till waited until he left the kitchen to turn back on the sink and shove his head underneath the faucet. He let the warmth of it douse him, until it rid him of his darkening thoughts. He heaved underneath its weight, swallowing down the pain rising in his throat. He stayed there until he couldn’t breath, until the feeling failed to fester underneath the tap. He swung his head up and ran his hands down his face.

“Says the guy who just watched me sleep for two hours,” Till whispered.

Vivi walked ahead of them, swinging a bag of ingredients Till bought on the way to Luka’s house. Luka texted him that he ran out of some things, and to get them when he and the Tin Man were on the way. Then Luka took it back, because even the Tin Man had more personality than Ivan, apparently. 

“Hello, Till,” an older woman called from her porch. Till turned to wave at her. “Oh, is Vivienne with you today?”

“Hi, Cherry,” he said. Vivi was too far ahead to hear–or, more likely, wouldn’t have responded if she had. “Yes, we’re headed to Luka’s.”

“Tell him I said ‘hello’,” Cherry smiled at him, but her gaze quickly turned cynical when she landed on Ivan, who stalked closely behind Till. She didn’t greet him, and he didn’t greet her, either–which Till considered to be a good thing. 

Everyone knew that Ivan was a guard for the PDA, and naturally, they didn’t like him. If he didn’t terrorize everyone with his freakishly amazing memory of who was wanted by the PDA, maybe things would be different. They were usually welcoming to everyone who was new to the colony. 

They were almost out of ear-shot when the old man next to her said, outlandishly loud, “Ain’t that girl got the witch’s blood?”

“Clyde,” Cherri huffed, hushing him. “We shouldn’t judge her because of that.”

“Looks just like her, too,” Clyde spat, ignoring her. “She might burn down all we built here. I don’t know why Till volunteers to take in these freaks. He’s just too soft for his own good.” 

Usually.

Till hung his head, pretending he didn’t hear as he picked up his pace. But when he looked beside him, Ivan wasn’t there. He quickly spun around, and Ivan had stopped. He locked on to the man still settled in the rocking chair. 

“Ivan?” Till called, his voice shaking. “What are you doing? Let’s go.”

Ivan didn’t break eye-contact with the old man. Till wondered what he was thinking–maybe he agreed with him. The Segyein didn’t like Mizi either, and he wouldn’t be surprised if that contempt extended to their guards.

“What are you looking at?” Clyde hawked. Till rushed back, nerves building the closer he got. 

“I am considering whether this interaction warrants mention in my report,” Ivan replied candidly. “It’s interesting. Pets holding other pets upon a pedestal even they themselves cannot adhere to. It’s hypocritical in a sense that’s almost…” he tilted his head. “Humorous.”

“What did I say about observing other people?” Till gritted, tugging on Ivan’s arm to get him moving. Luckily, he started walking again, leaving Clyde speechless as they continued down the road. 

“I am making a general observation,” Ivan reasoned, jerking his arm away, and Till let go. “In comparison to you.”

“Okay,” Till responded slowly, not getting it. “Did you really have to stop and stare to do that, though?”

Ivan didn’t answer him, he only stared straight ahead–probably thinking about something Till couldn’t be bothered to even give the time of day. Ahead of them, Vivi had stopped swinging the bag, and her pace slowed, just enough for Till to realize she’d heard every word.

Finally, after what felt like forever, they reached Luka’s house. At three stories tall, it was just big enough to hold the revolving crowd of kids Luka cared for. These days, it was only Vivi’s siblings and the baby, which Till wasn’t allowed to mention. Otherwise, he might jinx the blond into temporarily inheriting three more.

Vivi only had to knock once before the door threw open, someone already waiting for them on the other side.

“Hi!” Taehyun beamed, snatching the bag from her and peeking inside.

“There’s nothing in there for you,” Luka walked up, taking it out of his hands. “Unless you want to eat flour.”

“Wait. Can I?” Taehyun asked, serious.

“No.” Luka spun him around and steered him back inside, making him laugh. “Go put on your apron.”

Vivi smiled at Luka, and he pulled her into a quick hug before she slipped past him, Taehyun already chattering her ear off. He didn’t care for a response, seeing as he could talk enough for the both of them.

“Sorry we’re late,” Till offered a sheepish grin. Luka eyed him before stepping aside with exaggerated reluctance.

“I assume someone had to–uh– clarify everyone’s position in the Segyein justice system?” Luka murmured, just low enough that only Till should have heard. Yet Ivan’s head turned toward him almost unnaturally fast.

Till flashed Ivan a toothy smile and nudged Luka further into the house as Ivan bent to untie his shoes.

“Actually, no,” Till said once they were out of earshot. “People were talking again. You know how that goes.”

Luka’s expression hardened immediately. Down the corridor, the kitchen buzzed with the sounds of kids arguing over kitchen objects.

“A bunch of adults hounding a little girl,” Luka muttered, arms crossed. “You’d think there were better things in the world to worry about. Did she hear?”

“Yes.”

Both men startled, Ivan was suddenly right there, having crept up without a sound.

“She displayed signs of indifference,” he stated. “She is not affected–if that is your assumption.”

Luka and Till exchanged a glance, one that, of course, went unnoticed by Ivan. They both knew he was wrong, but his lack of emotional competency wasn’t new to anyone–but perhaps himself. He couldn’t tell if someone was sad if they weren’t crying, or angry if they weren’t yelling. He was unaware of the subtle emotions, ones that took empathy to perceive. Ivan wasn’t even aware of his own feelings or emotions–if he had any. But Till figured he did have some variant of them, if his discomfort at being touched was any indication, even if he himself couldn’t label it.

This was obviously a conversation for another time, when Ivan was ideally not around. When would that be? Till didn’t know.

Luka clapped his hands together. “Alright–let’s get baking!”

The kitchen was already in chaos. Suella knelt on a chair, craning over the counter to peer into the bowls. Near the fridge, Taehyun chattered away, Vivi quietly tying his apron while he recounted his morning in exhaustive detail.

“Lou, you just had your hand in your mouth!”

Louie squealed as his older brother pried his hand away from the bowl of whisked eggs. Luka walked over to them, and picked Louie up from the chair, setting him on his feet.

“Lou listen to Lucas,” Luka chided him, and the little boy grunted under his breath. 

Lucas pulled Louie by his arm, and though he tried to squirm away, Lucas got Louie onto the stool at the kitchen sink, shoving his hands under the faucet so that he could wash him. 

Lucas was a great sport about going through three names, until they eventually landed on Lucas. A much less confusing Luka variant, unlike Luka Junior and L.J–though he still responded to them all for the ones who weren’t in the loop over the last year and a half. 

In such little time, the kids managed to come into themselves, and they continued to do so more and more as the seasons passed. Lucas, the eldest at nine, was responsible, polite, and always aiming for praise from Luka or any other adult in the room. Suella, eight, spoke so softly you had to lean in to catch her words, but she was incredibly artistic and imaginative. When she felt like it, she could be unexpectedly playful.

 And then there was eight-year-old Taehyun, who would happily talk until your ears fell off; whether it was about music, sports, or the latest book he’d read. He had the most energy of them combined. Vivi was the second youngest at seven years old, the quietest of the bunch, but her facial expressions always told her thoughts. Though she looked disinterested half of the time, she was perceptive, and very sweet. Louie was five years old; the youngest and the littlest, but Till didn’t know why he was born significantly later from the rest. Louie cried when things didn’t go his way and clung to Luka like they shared a body, but he adored small animals and considered the baby his best friend because she also clung to Luka–but she didn’t really have a choice. 

“Where’s the baby?” Till asked, looking at the empty playpen near the other kitchen entrance.

“She’s taking a nap,” Luka raised his voice. “So we should all be quiet.”

The effect was immediate; Suella stopped rocking in her chair, Lucas hit the tap off, and even Taehyun’s non-stop chatter tapered off. The kitchen fell into silence, the notion noted; if the baby wakes up, baking time is over. Luka carried on like he hadn’t just single-handedly tamed the room. Till could tell he’d been practicing his voices, aside from his knock-off Ivan impressions, and the kids were starting to pick up on it, too

“What are we baking?” Till asked once everyone settled.

“Lunchbox cakes,” Luka announced proudly. “One for each of us that we’ll decorate at the end.” Upon hearing this, Taehyun practically vibrated in place, ready to start.

“Ivan,” Luka continued, “how about you partner up with one of the kids.”

Ivan’s gaze swept across the kitchen, and Till silently prayed he wouldn’t–be himself about it.

“Vivi and I will team up,” Till said quickly, moving toward her, and Vivi looked content with the arrangement. He hoped it would inspire Ivan to show some initiative. Luka thought this could be good for him; see how he handled both a hands-on activity and children at the same time.

When Ivan just kept staring at the remaining kids, Luka cleared his throat. “Alright, who wants to pair up with Mister Ivan?”

Suella immediately ducked her head, twisting a lock of grey hair. Louie clung onto Luka’s leg, peeking out only to glare at Ivan before hiding again–definitely not volunteering. Lucas fidgeted, polite enough to keep eye contact but clearly hoping someone else would take the bullet, and Till couldn’t blame him. When time went on and no one volunteered, Taehyun’s hand shot up into the air, taking one for the team.

“I’ll partner up with Mister Ivan!” Taehyun exclaimed, and Till silently blessed his extroverted heart. 

Luka smiled at Taehyun and stepped aside so he could squeeze in beside Ivan at the counter, nudging Louie’s chair over to make space.

“We’ll start with the eggs. I already whisked Louie’s,” Luka said, holding up a blue bowl for everyone to see–the yolks swirled in the yellow foam. “So do it just like this, okay?”

“Okay!” The kids chorused, perfectly in sync.

It was the last coordinated thing they managed for the rest of the activity.

It started with the eggs. 

“Do you want to crack the eggs, Mister Ivan?” Taehyun offered, and Ivan glanced at the ingredients before them.

Slowly, Ivan plucked the egg from Taehyun’s wobbly palm. Across the counter, Vivi cracked her eggs neatly over her bowl, and Till caught Ivan watching her, so he expected him to imitate her. Ivan pulled the bowl toward him. Then, with a force so abrupt and excessive no one could have prepared for it, he slammed the shell against the rim. The egg exploded on impact; half the yolk dripped into the bowl, the rest splattering across his hands and streaked Taehyun’s shirt. 

“Oh,” Luka muttered, speed walking over to them. “It’s alright.”

“You did it too hard,” Taehyun held his arm out so Luka could wipe away the yellow goo. “Maybe I should do the eggs.”

“Yes,” Luka nodded–partly because he didn't want to clean it up. “Let Taehyun crack the eggs, and you can make the other ingredients.”

Ivan didn’t disagree–or well, say anything–so Taehyun took that as a yes. The eight-year-old managed to do a much better, less messier job, and they moved on to the next steps. He stood beside Taehyun, intently watching as he poured sugar into a measuring cup, and Taehyun held a nervous smile the whole time as the man silently picked apart his actions. 

“That’s excessive,” Ivan said at last, taking the cup from his hands. Taehyun blinked, instinctively stepping back as Ivan tipped some sugar back into the container, then added more to the cup-only to scoop a final pinch out again.

“Um, I think being a little over is fine,” Taehyun tried.

“No,” Ivan replied, not missing a beat. “It must be exact.”

Taehyun didn’t try to argue with him anymore. In fact, the chatterbox grew more and more quieter as the baking went on. Till watched from the corner of his eye as Ivan took over measurements, Taehyung slunking whilst Ivan took his time, making sure every amount of ingredients was up to the standards of the recipe Luka gave them to follow. Luka tried to step in a few times, but Ivan would only allow Taehyun a fleeting task before spotting some “inefficiency” and reclaiming control. 

The other kids worked either entirely on their own or with only the occasional nudge from Luka or Till; everyone except for Louie, who wasn’t strong enough to pour or stir certain things. Taehyun, on the other hand, was perfectly capable of handling everything himself, yet so far his only real contribution had been cracking the eggs. Luka wondered if he’d made a mistake not pairing Ivan with Louie, but Till knew that putting two stubborn personalities together would’ve been a full-blown disaster. Louie was already sulking because Luka hadn’t let him pour the milk, unable to grasp that the jug was too heavy for him.

“You’re not maximizing efficiency,” Ivan stated. Taehyun, after being so patient, finally got to stir all the ingredients into batter. “The contents will clump if you continue to move at this pace.”

“I can do it,” Taehyun huffed out, his sunny demeanor gone away a long time ago. He tried to move faster, but his arm was obviously tired. “See?”

Ivan narrowed his eyes, and pushed Taehyun to the side, taking his spoon, and began mixing it himself. Till and Luka stirred everyone’s batter, too, but it was understandable that Taehyun wanted to do it. Taehyun had barely done anything the whole time, and Ivan either didn’t notice or didn’t care. All he wanted was a flawless cake; whether Taehyun enjoyed making it or not was irrelevant to him. 

“Ivan,” Luka interjected, pointing towards the oven. “Can you pre-heat the oven, please? Do it like it says in the recipe.” 

Ivan stopped stirring, having been given another task, and left to do as asked. Taehyun thanked Luka under his breath, picking up where Ivan left off–but he had already stirred it smooth, leaving Taehyun with nothing to do. Luka murmured something reassuring, ruffling Taehyun’s hair, but it didn’t crack a smile from him. The boy sank onto his knees in the chair, arms crossed. Taehyun being angry was rare, and never a good sign. 

“Why don’t we think of ways to decorate our cakes while they bake?” Till suggested, and Taehyun finally lit up.

“I want mine to be pink and purple,” Suella murmured to Lucas, who nodded encouragingly. 

“Suella, can you draw a baseball on mine?” Lucas chimed, Suella hummed happily towards the request. 

“I want yellow,” Louie announced.

“What about you, Vivi?” Till asked her, and she only shrugged after a moment of thought. “Well, that’s okay–you have time to think about it.”

“I’m gonna make mine green, with dinosaur spikes!” Taehyun exclaimed, earning gasps from his siblings at how cool that sounded. 

“No,” Ivan shook his head, Taehyun slowly put his arms down, turning towards him. “We’ll make it white. On par to the recipe.”

Taehyun frowned. He’d been patient the whole time, letting Ivan take over every step without much protest. But this? This was the part he’d been looking forward to most.

“You go to do everything,” Taehyun pouted. “We’re going to decorate it the way I want.”

“We share the contribution of effort,” Ivan replied, speaking over him without a hint of irritation–flat. “We will follow the image in the recipe for full completion.”

“No, we won’t,” Taehyun got louder. Luka slid Louie off of his lap, readying to walk over to them. 

“Hey,” Luka called out.

“Yes, we will,” Ivan replied, shutting Taehyun down with effortless finality. “If you didn’t wish to, you should have made your own cake.”

That was the breaking point. Whatever retort Taehyun had brewing crumpled in his throat, dissolving into hot, angry tears. He pushed away from the counter and bolted straight into Luka’s arms, burying his face in his torso and mumbling incoherent complaints between sobs. Luka attempted to comfort him as the rest of the kids shot Ivan a glare.

 Then the smell of something burning hit all their nostrils. 

Till ran towards the oven, killed the heat, quickly grabbed the mittens, and tore open its door. Smoke came out in big puffs. A heavy cloud of smoke rolled out, curling toward the ceiling. Holding his breath, he hauled the trays out, but it was too late to stop the smoke alarm from shrieking to life.

Till wrung his hands, watching Luka hold one of the trays, glaring down at it like it had personally offended him. In the corner, Taehyun sniffled while Lucas patted his back in slow, unsure circles. Luka drew in a long breath, then set the tray down with a clatter. He leveled a stare at Ivan; prolonged, and impossible to misinterpret, though Ivan somehow did–standing there with a soldier's posture, face unreadable.

“They’re still salvageable,” Till offered weakly. Luka’s head whipped toward him, and he immediately wilted. “Just… cut off most of the sides and–”

“Ivan,” Luka cut in, voice taut. “How high did you set the oven?”

“Four-hundred and sixty,” Ivan replied without hesitation.

Luka pinched the bridge of his nose, though not because of the smoke still curling through the air despite every downstairs window being thrown open.

“I said to preheat the oven,” Luka said, each word deliberate. “You cranked it past the limit before anything even went inside. Then, when I told you to set it to three-forty, you… turned it up?”

“Yes.” Ivan didn’t even blink. “So it would bake faster. I forgoed the recipe’s suggestion–”

“It wasn’t a suggestion ,” Luka snapped. “You spent the entire afternoon lecturing Taehyun on following the recipe, and then you ignored the most important step.”

They all stood there in silence, not another word leaving anyone’s mouth. This was the point where any reasonable person would apologize, or at least pretend to. But Ivan said nothing–not because he was guilty, and not because he feared another word might push Luka to the edge. He simply didn’t understand what there was to apologize for, and he didn’t. Till felt like he wore most of the responsibility, and that he should’ve watched Ivan more. Of course the man wouldn’t enjoy baking cakes with a bunch of kids he could care less about–only seeing fugitive signs over their heads. Till didn’t know why he thought any of this would work. 

Luka began to speak, but the smoke alarm blared again.

“Luka…” Till tried. 

“I’m finding it, Till,”  Luka muttered, palm pressed to his forehead, eyes shut. From upstairs, the baby’s wailing joined the alarm, and Till was fairly sure he could see a vein throbbing at Luka’s temple.

“I have a question relevant to the situation at hand,” Ivan leaned in so Till could hear him.

“Yes, Ivan.”

“What exactly is he searching for? Standing there won’t resolve the problem.”

Luka’s head snapped up, eyes flaring, the heat of it pushing Till back a step.

“Get him out of my house,” Luka said through his teeth–he didn’t need to say it twice. Till gestured for Ivan to follow, and the man complied without protest. As they left the kitchen, they passed Vivi on a chair, using the broom handle to jab the alarm into silence.

“Are you staying?” Till asked her. Vivi glanced at Ivan, then nodded, slowly, as if she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

Till gave her a somber smile. “I’ll pick you up later. Have… fun.”

Vivi snorted. Till shook his head, and with one last hesitant wave, he and Ivan slipped out the front door.

Till wasn’t ready to go home. If he did, he’d only end up pacing, replaying how badly it could have gone, when the way it actually went was just as bad. He doubted Luka would ever let Ivan near the kids again, or even want to see him himself. It felt like Till was losing the fight entirely, and all he had to show for it was a man wearing the face of his childhood friend. Ivan trailed him without question as they passed Till’s apartment compound and headed deeper into the base; past rows of residences, corner businesses, and other functional buildings, until the streets thinned out and they reached the colony’s edge, where a barbed-wire fence marked the line between them and the rest of the world.

“You are prohibited from leaving the premises,” Ivan said mechanically behind him.

Till keyed in the code at the gate, the lock clicking open. He pushed it wide and stepped one foot past the threshold, glancing back over his shoulder. Ivan stood stiff, almost startled into silence. Till’s grin widened as he placed his other foot over the line. Without another word, he turned and started down the path beyond the fence. 

He was certain this would end up in Ivan’s report, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Staying in the colony now would only suffocate him. He needed to do something, anything, before the thoughts clawing at the back of his mind caught up with him. He kept walking until he heard the faint sound of uncertain footsteps following behind him, and not long after, Ivan fell into step. Till glanced up at him, but Ivan’s eyes stayed forward, as if he knew he had no authority here, not now that they’d left the colony. On the way to the abandoned building Till had in mind for a while now.

Once they arrived, Till wasted no time prying open a window and climbing inside. Ivan stayed on the ground, silent, watching him commit a crime right in front of him-then simply walked through the hingeless door instead. Till’s eyes lit up as if he’d struck gold, though the place was nothing more than an abandoned clothing store the rebellion had looted a couple of years ago. The Segyein had been too afraid to reclaim it, so it had become Till’s personal hangout.

 To most in the colony, the place held nothing of value. To Till, it was a museum of the past; old pet collars, and torn Anakt Garden uniforms; each item tugging at memories he revisited often. Dewey explained that it was a seasonal ‘theme’ shop, a place aliens could bring their children to be dressed up for special occasions, with Anakt Garden offered as one of the costume options.

When he belonged to Urak, Till had never dressed up for a day like that, but he was sure Sua had, from what she told Mizi. One section of the store still mirrored the Garden perfectly: the same uncanny, nostalgic wallpaper of a faux spring day, the faded white gowns and collars displayed, and the red flowers. They were only found in Anakt, but somehow–perhaps to really sell the deal–they landed all the way out here.

“Do any of these mean anything to you?” Till broke the silence, leaning over one of the display boxes. The faded label beside it read SYNCGLOW 2.0. By now, these collars were outdated. Greedily, Till had a thought–he grabbed two of them.

“No,” Ivan’s reply came automatically. 

He stood still for a moment, then began scanning the shelves and displays, probably for the sake of his reports. Till let himself hope, just for a second, that Ivan was searching for a memory, or some kind of connection. But he knew better. When Ivan finally turned toward him, Till slipped one of the collars over his neck. 

Ivan jerked back, eyes widening a fraction. “What are you doing?” he asked, watching as Till peered at the dark dot in the center of the band.

Till didn’t answer. He just waited, but the light stayed dead.

“Is it broken?” he muttered under his breath. 

Before Ivan could intervene, he clasped the second collar around his own neck. This time, a faint green glow flickered to life. The dot bounced off the glass of the display case as he bent to check it. He didn’t understand, but for some reason, it made him sad. It was selfish, he knew, but his heart quickened at the thought that this might be a bridge between them, a way to finally understand Ivan, even just a little. But the light on Ivan’s collar stayed dark. Till found himself wondering if guards, though still human, were immune to its particular kind of humiliation. The shame engulfed him as he unlocked the collar, slowly facing Ivan again with an apology on his tongue. 

But he froze. Ivan had drifted over to the flowers on display, twirling one of them in between his fingers. The cameras in those things were long dead, disconnected from the Garden, and therefore served no purpose. But Ivan eyed it uneasily, his breathing the most uneven Till’s ever heard it–until he suddenly grunted, and the flower fell from his grasp with a thud. Ivan staggered back, holding his head, sounds of discomfort scratching at his throat as he struggled to keep himself outright. 

Till rushed to him, holding him steady by his shoulders. “Are you okay?”

Ivan gasped, and for a moment Till could’ve sworn something in his expression shifted, then Ivan shoved him away. The force of it was so hard that Till knocked into the counter behind him, grabbing at it for purchase. But Till couldn’t react to the pain in his lower abdomen, his gaze was locked on the glass in front of him–Ivan’s collar flicked on, and he hadn’t even noticed. It gleamed bright red. 

Ivan fisted his fingers around the collars, prying at it, trying to get it off. Till’s stomach bloomed with a horrible feeling, and he recovered enough to attempt to go and help him. 

“Do not touch me,” Ivan gritted when Till’s hand reached out. 

“Just let me help you–”

“Your actions are an interference with my primary functions.”

“Your what?” Till jerked his head up, confusion flickering across his face as he pressed a hand to his stomach.

“You are searching for a person who no longer exists,” Ivan stated, his hands dropping to his sides, the glow of his collar began to flicker. “He has been dead for five years. I am not, and cannot be, the ‘friend’ you remember.”

Till paused, though he shouldn’t, he stepped closer to him. “What do you mean five years? Ivan’s– you –have been dead for nine years.” 

Till shook his head, refusing to believe the words falling out his mouth, to believe them would mean the Ivan he knew had still been there –at least for four years–before becoming whatever stood in front of him now. He stared with wide, frightened eyes, unable to fully process what Ivan was implying.

“My primary function as a guard–”

“Stop saying that!” Till snapped.

“Is to detain fugitive pets and return them to the PDA for punishment,” Ivan continued, his voice flat, reciting the words as though from an internal manual. His collar flickered; red, orange, then red again. “I was not created for culinary obligations, nor child-rearing purposes. I can only perform the functions for which I was programmed.”

“You just believe that!” Till cried out, almost desperately. His mind ran wild, the pain he felt physically went deeper, to the roots of the veins around his heart. 

“Like you all wanted me to believe your colony was a PDA run experiment?” 

Till paused, breathing heavy. Though Ivan said it like he said all things–robotic, emotionless, uncaring–it hit him really hard. So hard that he had no rebuttal. 

“The PDA would not permit fugitives to live so… happily,” Ivan said, his gaze flicking around the room as though piecing it together just now. “I have no mission there. You brought me there with the intentions of reviving your ‘friend.’” His eyes returned to Till, the collar’s glow unsteady. “But I long ago lost the function to be anybody’s friend.”

Ivan’s collar went dark once the words left his mouth with finality. But Till heard the way they sounded uncertain, confused–like someone questioning their purpose. He reached up, and unlocked the collar on his own, but he kept it in his grasp. 

“It would be in your best interest to return me to the PDA headquarters,” Ivan stated, walking past him and towards the broken door. 

Till traced him with his eyes, but for some reason he was blurry. He was angry-so… angry. His fist clenched tightly.

“What?” his voice raised. “I take you back just so you can rat the base out?”

Ivan stopped in the doorway, he turned back with piercing eyes, looking over Till like he did all the time–like he was nobody. “Yes. Did you expect a different answer?”

Till’s chest heaved, thoughts swirling and tangling until they no longer made sense. He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak; he just moved. Shoving past Ivan, he burst out of the shop and clattered down the rickety steps. He walked without really feeling his legs, swaying under the weight of emotions that threatened to pull him under. His sleeve dragged across his eyes, rough against skin gone raw, and the brittle crunch of leaves beneath his boots were the only thing proving he was still there–unaware of the extra set of steps following him home.

“ Did you really think that you could replace me?”

Till sat on the floor beneath his bed, legs pulled to his chest. His fingers clutched around his neck as he swayed to and fro, lost in the continuous motion. He went to pick up Vivi, went to the store to buy ingredients for dinner, and came back home. But he could barely remember any of that–he didn’t even know how he got to where he was. His eyes burned, each blink dragging heavier than the last. His nails dug deeper into his skin until it stung, until it burned. His breathing hitched and quickened, like no amount of air could fill his lungs.

“Did you hear that?” 

Till froze up, and stopped breathing completely. He knew he heard that voice when he left the shop, but he ignored it–because it couldn’t have been real. Not that it was ever real. But it couldn’t have been him. 

Ivan’s slender hands wrapped themselves around his waist, his head dipping onto  his back as he let out a low rumble of laughter. “I’m dead.”

“Leave me alone,” Till whimpered weakly. “I know that. We’ve been through this.”

“So why did you believe it, hm?” Ivan asked him softly. His breath brushed against Till’s skin as his hands slipped under his hoodie, pressing against the fresh bruise from where Till had hit the counter . “Why did you think–even just for a second–that I could be him? I’m gone, Till.”

“I know,” Till tried to shove him away, but he clung tighter. Flesh began to stick under his nails the more he scraped down his neck, blood trickling from the open wounds down his collarbone. “I know that… now. I won’t look for you ever again, alright? So leave.”

“You say that,” Ivan sounded playful; he always sounded playful. It was a contrast to the other Ivan–and both of them hurt. So much. “But you look for me everywhere. You looked for me under the stars, at the beach, in that little girl. Now, you’re searching for me in my corpse. How–cute.”

“Go. Away!” Till yelled. 

“Dad?”

Vivi’s voice came through the door, small with worry. Ivan was no longer there, and it was just him–alone in the dark. He pulled his hands away from his throat, cursing under his breath at the metallic smell around him. 

“What’s up, Vivi?” He hoped it left him confidently. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Till replied, but he couldn't get himself to move. “I’m fine. Are you hungry? Dad’s kind of tired tonight…” He was going to make dinner, but his mental state declined before he could.

“That’s okay,” Vivi responded after a pause. “I can eat cereal for dinner. Um… does that mean no bedtime story?”

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Till held his head down, ashamed of himself. How could he let it get this bad again. “Tomorrow night, okay?”

“Okay.” Her voice was small, a hit of disappointment. “Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight, Vivi,” Till murmured. Then, more urgently, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Vivi’s shadow disappeared from under the door.

Till buried his face against his knees, teeth biting hard against his lip to hold back the sobs. It felt like losing Ivan all over again.

Ivan sat on one of the sofas in the living room. It was his bed. The Subject made it for him his first night here because he had no extra rooms. It was fine, because Ivan could sleep anywhere. His blankets were folded off to the side, not yet ready to go to bed yet. He focused on the collar in his hand, turning it around in his palms. He never wore one before, he thought. Maybe when he was a child, he had, but it was such a distant recollection he couldn’t conjure it up. He brought it back with him, and he didn’t particularly know why. Ivan knew that it was meant to tell the pets emotions through the rate of their heartbeat, but that’s all the Segyein’s had told him. He didn’t need to know more. 

Absently, his fingers crawled up to his over his shirt, and rested over his chest, where his heart was. He felt the pulsating beat of it-slow, steady, and consistent. But back at the shop, he could feel it in his ears after he had touched the flower. When the Subject almost touched him. It was strange, he could only recall one time his heart ever beat that fast; in the final moments of a life he couldn’t call his own. When he held that flower, he had a recollection come to the forefront, and it struck through him in a sensation so foreign that he couldn’t control his actions. 

The grey-haired boy gave the dark-haired boy a crown made of those red flowers. But instead of accepting them, he slapped them out of his hands, and stepped on them repeatedly with his foot. He couldn’t forget the look on the grey-haired boy's face-sadness that shifted to anger in an instant. For some reason, Ivan had hoped the dark-haired boy would take the crown anyway, even knowing it had cameras in it. That he would let desire outweigh logic. And yet, Ivan didn’t understand why his own reaction had been so strong, strong enough to keep him from letting the Subject touch him, strong enough to make him speak words he immediately second-guessed. A deep ache had settled in his stomach and lingered throughout his body.

Ivan was certain the Subject would not let him come back with him, but he did. He took him back to residency and left again. Ivan’s been sitting there ever since, long after he returned home with his dependent and bags containing food. The Subject went into his sleeping quarters and hadn’t come back out. Ivan wasn’t sure if it was because of him, or simply because he had chosen to retire early.

Ivan heard footsteps, and snapped his head up. It was the dependent. He didn’t know that she was still awake. She was always so quiet, he couldn’t gauge her enough to write her into the reports. She hopped onto the couch, and sat beside him. The television was on the news, and it filled the silence neither of them were intending on filling. Yet… 

“I apologize,” Ivan said, dragging his gaze toward her. She held something on her lap, hidden in a plastic bag. “For ruining your cooking endeavors this evening. I hope you were able to fix my mistake.”

Her eyes were as red as his, and he knew this. He knew they were related, but didn’t concern himself with it. But it was odd. Sometimes looking at her resembled looking through a mirror. Eventually, she only shrugged. Ivan didn’t know if that meant she accepted his apology or not, and shifted his gaze back to the collar. Then, he heard the ruffle of the plastic bag, and she sat what was in it onto his lap. The collar slipped from his grasps as his hands settled around the plate. It was a cake-decorated white; just like the image in the recipe. In wonky uneven frosting, the cake spelled something out:

WELCOME HOME

Ivan stared at the letters, trying to dissect their meaning. He hadn’t eaten anything sweet in a long time, most of the food he ate couldn’t compare to what the Subject cooked. Yet he didn’t understand the message. He wasn’t home; he didn’t have one. Even returning to the PDA wouldn’t change that.

He turned to look at the dependent, ready to ask about the cake, but she was already gone. The click of her bedroom door echoed behind him. Ivan remained on the couch, staring at the cake, alone.

Observation Report – Subject: Till
Filed by: Guard 7089 (Ivan)
Date: 05-13

As per Isaac’s review and critique of my previous report, I was instructed to reduce the length of my observations. He also requested they be more personal and less technical. In response, I will now write my reports in a letter format.

The Subject spent the past few days inside his residence. During this time, I noted that he enjoys watching cartoons, preparing meals, and drawing in a small notepad. I have not seen the drawings; he completes them in his sleeping quarters and does not share them. The dependent speaks rarely, but she and the Subject share a distinct form of communication. They exchange looks and expressions that convey meaning I cannot decipher. It may be instinctual. I have also observed this between the Subject and his blond-haired friend, the one with many children.

In the village, civilians speak about the dependent openly, even in her or the Subject’s presence. This strikes me as strange, but consistent with common human behavior. The Subject, however, does not share these traits. He could be described as “caring” or “kind,” despite having what might be considered many faults. The civilians referred to the dependent and myself as “freaks.” I did not understand the term’s meaning, but the dependent seemed to, and she appeared unaffected. I wonder how often this occurs.

I am having difficulties comprehending the fugitive dependents. I caused one to be reduced to tears. I also upset The Subject’s friend, and I am not sure on how to proceed. At the end of the day, the dependent gave me a cake that said ‘welcome home’ despite my lack of residence. Does she consider the couch my home? Unsure, I will investigate this further.

CONCLUSION:

The Subject continues to display high levels of instability. Harm levels remain low, but I suspect this assessment may not fully apply to himself, given the scars he bears. I will continue to work on my objectives as outlined in the previous report, with one addition; an objective for myself, as requested. 

ADDITIONAL TASK: Understand the concept of “self.”

Chapter Text

When Ivan woke up on Sunday morning, no one was home. He heard the front door open, and The Subject asked his dependent if she had everything she needed for school on Monday before the door shut behind them. Ivan usually woke up before the both of them, so it was odd for them to not only be awake, but leaving. That must have been intentional. He lingered on the couch after folding his blankets, waiting, but The Subject didn’t come back. Eventually, Ivan stepped outside and leaned over the railing, eyes narrowing toward the space where The Subject always left his motorcycle; the spot was empty. He stared at it for a moment longer, then headed back inside. He picked up the collar from where he left it on the coffee table, and headed towards the bathroom. 

Slowly, he clasped the collar around his neck, hearing it lock in place–but nothing happened. His mind pulled back to last night, to the sudden flare of red against the glass, the way it had painted Till’s face. The crimson hue emphasized his locked tight jaw, glossy eyes, and flushed cheeks against the dark. Then, just as abruptly, as if confused itself, the dot stuttered before it had died.

Ivan didn’t know why it happened. Perhaps it was the fire that had consumed him, from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head, a surge of something he couldn’t name. A dip in his stomach that mellowed him out the moment he pushed The Subject away. He couldn’t explain it, nor could he summon it again. It hadn’t felt good, exactly, but it had been something. And he hadn’t felt anything in a very long time. But strangely, he knew he had experienced that heat within his bones more times than he could count, back in a life that no longer belonged to him. But that night, he was so intertwined in it. Maybe that was why he was still here, instead of yards away, reporting this place to the Pet Disciplinary Association. He didn’t understand it.

He wondered how The Subject got his to turn green. What did green mean again?--Heartbeat steady, pulse calm…

Content. 

How could he become content? What made The Subject happy? Was it the dependent? But she wasn’t there at that moment. Was it… Ivan himself? 

Ivan stared intensely at his reflection, tracing his lips, nose, and jaw. Waiting. 

If The Subject had the collar on when Ivan told him that he was going to report his home, would it have burned red?

Abruptly, he unlatched the white band, yanked open the cabinet under the sink, and tossed it inside. The plastic clattered against the wood. He slammed the door shut. After brushing his teeth, Ivan flicked off the light, and stepped out of the bathroom. Guards had no need for feelings, that’s why it wouldn’t turn on now. He didn’t know why he was overthinking this, and if anyone knew the collar reacted to him–even briefly–he’d been terminated by now. 

He sank back onto the couch and stared at the empty living room. In the past, when he had no tasks or obligations, he’d simply be shut down, in rest mode until the Segyein reactivated him with orders. But here, there was no rest mode. He was awake because his body was no longer tired, and that meant he had to occupy the hours himself. His eyes drifted to the remote, and he fumbled with the buttons until the channel shifted, then shifted again. He kept going, sometimes letting a broadcast or show run for thirty minutes, only to flick away the instant commercials interrupted it. The cycle repeated, almost hypnotic.

He had never been allowed to watch television in his pod, or even before then–in some faraway reality, Unsha grumbled that all that slop would melt his brain despite his wife saying Ivan could watch it for a few minutes. The only media approved for Guards were Segyein training reels, state news, and old black-and-white films stripped of anything resembling substance. But here, the channels had so much variety, cluttered with color, sound, and story. The other day, the dependent had watched a superhero movie. Ivan had pretended to focus on The Subject scrolling idly on his phone, yet found himself drawn toward the plot, toward the characters. If nothing else, it passed the time, and by the time the sun began to set, The Subject and his dependent still had not returned home. 

Ivan tore his eyes from the TV after hours glued to it, and stumbled his way into the kitchen. It dawned on him that he hadn’t eaten all day, but there was no one around to serve him during his allotted time. Opening the refrigerator, he found the dependent’s gift–the cake. Last night, he had set it on the table before going to bed, and at some point it had been moved here. Untouched, the white frosting still held its uneven message. He took it, along with a fork, and carried them to the island. For a long moment, he only stared at it, repeating the ‘welcome home’ in his head. Then he picked up the fork, and took a huge bit out of it. It was sweet–alarmingly sweet. He forked up another bite, and then another bite until the small dessert was all gone. It was really good–slightly burnt, but he supposes that was the result of his oven… situation. 

But he was still hungry, he realized, his stomach growling for more. He searched inside the fridge, trailing all the things in there he didn’t know the first thing to do with; raw vegetables, uncooked meat, and some kind of wobbly fermented soy bean paste that did not smell good. Slowly, he tried to remember how The Subject assembled their sandwiches the day prior, and gathered what he thought were the right pieces and slapped them together. The result dripped condiments everywhere, soaking the bread until it sagged in his hands. It was edible, at most, enough to keep hunger at bay–and that was all that really mattered in the end. But still, he craved for The Subject’s cooking, they not only tasted good, but they were very nutritious, and filling. He didn’t understand why the dependent never finished all her food. 

After washing the dishes and drying them, Ivan studied the clock on the wall, and it was past nine. He went back to watching TV, until midnight fell upon him and he was still all alone. 

On Monday, he woke up to the sound of children’s laughter playing on the television, curled up in the ball he formed himself into sometime during the middle of the night. His blankets were still folded off to the side, and he realized he fell asleep still waiting on The Subject and The Dependent to get home. The apartment was quiet, just like the day before, and though Ivan was used to the quiet, he quickly became accustomed to The Subject making some kind of noise. Ivan rose from the couch and stalked down the hall–towards the sleeping quarters. 

He wasn’t allowed in the sleeping quarters, he had no permission to enter, and therefore no reason to travel there. Still, his steps carried him past the dependent’s room. A piece of white cardboard was pinned to the door, her name scribbled in crayon, he had memorized her handwriting. Ivan slowed, then continued until he stood before The Subject’s door.

Ivan hesitated, then raised his fist and knocked. Having got no response, he knocked again. Slowly, he curled his fingers around the doorknob and pushed the door open.

 The sunshine bled through the drapes, The Subject’s bed was neatly made, though everything else about him was disorganized. Papers littered the desk in disarray–some crumpled into balls that had missed the trash can and lay scattered beside it. Clothes hung off the chair, as if abandoned after being placed there. On the nightstand, the dependent’s toys were strewn like forgotten ornaments. A crooked line of wooden ducks guarded the side of the bed, left as if playtime had paused and never picked back up. Everywhere Ivan looked, the room held remnants of… a family. 

Ivan gazed around a bit more, barefeet tentatively stepping on the plush carpet. Just as he found himself rounding towards the desk, seeing a paper mache in the shape of that flower–he stepped on something. It made a crumpled sound underneath Ivan’s weight, giving out. He crouched and picked it up; tissue, wrinkled and dry to the touch. From what he could see, reckless red spots  dotted across it, dark and uneven. The more he unfolded it, the more stains stretched outward, seeping through the fibers until it was fully open.

Blood.

Ivan’s first instinct was to drop it–that he had gone too far, and broke their agreement. He wasn’t even meant to be in here. But he realized that by doing so, it would be a tell-tale that he had been. So he crumpled the tissue back up and stuffed it in his pocket, quickly walking back towards the door. Though he couldn’t fight the urge to look to his left, there were four more crumpled pieces of paper at the end of the bed, and he could see the splatters of blood in their creases. His stomach twisted and turned, descending deeper, then deeper–into nothing at all–then he closed the door behind him. 

He left the apartment. 

Not right away, he lingered for a few hours, drifting from the couch to the window, pacing the hall. The afternoon light stretched thin across the floorboards, and still The Subject’s motorcycle was gone. It felt like yesterday replaying itself, the same silence, the same waiting. Eventually, he changed clothes and took the elevator down. The doors slid open onto the base, spilling him into the streets where the noise of others made the quiet of the apartment feel even heavier. He walked, fists clutched in his pockets, avoiding eye-contact with those who looked upon him with skeptical expressions, folding in his lips so his thoughts wouldn’t betray him. He walked until the pavement turned into grass underneath his shoes, until the buildings and shops faded, and he was hiking up a familiar hill. Until he stopped at that three story house with all the fugitive dependents. 

He knocked–half-expecting to be greeted with silence, like all doors he knocked upon lately. 

The curtain on one of the front door windows moved, just slightly. Then it fell back into place. After a few seconds, the locks on the door clicked, and the door pulled open just enough for a single blond eye to peek at him.

“Where’s Till?” the man asked him, voice high in question. 

Ivan offered him a shrug. “I do not know.”

“You’re alone?”

“Correct.”

The door shut without another word, and Ivan only stared; it didn’t surprise him. He turned to leave when the door suddenly opened wide. The blond leaned against the frame, his face blank. Silence stretched between them.

“Well?” the man asked, jerking his head.

“Well?” Ivan echoed.

“You knocked on my door,” the blond pointed out. “What do you want?”

“Oh.” Ivan’s gaze dropped to his shoes. He wasn’t good at conversation. His hands were shaking for some reason, though the blond didn’t strike him as dangerous. At least, he didn’t think so. “Right.”

He patted at his pockets, fumbling clumsily through his jacket, then his pants. The blond crossed his arms, growing impatient, until Ivan finally pulled free a crumpled piece of paper and held it out. The blond snatched it from his hand with a skeptical look, unfolded it, and let out a short snort.

Ivan waited, and the uncovered eye flicked back up at him.

“Can you assist me,” Ivan asked, shoving his hands deep into his pockets again, “with preparing that?”

“You want me to teach you how to cook?” The blond said it like he couldn’t quite believe the words out of Ivan’s mouth.

“Yes,” Ivan answered. “Are your… children here?”

“They’re at school.”

“Okay,” Ivan eyed him, watching him think. 

The man squinted, then finally asked, “You won’t burn my house down, will you?”

Ivan searched his expression for a joke, but found none. “I cannot promise that,” he said honestly. “But I will do my best.”

The blond stared at him for a long moment, then down at the recipe again. With a sigh, he shrugged in defeat. “Good enough. Come inside. And don’t touch anything unless I tell you to.”

“Very well.”

Without the dependents around, the house was very quiet, save for the television playing some children’s program. Ivan stood in the middle of the kitchen, awkwardly spreading his arms out as the man tied the apron around his waist. He didn’t concern himself with the technicalities of preparing a meal, but the man wouldn’t allow them to get started without it, so he went along with it all. 

“What makes you want to cook baked pasta?” the blond asked. Ivan noticed how tightly he yanked the strings before he tied them in a bow, unsure of how intentional it was–but he ignored it. 

Ivan found the recipe in one of the kitchen drawers, preparing to make himself another unappetizing sandwich. It was in a cookbook, the pages yellowing from how old it was. He flipped through it, staring at all the pictures, and realized he would prefer not to stomach another one of his abominations. So he rifled through it a couple of more seconds before ripping out the page that interested him the most. But that wasn’t the only reason Ivan wanted to learn it. 

“The Subject and his dependent left the apartment Sunday morning, and have not returned,” Ivan explained, turning towards the countertop whilst he went to get the needed ingredients out of the fridge. “Do you know where they went?”

“Vivi has been staying with me since Sunday,” he replied, throwing some vegetables onto his cutting board. “Till? I don’t know where he went. I haven’t been able to reach him.”

Ivan's eyes strayed towards the playpen in the entrance of the second archway into the kitchen. He just noticed the baby sleeping soundly on her back, twitching slightly at the subtle sound of the man closing the fridge. This was his first time really seeing her, and he had never seen an infant before.

“Did something happen between you guys?”

Ivan flicked his eyes back towards him, the man leaned against the counter, now looking at him. Slowly, Ivan nodded his head–not elaborating more than that. The blond only sighed, and pushed himself off of the wooden, dusting his hand, as if he expected as much. 

“Why didn’t he leave the dependent with me?” Ivan blurted. “If he wished to clear his head, he could’ve done so without feeling it was necessary to leave her with you.” Ivan didn’t know why it had bothered him so much, only that he was perfectly capable of caring for someone other than himself. 

“The same reason you’re here learning how to cook baked pasta,” the man countered with a raised eyebrow. He perked up, and Ivan didn’t like the way his lips spread apart the more he thought. “Wait… is that why you’re here? You want to be useful to Till?”

“I want,” Ivan repeated, and it sounded strange as it left his lips, “to be dependable, yes. I don’t think it’s right of me to be taskless, especially in his absence.”

“I don’t think Till expects much of you. Except, you know–observing him,” the blond said, getting a big pot from one of his cabinets. He put it under the tap and rinsed it out before refilling it, heading towards the stove. “I thought you weren’t interested in this stuff.”

Ivan stepped closer as he put the pot onto one of the burners. “You’re supposed to be instructing me. Not preparing it for me.” 

The man whipped his head around, and snorted again–it seems Ivan was leaving him bewildered a lot today. “Then watch closely because I’m not repeating myself.”

Ivan would like to think he was doing much better than before, if the man’s facial expression were any indication of that. He watched Ivan like a hawk, letting him do almost everything, only stepping in to correct his chopping and seasoning proportions. Though it was just a task, it was somehow entertaining in a way, following steps precisely in hopes for a great outcome. The blond took over for the final step which was transferring the pasta into a pan and throwing it in the oven to bake. He made Ivan watch closely at where he set the meter to. All that was left to do was to wait for it to bake to completion. The man made them a quick lunch and they sat down at the kitchen table to eat it. 

The man broke the silence between them. “How do you like it here so far?”

Ivan blinked. “It’s fine. Of course, it’s only for the meantime. Until…”

“Until what?” the blond reached for his cup, and took a sip from it. 

“Until I’m returned to the PDA headquarters for a new task,” Ivan finished.

 He wasn’t certain if he could tell the man about how he knew the base wasn’t a PDA experiment. He didn’t trust him entirely, and saying something like that might concern him to the point he’d tell Isaac. No one but Till knew that Ivan was no longer convinced of their fabrication. And no one knew his current whereabouts.

“Right,” he said, and it sounded stiff, “about that. Do you even think the PDA is looking for you? Seeing as to how you seemingly died in a plane crash. Speaking of which, how’d you even survive that?”

Ivan tried to keep up, but The Subject’s friend spoke too quickly, adding one thought over the other, and he didn’t know which one to address first. His mind slipped back to that night, though much of it remained a blur. When the wind grew heavier, pulling them down, until the plane began to lurch and shudder under the strain. He’d been in the passenger pit when it started to spiral. The other Guards rushed toward the cockpit trying to wrestle control back from the storm when the pilots couldn’t gain control.

Ivan had risen, climbing down the aisle, when the plane jerked violently to the left. His body slammed against cold metal, pain bursting through his skull, and then everything went black. He awoke in the dark, adorning a throbbing headache. The cockpit had split from the rest of the fuselage, swallowed by foliage and fire, the others hadn’t survived–taken in its destruction. He had crawled from the wreckage, dragging himself out through twisted panels, smoke clinging to his lungs. Eventually, he had found refuge among the cargo hold’s remains when the rain started to pour, passing out again. He only regained consciousness because he heard The Subject above him, and prepared accordingly for a fight if he decided to venture future, which–he did. 

“No,” Ivan said eventually. “I know they are not looking for me. Guards are not considered ‘human’. We are weapons, and therefore expendable. If anything, they must’ve assumed I perished in the crash with the rest.”

The blond listened to him, then let out a low hum, raising his arms over his head as he stifled a yawn. Perhaps caring for so many dependents was exhausting. “You should consider yourself lucky.”

“To be alive?” Ivan questioned. 

“Well, that, too–but to be freed from them, now. You’d be crazy to go back,” the blond froze, as if realizing what he just said. Realizing what Ivan just said. “You know?” it was quieter–fearful. 

Ivan nodded slightly, staring at his empty plate. “Yes. But–please, do not inform Isaac.”

“Does Till know?” the blond ignored him, leaning forward. “Is that why he ran off?”

Ivan could only nod again. 

“Are you going to report us to the Segyeins?”

Ivan licked his lips, jutting his head to the side. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have a communicative device,” Ivan explained, his brain scrambling for reasons, and he didn’t know why when he gave a clearer answer before. When The Subject pushed by him and wobbled away, as if he’d fall out at any second on the way back home. “So I cannot establish correspondence. And I do not know my location either. The most efficient course is to remain stationary until opportunity presents itself. And then…”

“And then you’ll report us.”

Ivan didn’t answer. But somehow, to him–it was still an answer. The man leaned back in his chair, the quiet could swallow them. If not for the baby waking up, stretching her little body until her eyes peered open, searching. She began to whimper, and the man scraped his chair back, the squeal of wood against tile cutting through the silence; Ivan flinched before he could stop himself. He watched as the blond scooped the infant into his arms, his voice softening as he murmured to her. Almost instantly, she stilled, tiny fingers curling around the knit of his sweater with startling certainty. Ivan’s chest tightened at the sight, though he couldn’t have explained why. He dropped his gaze quickly when the man turned, and listened instead to the faint, rhythmic patting of the child’s back as he moved around the kitchen, fixing her a bottle. 

“I’d understand if you wished for me to leave,” Ivan said, his fist curling in his lap. 

“You know what your problem is?”

Ivan gazed at him through his eyelashes, head still bowed. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re rude,” the man replied, shaking the bottle a couple of times before he guided it towards her mouth. “You speak with no regard to how you say it, or how it affects anyone. Yeah, it’s just the way you talk, and you think you’re just being honest–but that’s not how it works.”

Ivan’s mind trailed back to the look on Till’s face, how screwed up it was, the optimistic glint in his eyes was replaced with something he couldn’t recognize–he could only compare it to a form of… pain. He looked like he was in pain, and not from Ivan’s shove. How he made the dependent cry when he refused to go along with his idea. Ivan was being honest all those times, yet he didn’t think it warranted the reaction he received. But maybe they did. 

“I cannot control that,” Ivan replied, factually. 

The blond sat back down, the infant nestled in his arms. “Yes, you can. I thought the same thing once,” he admitted, eyes softening toward a memory Ivan couldn’t see. “But it’s not just about what you say; it’s about how you say it. People may not remember exactly what you said, but hey remember how what you said made them feel. If you don’t want someone to cry, or to walk away, then you have to change that way about yourself.”

The man then stared at him expectantly. 

“Are you saying…” Ivan spoke slowly, as if testing the words, “I should speak with regard to other people’s feelings?”

“Yes,” the man nodded. “You and Till have a long history. You should be careful in how you speak to him. He loves you a lot, and he’s struggling because of it. He can’t separate who you are now from who you used to be. Just like you can’t simply undo what you were programmed to do.”

Ivan nodded slowly, dissecting the words as best as he could. He couldn't make genuine sense of them right then, but he stored them away for later. 

“The way you explained that to me,” the blond spoke up again, “you sounded uncertain–like you were worried I’d take it badly. You’re already improving, but you don’t see it. Whatever happened between you and him that night definitely affected you.”

“But I don’t,” Ivan’s hand absently pressed against his chest, “feel anything.”

“You just can’t describe it,” the man corrected him. “I get it. I’m working on it, too.”

Ivan lowered his hands into his lap, confusion still clouding him–but there was something oddly… comforting about the exchange. That must have been why the collar hadn’t worked on him. If he couldn’t even read himself, how could it? He’d just have to try harder.

The man glanced toward the oven and stood. Without warning, he pressed the infant into Ivan’s arms. Ivan fumbled clumsily, but managed to support her before the man fully let go. She didn’t fuss at the transition, only blinked up at him while sucking from her bottle, her hazel eyes tracing his face. Ivan fed her as carefully as he could.

“I’m unfamiliar with…” He faltered, staring down at her. It wasn’t as difficult as he expected; holding a baby.

The oven timer chimed. “It’s done,” the blond announced. The smell drifted through the room, making Ivan’s stomach clench in hunger.

“It smells… good,” Ivan said.

The man smiled at him. “That’s all you. Good job.”

“…Thank you.”

He took the baby back, and to Ivan’s surprise, he almost missed her warmth.

“You refer to her as ‘baby,’” Ivan said suddenly.

The man looked up. “Hm?”

“Isn’t that what she is?” Ivan asked. “What is her name?”

“Oh.” The man’s expression softened, looking away. “She doesn’t have one yet.”

“Why?”

“Because her parents will give her a name.”

Ivan tilted his head. “Are you not her parent?”

Ivan watched his lips press downward, his fingers sweeping over her head delicately.

“No,” it left him quietly. “I’m just her caretaker, until she’s strong enough to go to the orphanage. Then someone–or a couple on the base–will adopt her. I figured they might want to name her themselves.” 

Ivan noticed how his mouth turned thin, his gaze dropping to the child. Discontent–that was the word. Ivan thought so, at least. Lately he was trying very hard to notice these things; lies, truths, what people actually meant between the lines. When he watched TV, he tested himself, deciding which characters lied, which ones told the truth. He was wrong most of the time, only sometimes right. Maybe this was one of those times.

“Are you also just caretaker of the other four?” Ivan asked, curious.

That made the man laugh. “No, those four are definitely mine. I’ve come to terms with the fact they’re not going anywhere.”

“You do not sound… discontent by that,” Ivan said, and his eyes widened slightly at his conclusion.

“You’re right,” the blond agreed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not.” He fingered some of his hair out of his face, and Ivan caught a glimpse of the left side of his face. It held purple blemish space across his face, darker than the tips of his fingers.

“If you do not mind me asking,” Ivan began carefully. “How did you acquire the burns on your body?”

The blond blinked at him, startled. He took the bottle from the infant’s mouth and set her gently back into the playpen before answering.

“You should watch your season of Alien Stage,” he said finally. “It might help you understand your past better.” A pause, then his eyes narrowed slightly. “Have you ever looked yourself up?”

Ivan shook his head. He hadn’t been given access to the internet, and never considered doing so. 

“The moment I got a phone, I looked myself up all the time,” he muttered. “It’s a good way to drive yourself crazy. But it might do you some good.”

“I don’t see how it would,” Ivan watched him return to the dining table, leaning his body against it. 

“I’m not talking about your idol profile,” the blond clarified, ticking it off on his fingers. “Interviews. Ads. Articles. Things you actually said yourself. It could be a way to rediscover who you are.”

“Okay. I will do that,” Ivan said simply. “How can I access the internet?”

The man rolled his eyes, and Ivan stiffened; he must have said something wrong again.

The blond packed up his baked pasta into a spacious container, sliding a tablet he never used on top, then stored both in a bag Ivan could carry back to the apartment.

“Remember what I said about reheating it,” he warned. “You can make a salad to eat with it, too.”

“Okay,” Ivan heeded his words. 

“Look!” a child’s voice rang out behind him. “It’s meanie who made Taehyun cry!”

“Don’t be scared, Taehyun. Papa said he’d beat him up if he ever saw him again, remember?”

Ivan turned, perplexed at the chorus of little voices. The children clustered around Taehyun, who stood at the center with narrowed eyes and an accusing finger pointed directly at him.

The blond only smiled, leaning closer to Ivan. “Pretend I beat you up, okay?”

“What?”

“Just do it,” he hissed, as the kids drew nearer.

Ivan hesitated, then took hold of his arm stiffly. “Ow,” he declared in a flat tone. “The limb in which you inflicted bodily trauma is still compromised, because… you punched me–with significant force.”

The blond placed his hands on his hips in triumph. “That’s right. And I’ll do it again if you ever make Taehyun cry.”

Taehyun grinned from ear to ear, darting into the blond’s arms as if he’d just saved the day. Ivan only stared blankly, the other children filing past him with scrutinizing gazes, except for the Subject’s dependent, who alone seemed startled to find him here. The rest cheered at the man’s declaration as they went inside. He reminded them about not waking the baby and washing their hands if they wanted a snack. Only the dependent lingered.

“Ivan’s going back home now,” the man told her, and she gazed between them. “Do you want to go with him? I’ll let your dad know.”

She hesitated, then nodded. He vanished briefly into the house, returning with a small bag; folded clothes and a few hygiene items she must have bought with her on Sunday. Ivan hadn’t expected her to choose to return with him, he wouldn’t have blamed her if she hadn’t.

“You two get home safe,” the blond said, lifting a hand in a wave as they started down the grassy hill.

Ivan stopped, turning back to him. “Why did you help me? After… everything.”

“Because Till never gave up on me,” the man said, crossing his arms. “So I won’t give up on you. Thanks for not burning down my house, by the way.”

Ivan stared at him for a moment more, then said, “You’re welcome.”

As they faded out of the distance, Luka shook his head lightly. “He’s getting there. Kind of.” Then he closed the door. 

Till had no destination; he just rode. Rode until the base shrank to the size of a pea. Rode until Sunday morning sank into night. Rode until at last he found himself in the woods, alone, staring into the crackle of a fire, the only thing keeping him warm as he made due with his makeshift bed for that night.

He felt like a terrible father, putting his own selfish hurt before everything else. But he couldn’t stay in that apartment with Ivan; not after what was said. He knew he shouldn’t take it to heart, told himself he should be stronger than that, but it was easier said than done. And that made him feel like a terrible friend, too, because he couldn’t. His emotions kept swinging–highs and lows crashing down him in waves before he could catch his breath. It was the same as back then, when life moved too fast and he could never sort out what he felt for Mizi, Sua, and Ivan until it was too late. Only now, it was worse. Back then, hadn’t known what he knew now–able to live in the bliss of ignorance. He had already buried them in his mind, forcing himself to accept their absence and move with his life. Mizi was the only one he dared believe might still be alive, and even that hope became slim the longer time passed without her face.

He had to admit it to himself: he was still a product of his past. He couldn’t handle this, and the longer he pretended he could, the worse it would break him. His neck stung, the skin angry beneath the tape he’d wrapped himself, and every tug of movement made it throb. He tried to patch it up alone, but the sterile tape only irritated him. He had to accept defeat–or else it might kill him.

On Monday morning, he returned to the base. The bar was still dark, an hour from opening, but Isaac answered the door anyway. Till exhaled slowly, then began peeling the tape from his neck. The pain was unbearable, his breath catching as the wind nipped at the reddened skin. Isaac’s eyes shot wide open, he grabbed Till by the arm, dragging him inside.

“Shit, Till,” Isaac muttered, lowering him into a chair at the empty back table. He fetched the first-aid kit from upstairs, setting out what little he had. His hands worked carefully, rewrapping the wound. When Isaac tied the last strip off, he sat back, and let out a breath. “This is all my fault.”

Till’s throat tightened, his voice frail as he forced it out. “No, it isn’t.”

“I should’ve thought about how this would affect you,” Isaac said softly. His words weighed heavy, as if he was ashamed of himself. Till stared down at the table, vision blurred with exhaustion. Sleep had been impossible because guilt gnawed at him all night. “I can’t expect you to just be fine with Ivan. Not when it means opening old wounds.”

“I thought I could handle it,” Till finally admitted it to himself. “I thought–I was over all of that. But the more he talked, and the more he hurt my feelings, the more depressed and hopeless I felt. He doesn’t care about me. Not like he used to.” The last bit left him in a whisper. “And… I can’t make him.”

Isaac’s brow furrowed, his head tilting slightly as though he wanted to carry the weight for him. “You tried, Till. You did everything I asked, this isn’t your fault. Maybe… maybe it’s best if I take Ivan off your hands for now. I’ll keep him in the infirmary until I think of something else.”

The words hit harder than Isaac meant them to. Till’s stomach knotted, and a shiver ran through him, leaving him cold. He didn’t want for Ivan to be confined like he was dangerous, just a problem to be subdued. Maybe Ivan wasn’t the problem, and it was Till that was. And if he was the problem, then the whole base was at risk because of him. For all he knew, Ivan wasn’t even in the base anymore; already gone, searching for the PDA headquarters, set on fulfilling his duty now that he knew the truth. Till’s chest hurt just at the thought of it. He couldn’t tell Isaac what really happened, couldn’t confess it. If he did, it would throw everything into chaos. The colony would turn on him, too, like they had turned on every member of his family.

“I guess he stopped writing his reports,” Till said through a nervous chuckle. Isaac gave him a confused expression. 

“No,” Isaac replied slowly. “He sent me one the other day. Why would he stop?”

Till paused, it was his turn to be confused.  He masked it quickly, rearranging his expression. “Oh. Just… because we argued. I figured he wouldn’t want to observe me anymore.”

If he was still writing, then… did he not write what happened between them in the report?

“I don’t know,” Isaac muttered, packing away a few things in his kit. “From the last one he wrote, he seemed to be really trying.”

“Trying what?” Till asked, not expecting much of an answer.

“To understand you. As a person,” Isaac clarified.

Till’s chest tightened, his heart rising in spite of himself. He shouldn’t believe that–Ivan didn’t see him as a person.

“Well,” Till murmured, wringing his hands, uncertain. “Maybe he was.”

“Are you not going home?” Isaac asked, snapping the latch of his first aid kit shut.

“Not yet.”

“Perfect.” Isaac grinned as he stood. “That means you can help at the bar!”

Till instantly regretted staying, he should’ve just gone home.

He spent the next eight hours helping around the bar, getting orders shouted at him from left and right, mixing so many drinks his arms felt like they were going to fall off. He didn’t know people could drink so much, from sunrise to sundown; but it helped keep his mind off of things. Until his phone beeped with a text message. Up until that point, he’d been ignoring calls and messages all day, but Vivi’s name flashed across the screen before it dimmed, and he snatched it from his apron pocket.

The message was from Luka: Sent your kid home with Ivan.

Till froze. Ivan–who couldn’t tell the difference between being hungry or thirsty–was supposed to know when Vivi needed dinner? His tray tilted dangerously as he typed back nothing but a row of question marks and shocked emojis.

“I’ve gotta go!” Till shouted over the music, balancing the tray as he darted toward the bar. “Vivienne needs me!”

“Okay!” Dewey bellowed back. “Grab your money before you run!”

Till ripped off the apron, snatched the wad of bills from Dewey’s outstretched hand, and bolted out the door.

Till hastily parked his bike, and ran up the apartment stairs, deeming the elevator too long of a wait. He shoved his key into the lock, and pushed the front door open–not sure what to expect. But he found… nothing. The TV was on, playing that superhero movie Vivi liked, and Ivan’s blankets were folded neatly on the couch. Nothing seemed out of place—except the smell. A warm, savory scent drifted through the living room, drawing him toward the kitchen. Till slowly walked forward, and poked his head inside. 

Vivi was sitting on a stool by the countertop, and Ivan was standing beside her. He was chopping some lettuce, though quite slowly, eyebrows furrowed in concertation. They were fine–more than that. The oven was on, heating up what was causing that delicious smell. 

“Do you think they’re cut too big?” Ivan asked, nodding at the uneven strips of lettuce on the board.

“A little,” Vivi admitted, tugging one apart between her fingers. Ivan hummed, clearly unsure what to do next.

Till sighed and stepped forward. He slid the knife from Ivan’s hand–earning a startled glance from both of them–then began to trim the pieces down. Vivi’s face lit up instantly, her shoulders relaxing as if everything was back in order. Ivan didn’t watch him, though, he watched the movements of his hands intently, like he was trying to memorize each step.

“Like that,” Till said, demonstrating with one final slice. Ivan nodded, and the oven chimed behind them, breaking the silence.

“Mister Ivan made dinner,” Vivi teased, wiggling her eyebrows at him. Till stuck his tongue out at her in return.

He tried not to look surprised, but it slipped through anyway. Of course–that’s why Ivan had gone to Luka’s. Till didn’t want to let that warmth crawl up his chest, but it did, stronger with every passing minute he allowed himself to believe.

 He stepped back and let Ivan finish preparing the salad. Soon enough, he and Vivi were perched at the kitchen island, watching as Ivan brought over the baked pasta and greens. He set the dishes down carefully, then hesitated, hovering just behind his chair like he was waiting for a verdict.

“It smells good,” Till offered, hoping to ease the tension.

“It’s edible,” Ivan said at once, as if that was the only standard worth measuring.

“Well,” Till gestured toward the food. “Dish it out, then.”

Ivan moved, lifting each plate and serving them in neat portions before sliding them back across the counter. He lingered, gaze shaky with nerves, Till didn’t think Ivan realized how transparent he was about this. Not wanting him to stew in uncertainty, Till forked up a bite and took it without hesitation.

The flavor burst across his taste buds; cheesy, herby, balanced with Luka’s unmistakable additions. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good for a first try. More than enough to fill the ache in his stomach after a day of chips and soda. 

“Not bad at all,” Till hummed, already going in for another forkful. “Really tasty, Ivan.”

Vivi didn’t bother with words, just shoveled it in like she hadn’t eaten in days, and that was enough of an answer. Ivan finally lowered himself into his chair, took a cautious bite, and gave a single, decisive nod.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I agree.”

“The best way to get better at cooking,” Till offered gently, “is to have more confidence in yourself. Your food will start to taste like it, too.”

Ivan studied him, and though his expression didn’t change, Till could tell he was shuffling his words around in his head, like he was actually deciding on how to answer them. It was strange, and made Till feel seen in a way Ivan hadn’t done in a long time–he had to look away, cheeks heating up.

“I will take your words into consideration,” Ivan said at last. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Till muttered, and they finished their meal in silence. 

After dinner, it was time for Vivi to get ready for bed. To make up for not keeping his promise, Till read her two books of her choice, and she smugly stayed wide awake, though her eyes began to droop just as he got to the middle of the second one. He closed the book when her eyes completely closed, nuzzling more into the pillow. He turned off her lamp, kissed her forehead, and softly closed her bedroom door behind him. Till wondered how Luka managed to get his four to fall asleep just as soundly, wrestling Vivi’s determination was already a chore. 

Till went to his room, and got his phone out. He shot Isaac a quick text message. 

I’m seeing improvements in Ivan. I will keep him with me for a couple of days and see how he fairs. 

His phone beeped almost instantly. 

You’re not saying that because you feel guilty. Right?

Till rolled his eyes.

No, but thanks for worrying about me. I’ll keep you posted. 

Another beep. 

I’ll always worry about my little bro. Yep, keep me posted. Don’t scratch your neck!

Till set his phone back down. He took a shower, and afterward he grabbed his notepad and pencil, fixing to doodle before bed, but a thought dawned on him.

Ivan was in the living room, settled on his makeshift bed. Normally, he sat there in silence, perfectly content with nothing but the stillness around him. Tonight was different; His attention was on the TV, remote in hand, flicking through channels. He lingered for a moment on one program, only to change it again when it failed to hold him. Till lingered in the doorway, watching him. It was oddly entertaining. Ivan, of all people, indecisive over something as trivial as television. When had he even started to like it?

Hesitation blossomed in Till’s chest, but he stepped forward anyway, circling into Ivan’s view before lowering himself onto the couch beside him. Ivan turned just enough to give him a brief nod of acknowledgment before returning his eyes to the screen, remote still in hand, clicking through the endless stream of noise and color. Till opened his notepad, and began to sketch. He never had an idea in mind, he always drew what came to him, letting his fingers control his brain, and sure enough he would end up with an animal, flower, or one of the kids. 

“What happened to your neck?”

The question startled him. Till glanced up. Ivan was watching him, one hand wrapped around his own throat, mimicking a gesture Till hadn’t realized he’d been making. His free hand dropped guiltily, shoved between his knees, and he forced a nervous smile.

“I fell off my motorcycle,” Till lied quickly. “I’m okay, though.”

“Very well,” Ivan replied, turning back towards the TV. 

Till dragged his eyes away from him, and startled himself. He drew Ivan. He lifted the notepad, bringing it closer to his face. He trialled the lines, slightly impressed with himself. He always found drawing Ivan difficult, because as the years passed–and even before then, when the man haunted him–he could never get his features right. His eyes were too big, or his lips too small, his hair never the proper length. But now–because he was sitting right in front of him–the resemblance was almost uncanny, to the point Till began to feel dizzy. 

“What are you drawing?”

“You,” Till blurted, then cursed under his breath. Why did he say that?

The noise of the television vanished. Ivan had muted it; Till could tell from the silent icon at the bottom of the screen. When he turned toward him, he nearly flinched back, Ivan had shifted closer, so close one knee rested on the couch, his arms braced behind Till’s legs as he leaned in, staring at him with unnerving focus.

“Can you show it to me?”

Till’s mouth went dry. Where did this come from? He remembered, belatedly, that he’d never shown Ivan any of the sketches he made of him. He’d shown other drawings, sure, but not those. Never those–they felt too personal, too embarrassing, too intimate. But now Ivan’s sudden persistence tugged at him, the intensity in his stare almost demanding, and a secret part of Till couldn’t help but hope. Hope that this was the same old curiosity he remembered–the kind Ivan hadn’t meant to show, but sometimes slipped out anyway, uninvited.

Slowly, Till placed the notepad in Ivan’s hand, and the man took it from his gently. He sat back on the couch, and just stared at it. But Till saw how his eyes shifted, the dimness that always lived within the red of his irises’ lit up lightly. His fingers traced the pencil marks, brushing away the eraser crumbs, as if they were tainting the piece of paper. 

Till remembered the first time he had drawn Luka. He was sitting outside of the infirmary, in one of the rocking chairs, a blanket in his lap as he gazed up at the sky. He had agreed to get some fresh air, and it became routine for them to sit under the clouds for a couple of hours a day. Till thought he looked pretty photogenic–in the natural Luka way, and so he drew him. Just as they were about to go back inside, he showed him.

“Is this how you see me?” Luka asked him, voice small, eyes never leaving the paper. 

“It’s not how I see you,” Till defended himself, crossing his arms. “It’s how you look.”

Luka still struggled with his appearance, and it became one of his biggest insecurities. But it was like seeing that drawing flipped something in his brain. Made him see himself differently, if just for that moment. And Ivan resembled him, from the way his eyebrows furrowed, to the slight gape of his mouth.

“You have exceptional artistic skills,” Ivan pointed out, and Till snorted softly. “Like from my memories.”

Memories.

“You can keep it,” Till said, ripping out the drawing before Ivan could reject his offer. “Here.”

Ivan took it with delicate hands, and Till fought the smile threatening to grace his face. He jumped off the couch, and stretched out his limbs, feigning exhaustion. 

“I’m going to bed now,” Till announced, walking away. “You should go to bed, soon, too.”

“Okay,” Ivan nodded, though he wasn’t paying him any attention–still distracted by his portrait. “Sleep well.”

“You too,” Till murmured, letting his gaze linger a moment longer before continuing down the hall and shutting his bedroom door behind him.

He was foolish, and he knew it. But could he ever give up on Ivan? He’d allow the world to beat him down if it meant he got to see Ivan’s eyes spark up like that again. He’s sure the other Ivan would tell him so as it did, but in that moment–he didn’t care. Couldn’t bring himself to care at all.

When Ivan was sure Till had retreated to his room for the night, he went to the bathroom. He retrieved the collar he had tossed beneath the sink cabinet and held the portrait gently against the mirror. His muscles tugged at his lips, and before the feeling could fade, he quickly fastened the collar around his neck, letting it wash over him. He smiled at his reflection.

The dot in the center flickered on–but it wasn’t red.

It was green.

“Content,” Ivan whispered to himself, finally able to name the feeling. He would be sure to note it in his next report.

Chapter Text

It took Ivan a while to understand how –exactly to work the tablet Luka gave him. He fumbled with it a couple of days later, remembering its existence as Vivi hogged the remote to watch the newest episode of her favorite TV show that, frankly, Ivan couldn’t get himself to be interested in. 

First, Ivan turned it on, which took a while as he pressed every tangible button and nothing would happen. After a couple of frequent taps on the screen, he finally got the idea to just hold down on one of the buttons, and a couple of seconds passed before the screen lit up; the screen was dark with a blaring white logo in the middle. It dawned on him at that moment that perhaps he should’ve asked Luka to teach him how to work it. Because getting on the internet–with all those vibrant, colourful icons lined up on the screen–made that a head-scratching task. 

“Do you need help?”

Ivan turned his head, and Vivi crawled over to his side of the couch, interested in the device in his hands. He sometimes saw her with her own tablet, identical to this one–apart from the black bunny protective case it was in. Till limited how long she could be on it, so she only used it for a couple of hours a day, usually before school and before winding down for bed. Ivan wasn’t sure if he’d be overstepping any rules, allowing her to help him. The sink in the kitchen ran, and the sweet smell of teriyaki wafted around the apartment; Till was busy making dinner, so he couldn’t be bothered with whatever they were doing out in the living room. Eventually, Ivan slid the tablet over to her as she crossed her legs to get comfortable. 

“How do I access the internet?” Ivan asked. 

Vivi navigated the screen with ease, her fingers sliding across the screen with way less difficulty than he had. She pointed toward an app; a replica of planet Earth. 

“This is the internet,” Vivi explained, pressing down to open a folder, which inhabited more apps. “This one is ViewTube–you can watch lots of videos on it. Um…oh, let me connect you to the Wifi.” She did so momentarily, then once connected, she opened up another app. “This one is Audify, you can listen to music on this one–I’ll put you on my dad’s account.”

Ivan opened his mouth to dissuade her from it, but her hands held the speed of light. In an instant, the app left its log-in screen, and an assortment of music popped up. He became dizzy just at the sight of it–so much information no else had a problem taking in, but the album pictures alone made his head hurt. He spotted a section in the library that read ‘playlists’, but Vivi had already swiped out of the app, probably to show him more things. And that she did–the clock app, the messaging app, the gallery app; many of them he found no purpose for, but it was good to know of their functions.

Soon enough, the faucet shut off.

“You guys,” Till called, coming closer, “dinner’s ready.”

Without warning, Vivi pressed the tablet into Ivan’s chest, sliding off the couch and towards the kitchen. She almost bumped into Till on her way–either very excited to eat or not wanting to get caught on the tablet. Till twisted around to watch her leave, partly bewildered, then gave Ivan his attention again. 

“Did Luka give you that?” Till pointed at the electronic. 

Ivan nodded his head, holding it closer. “Is it alright that I have it in my possession?”

Till blinked at him, tilting his head slightly. “I mean, I guess. You’re an adult, I can’t really dictate what you can and cannot have. Just–don’t let Vivi swindle you out of it for extra screen time, I swear she could watch ViewTube all day if you let her.”

“Understood,” Ivan replied, placing the device down on the table in order to go and eat. 

Ivan didn’t touch the tablet again until everyone had retired to their sleeping quarters. In fact, he wasn’t going to touch it at all, but he found himself still wide awake–the TV off so as not to disturb the others. The longer sleep avoided him, the more restless he became, until he eventually rolled over and swiped the tablet off of the table. The screen was so bright that it hurt his eyes, and he pulled down the setting menu to lower the brightness–another thing Vivi, thankfully, taught him.

For a moment, he only stared at the menu screen–at all the apps, most of them he already forgot what their purpose even was. But he didn’t forget about the Internet, and opened it. All that was there was a blank page and a blinking insert bar. Slowly, he typed in his name… then backspaced to erase it. He tried again.

Ivan from Alien Stage

It took only a couple of seconds, but soon information loaded up quickly afterwards. His profile took over the screen, accompanied by pictures of himself. He scrolled through them, and he began to feel rather strange the more he did, it was uncomfortable. He could hardly recall taking most of them, and he had a feeling even if his memories weren’t so weird, he’d still have issues identifying the time and place most of those photoshoots took place. The Idol life was grueling, but he was used to it, at a time. He hardly slept, hardly ate–all he knew was music, dance, modelling, studies–repeat. Maybe that life somewhat prepared him for the tasks of a Guard, but in the end, all it ever did was leave him delirious to the point of now, confused to who this person staring back at him even was . Ivan stopped looking at pictures, and went back to reading the information on the screen. 

Name: Ivan

Date Of Birth: UNKNOWN

Date Of Adoption: February 14th

Age of Death: 22 (XX/XX/XXXX)

Owner: Unsha

Ivan was a singer, songwriter, and model–known for his participation on the 50th season of Alien Stage . He lost to Till in Round 6, and was eliminated…MORE.

Ivan’s eyes drifted across the text, but they kept landing on his age of ‘death.’ If he died at twenty-two, that meant he was now thirty-one. It didn’t feel like all that time had passed, not really. He couldn’t remember anything four years prior to his death, it was like life entered his lungs again at twenty-six, and this had been all he ever was since. But he didn’t die at twenty-two, that much he was certain of. He opened his profile completely, and it was a fruitless read–it only explained his career, his accolades, and some of his adolescence, at least, what the Segyein knew of it. It was all very limited, Ivan didn’t think it could help him in his tasks of discovering himself. 

Just as he got to the bottom of the page, his finger accidentally clicked on a linked citation, which opened up another website. Though, it was pretty bare bones–like it was hastily put together for the sole purpose of getting a message across. It only held a small paragraph, and an image of a concealed Vinyl, Ivan’s name written in red ink on a strip of paper taped to the envelope. Underneath, it read:

“This was Ivan’s only known self-produced and written song, discovered within the Anakt Garden Lost and Found Center, auctioned off and sold to an anonymous donor. There have been speculations about the Vinyl, but the main consensus is that it was going to be implemented in an ‘comeback’ upon its discoverance, but in the end it was sold four years later.”- QUOTED from Alien Times Magazine; ANAKT GARDEN TOP-TWENTY ADDITION. 

This sole piece of plastic had been the singer’s heart–the last piece of a soul that only wished to be understood, now lost to the Segyein senseless massacre upon the human race for their entertainment. Join us in the rebellion, a group focused on rescue and fighting against the Segyein for a peaceful existence for the human race. Call XXX-XXX-XXXX for more information. 

Ivan reread the passage, then zoomed in on the image of the vinyl. He scrambled his brain, trying to derive what could be on that disk. He could recall writing many songs, inspired by a certain creative boy he always saw with a pencil and a pad, strimming notes on an imaginary guitar. He wanted to be able to express himself like the grey-haired boy. It was like he was always so attuned with his emotions, but Ivan realized as they got older, that he knew nothing about himself, either–it was only perceived, in the moment things–that he had a lot of soul-searching to do, but Ivan couldn’t be the one to say it or else he’d be a hypocrite. But even so, the boy still inspired him, so he wrote a couple of songs… and only actually recorded two. Unsha wasn’t interested in either one, so he just kept the vinyl in his room–figured they were just perceived, in the moment things, too. Ivan never wrote another song after that.

Ivan sat up, as if he had just awoken from a nightmare. He remembered what two songs they were, and his stomach felt like it had curled around his organs, squeezing until he had the urge to throw up. But he swallowed the feeling down–couldn’t name it, couldn’t place it, and it made him feel hot. Ivan started synchronously pressing buttons on the tablet, until a sequence caused the screen to flash–a screenshot taken. 

The singer’s heart–the last piece of a soul that only wished to be understood.

It was interesting; some random person could understand himself more than he could now. Or maybe he never knew himself to begin with, and that’s why he was now struggling to understand a person he never was at all. 

Ivan pressed the home button, now back at the homescreen. His mind–the technical side of it that was becoming harder to obey–told him to go to sleep, that what he saw was enough. But the other side–the one only just started to defy the rest of his being–told him to open ViewTube. So that was what he did. 

He decided to watch round one of Season fifty of Alien Stage.

The first round was between Sua and Mizi, and he hadn’t thought much about them in years. Mizi and him, from what he could recall, had been friendly. If anything, she liked him, and he hadn’t ever really known why. She was kind, and he wasn’t indifferent to her, so he figured that was enough for her to want to be around him. But perhaps there was more to it, more to her kindness, and her bright, naive personality, and why she liked him best out of all the boys in Anakt Garden. Sua… Sua was harder. Ivan liked Sua, Sua found him annoying, and often avoided him. Many commented on their similarities–one more inclined to siblings, and whilst Ivan agreed, Sua obviously didn’t, and she took the comments quite negatively. But Ivan couldn’t fault her on not liking him, especially for one of the last things he ever said to her. Ironically, he was never concerned for the feelings of others back then, too, because he made Sua cry. 

The episode started off with interviews, and then preparing for their performances. Whilst Mizi was bright in her confessionals, Sua looked nervous, and shy–as if resigned to a thought she couldn’t say out loud. It was all pretty artificial… in the beginning. The girls gave their last thoughts towards one another separately, Mizi gave Sua heart-felt words of encouragement, wishing that they both do their best. Sua muttered an apology for causing Mizi to ‘suffer’ due to her feelings, adorning that flimsy smile she did all that while, and then gave a half-hearted finger heart towards the camera before the screen went dark. 

It was jarring, the way the show swapped from a documentary approach to a more whimsical atmosphere. The two girls sang together in a duet, hardly leaving one to sing alone. Ivan noticed that Sua’s smile was no longer practiced, or so stiff that it was difficult to look at. It was genuine, a solemn, beautiful gesture. Her voice trailed off, leaving only Mizi’s to finish the song.

Ivan watched the score board shift by one point, and Sua’s gaze melted into a soft expression towards Mizi, exhausted. The camera panned to Mizi just long enough for the blood to splatter across her face–eyes widening as she fell to knees in front of hundreds. Ivan paused it, then–felt that even though he couldn’t understand the way it made him feel now, continuing would just make him feel even worse. 

He supposed he felt… sorry for them. Sorry towards the predicament, what the conclusion offered, and the butterfly effect that spiralled because of it. Out of respect for Sua, though he didn’t always show it, he couldn’t watch anymore. He powered off the tablet, and engulfed himself in a lonely kind of darkness just after midnight. 

For the last two weeks, Ivan was always glued to be that tablet. If Till thought Vivi was awful with putting that thing down, Ivan was somehow worse than her. And the crazy thing about it was that no one knew what he was doing with it. He’d try to get Ivan to put it down for longer bouts of time by asking him to help with dinner, or to do some chores around the apartment. And Ivan would do so, and quite efficiently, too–but afterwards, he’d go straight back to his tablet. 

Sometimes, Till would attempt to catch the man off guard, but it was like he had eyes in the back of his head. The moment Till ever got close enough, he turned the tablet off before locating him with his eyes, asking him if he needed assistance with anything. Till knew he said he couldn’t dictate what he could do, but now he was thinking of implementing screen time for everyone. Luka and the kids were like that at first, too, so addicted to those devices and all the things they held–games, videos, streaming services, and information. So much information that it couldn’t be healthy to constantly input it in your head without a break. Till wasn’t interested in the internet when he finally got his own phone, he truly couldn’t care about how the Segyein felt about what happened on Alien Stage , nor what they thought of him. But that was just him, and couldn’t be said for the others. Because–though Till couldn’t prove it–Ivan obviously cared. 

At nights, when Till would announce he was going to sleep after their routine of sitting down to watch TV before bed, he would quietly open his bedroom door and step out into the hall to peek at Ivan. The lights would be off, but the tablet screen lit up the room, and his eyes would be trained on it. His facial expressions would seldom change, yet his tired eyes kept reading or watching. Till didn’t want to admit it, but deep down, he was also worried–that Ivan might dive deeper than he already had, and his loyalty towards the Segyein might solidify if he ever came across something that could brainwash him more. 

Yet, the more Ivan kept it, the more Till felt he was looking at them differently. His hardened eyes softened just a bit, and the way he talked changed, too. He was more… gentler. Well, as gentle as Ivan could be–not just to him, but to Vivi, too. It was weird–Till felt like he was actually seeing them, afraid to point it out or else it might stop. At first the gestures were subtle; being more aware of Vivi’s quiet gestures, doing things without needing to be asked, and even greeting their next door neighbors despite their hangups about him. He had long stopped observing Till, but as far he knew, he was still writing his reports well enough that Isaac suspected nothing. He was more… human, though he still struggled with many things. 

The most noticeable to Till was touch.

And it wasn’t in the way Till assumed, where’d he prefer for everyone to remain at arms length. But it was almost like he craved it, without knowing. His hands would linger when they’d brush across Till’s own, and on the rare occasion Till would help him blow-dry his hair, Ivan would lean back, eyes closed as Till threaded his fingers though his hair to detangle the wet strands. And when Vivi would hold her hand out for Till to take it so that they would cross the path, Ivan would take it instead. Till would see all these things and become so hopeful, that maybe something really was changing–then a voice would nab at the back of his head. Reminding him that if Ivan ever had the chance, he’d report them to the PDA. That he should never forget those words. Ivan couldn’t lie, and therefore would keep his promise, no matter how much he seemed to be making progress. 

Yet, despite knowing this, Till liked being around him as time passed, and he wanted to spend time with him. But he couldn’t do that with that stupid tablet strapped to his palms like velcro. 

“We’re going out,” Till announced, hands on his hips. He stepped in front of the television to really seal his presence within the living room. 

Vivi pulled the lollipop in her mouth out, jerking her head to the side to see past Till. Ivan didn’t even look at him, fingers rapidly typing–and he wondered how he even got so good at that in such a short amount of time. Till huffed, and stomped forward, yanking the remote out of Vivi’s hand and swiping Ivan’s tablet out of his hand, locking it. 

“Did you two hear me?”

“I don’t want to go out,” Vivi whined, attempting to work her puppy eyes on him. “It’s too hot.”

“I have no preference towards the weather,” Ivan watched his hands, and Till shoved them behind his back, causing Ivan to stare at his face instead. “However, I would also prefer to stay inside.”

“Well guess what?” Till didn’t let him guess. “I don’t care! We’re getting out of this apartment before you two become… media zombies.”

Vivi scrunched her face, and Ivan only muttered ‘media zombies’ under his breath. Yes, it wasn’t exactly a thing, but would become one the more Till left them to rot on the couch. 

“Vivi, don’t you want to go scavenging?” Till didn’t miss the way she perked up at that. “See? I knew you would.”

“What’s that?” Ivan asked. 

“I loot old Segyein sites, places they abandon. You’d be surprised what you can find.” His arms stretched wide. “They just deserted a Guard Station after a meteor strike. Word is, it’s mostly intact. If we go soon, we might get something good before they rebuild.”

“What would be of interest to you there?” Ivan lifted an eyebrow.

“Plently of things that can help improve the base,” Till stretched out his arms. “I don’t just look for myself. It’s a way to potentially help everyone out here. Who knows, Ivan, maybe you’d find something you’d like.”

He could see Ivan thinking about it for a moment. “I don’t think I have an option to decline.”

Till smiled wide. “You don’t.”

“Then we are going.”

Vivi clapped her hands, excitedly getting up to go get dressed. Till returned Ivan’s tablet, and to his quiet relief, Ivan set it down on the table and opted to go put his shoes on instead.

Because it was broad daylight, Till had to sneak them out of the base. He wasn’t permitted beyond the perimeter when Ivan was with him, and the first time they had tried it had been a dangerously close call. Ivan had said absolutely nothing afterward, and Till was confident he’d keep quiet again. Vivi rarely spoke much at all, so her silence was guaranteed. Still, Till needed to cover their tracks; if anyone started looking for them, the whole plan would fall apart. The simplest way was to lie to Isaac.

“Vivi’s with Luka,” Till said smoothly, propping an elbow on the bar counter and trying to look casual, playing with his fingerless gloves.

“What about Ivan?” Isaac asked, brushing his arm away so he could swipe the rag over the polished surface.

“He wanted to stay home,” Till shrugged, shifting his weight onto his heels. “He’s obsessed with the TV lately–glued to it for hours.”

“He’s supposed to be observing you,” Isaac said bluntly, giving him a blank look. “I don’t see how he'd be able to do that with you off the base.”

Till rolled his eyes, partially annoyed. “Can I get one day, entirely to myself? You say that as if it’s easy having someone breathing down your neck twenty-four seven.”

Immediately, the man’s expression softened, as if seeing how strict he was being in the moment. Till understood that he was just concerned, and that Ivan was a special case for the base. But really, as long as no other PDA Guards happened to land themselves here, Ivan wasn’t a threat, and found ways to keep himself busy that didn’t involve keeping the Segyein regime. He left him alone in his apartment that one time… but of course it was different, when Till thought everything was over and the base was compromised. 

“How long will you be gone?” Isaac stopped wiping the counter. 

Till held up two fingers. “Two hours–minimum.”

“I’m giving you four. Call if you need anything, alright?” Isaac warned him, pointing his finger to emphasise this point. 

Till gave him a thumbs up, walking backwards towards the front door. “Yep. See you later!”

Quickly, Till slipped through the door before Isaac could change his mind. With one last glance over his shoulder, he headed down the block and rounded the corner where the colony walls met the gate. Vivi and Ivan were already waiting, eyes fixed on him as he dragged a discarded rubber tire away from the fence. Beneath it was a narrow hole, hidden from the cameras’ line of sight; his personal escape hatch. He’d craved it out of wire cutters he snagged from the mechanic station and a dream. It was his first year on the base, back when Isaac and Dewey shadowed his every move. Their suffocating watch had driven him to make this route, and even after all these years, now seldom used, they remained none the wiser. They couldn’t leave through the coded gate like last time due to all the residents walking around, so this was their best bet.

“Vivi, you first,” Till said, crouching beside the hole. She didn’t look surprised in the slightest–used to his spontaneous ways, and slipped her hand into his as he helped guide her down.

“Keep crawling straight. Wait for us on the other side, alright?”

Vivi nodded, a little hesitant but determined enough as she shuffled into the darkness, towards the light. The tunnel was nothing more than an abandoned pipe, once attached to the water system, now gutted clean by Till’s own doing.

“Ivan, your turn,” Till motioned him forward.

Ivan didn’t move. “What did you do with your motorcycle?” He’d noticed Till hadn’t come back with it.

“I stashed it in the bushes,” Till replied with a smirk, giving his shoulder a reassuring pat. “So if anyone checks the apartment, it looks like I’m gone. Smart, right?”

Ivan’s gaze slid away, lips pressed thin.

“Don’t answer that,” Till muttered, rolling his eyes. He gave Ivan a push, just enough to force him into a crouch. “Come on–before she decides to ditch us.”

That finally got Ivan moving. He lowered himself into the pipe and began crawling after Vivi. Till lingered a moment, rolling the tire back into place to cover the escape route. Dust clung to his palms as he pressed it against the plastic, knees brushing over the bumpy ridges.

“Dad?” Vivi’s voice carried back through the tunnel, her words echoing in the hollow pipe.

Till kept moving. “Everything okay?”

“I think I see a snake…”

He paused, chest tightening. “What?”

Her giggle drifted over them. “Just joking!”

Till let out a breath, narrowing his eyes as he rushed to keep up. “Not funny, Vivienne.”

“Was to me,” she chimed, her voice fading farther ahead.

After a few minutes of crawling, they emerged from the far end of the tunnel. Till was the last one out, squinting against the daylight as he straightened to his full height. He crouched again to brush the dirt from Vivi’s skirt and tights, flicking off the stubborn patches of dust clinging to her knees. She stood patiently, arms lifted like she was used to his fretting–which she probably was by now.

“Better,” he said, giving her a light pat on the head before dusting off his own clothes. “As pretty as always.”

Vivi smiled as she mimicked his movements, brushing her palms together before spinning on her sneakers to keep walking. Ivan tugged at the sleeves of his hoodie, dragging his hands down the fabric, frustrated by the dirt clinging there. Till’s eyes caught on a faint smudge along his cheek, likely from when Ivan had wiped his face with his sleeve in the tunnel. Without pausing to think, Till stepped closer and swept his thumb across the mark. Ivan went still, every muscle tight, but he didn’t pull away. Till’s hand managed to linger just long enough to wipe the dust clean.

Till pulled back with a shaky laugh, about to sheepishly follow Vivi–then Ivan reached out, cupping his face between his rough palms. His gaze narrowed on a spot, studying him with an intensity that made Till’s skin deepen with heat. Till’s lips failed to open to raise the question on his tongue as Ivan tugged his sleeve over his fingers, brushing it lightly across his nose. Afterwards, with that same focused care, he pressed his finger to his nose to make sure whatever had been there was completely gone, then dropped his arms to his sides. 

“You had some dirt on your face,” Ivan said, tone flat, matter-of-fact.

Till’s fingers rose of their own accord, brushing the faint tingle Ivan’s touch had left behind. “Ah, Right. Thanks.”

Ivan gave a short nod and moved past him, the breeze tugging strands of hair across his face as he walked ahead. It was long now, brushing the back of his neck, some of it pulled into a small ponytail to keep it from his eyes. Till froze where he stood, caught watching the way the wind moved through it. For a moment, he almost forgot to move at all. Then he blinked, shaking himself, and hurried to catch up. He wondered if Ivan had grown it out by choice; if it had been his own kind of rebellion–sweeping his own hands over his buzz cut.

The Guard Station looked the same as every other Segyein-owned building; pure white, stripped of character, drained of life. It was as if color itself offended them. Even the ‘pets’ were rarely dressed in anything but black or white, uniforms of obedience. Till clung to color wherever he could find it: reds, greens, blues scavenged from scraps of fabric, pieced together into makeshift outfits. He dressed the kids in pinks, yellows, purples–any shade he could smuggle into their world, because he wanted them to have what they never did growing up in Anakt garden. He couldn’t remember a single friend from his childhood wearing anything bright. A world without color was all he knew back then, and now, surrounded by its vibrance, he only felt the absence more intensely as they stalked up the rubbled roadpath. 

When he thought back to his earliest joys, only one thing stood out: his xylophone, painted in all the colors of the rainbow. That toy had been his only proof that the world could be brighter than what the Segyein allowed apart from faux blue skies and plastic green grass that hurt his bare feet. 

Till held onto Vivi’s hand, guiding her over the jagged concrete, and she skipped through the rubble as if it were a game. Every laugh that bubbled out of her rang brighter when he lifted her over a stray brick, and that was when he noticed Ivan watching. Till offered him a small smile, but Ivan only turned away, eyes tracking the empty building as if he’d walked past a hundred copies of it before.

Till never asked–too afraid to–but sometimes he wondered what Ivan’s life had been like as a guard. He tried to picture it, recalling the ones who used to stalk the dormitory halls or stand motionless during Alien Stage , waiting for the scoreboard. They hadn’t looked human, not at the time. They’d resembled machines: plated in unyielding metal, their helmets flashing with that red glare as their eyes followed his every step. But Ivan hadn’t just stood idle in those halls like the others; Till knew he’d done more than that. As a PDA Guard, he must’ve been skilled, maybe even ruthless, to still be alive in a sea of countless bodies. The thought alone sent a shiver down Till’s spine. His hand tightened around Vivi’s, as if the warmth of her palm could tether him, and his worries. He wanted to believe bringing Ivan along had been the right choices but part of him already feared it wasn’t.

Till lifted Vivi up, steadying her until she scrambled over the ruined wall and slipped inside. She landed on the tiled floor with a little hop, then turned back to wave at him. He blew out a breath, relief softening into a smile. Vivi was the quietest of her siblings, but also the bravest; the one who never flinched from challenges or strange new places–it was moments like these when she resembled Mizi the most. She was the only one who’d wanted to live with him, and she’d taken to his hectic life as if she had always been a part of it.

“Step aside so we can jump in,” Till called, and she quickly ran out of the way.

Till swung a leg over the ledge, but his grip slipped. A strangled sound tore from his throat as the world tilted beneath him–until Ivan’s hand clamped around his arm and yanked him back to balance. Breathless, Till glanced over, managing a crooked smile. Ivan stood braced against the wall, boots dug into the uneven bricks like steps. He didn’t release his hold until Till shifted into safer footing.

“I almost fell,” Till muttered, sweat prickling beneath his bandages, jumping down.

“Be careful,” Ivan replied, following him down.

“Woah.” Till turned in a slow circle, the pale glow of Segyein tech bathing his face. For all the ruin outside, the panels here still hummed bright and steady, alive with words he couldn’t decipher.

“Do you know what that says?” he asked, tapping the largest screen.

“Something about weather forecasts. Inconsistencies.” Ivan’s voice low, shifting in a way he never heard. Like he was uncomfortable. “This type of station wasn’t for surveillance, like you must be assuming. Its purpose is meant for monitoring the skies.”

“That explains why no one was here when the meteorite hit…” Till let his fingers trail across the cool surface of the control panel–

Ivan’s hand shot out, yanking him away, and his grip was firm, almost startling. “Don’t touch that,” he warned.

 Till bit his lip, the reprimand stinging more than it should have. “Sorry.”

Ivan’s grip loosened, until it dropped completely. “This place may be ruined, but it doesn’t mean the control panel isn't functioning. You should take caution.”

“You’re right,” Till lightly shook his head. “I’m just curious. I never came across a Guard Station that actually worked before.”

Ivan shrugged. “It’s complicated information intelligence. Nothing special.” He made it sound more like a dismissal than anything. He gestured ahead, already moving. “Go on. Look around.”

Just as he was about to take Ivan up on his offer, his gaze flicked back to where he’d left Vivi–only to find the spot empty.

 “Vivi?” Till called, voice already rising as he spun around. “Vivienne?”

“I’m here!” came her voice, faint but clear, somewhere deeper down the hall. He hadn’t even realized this place stretched beyond the main room.

“You okay?” 

“Yeah!” Vivi called back, distracted. “Dad, I found something!”

“Not a snake, right?” Till muttered, stooping to pick up what looked like a walkie-talkie. He turned it over in his hands, thumbing the dials. Ivan leaned over the control panel, pressing down on a joystick that zoomed in on some kind of coordinates, a red dot moving idly across the map. “Huh. Wonder if they’ve got more of these.”

“No,” Vivi replied, her voice carrying the weight of a dramatic eye roll. “It’s–it’s music. I think it plays music. Come look!”

Till glanced at Ivan, but he was distracted, fixed upon screen in front of him. Alone in his curiosity, Till followed the sound of movement down the hall and popped his head into a narrow room. He blinked. How odd; this one had been lived in. A bed pushed into the corner, dark blankets still folded neatly over it. A desk crowded with toppled things, dust clinging to their edges. And there was Vivi, balanced on her tiptoes, reaching for something just out of her grasp.

“Good find, Vivi,” Till lit up at the sight of it, Vivi huffing in defeat and standing flat on her feet.

“Dad, what’s it for?”

Till pulled out the chair next to the table, sitting down. Vivi slid into his lap, and he pulled the bulky machine closer to them. “It's a record player. I’ve been looking for one for a very long time.”

Vivi curiously placed her finger on the Vinyl still on the spindle, twirling it in a slow circle. Till laughed at her trying to get it to work like that. 

“Like this,” Till put the tone arm on the stylus, and slowly, the disk started to veer around the turntable. 

Soon, its circular motion picked up, and a lulling melody wrapped around them. Till nodded his head to the music, and Vivi cutely copied him, bobbing her head along. Till let it play for a while, and eventually realized the song had no lyrics; just a melancholy ghost of piano and guitar strings. The song carried on for a few minutes, until it was abruptly severed. Ivan marched in, lifted the arm from the stylus, and the music died in an ugly scratch of silence.

Till’s eyes snapped open. He shot to his feet, Vivi sliding off his lap.

“What’s your problem?” he snapped, frustration cracking through his voice. “You’ve been acting strange this whole time.”

Ivan met his glare with a steady, unreadable stare, but before he could answer, the locked Guard Station door clicked open. Till froze, and his hand instinctively flew to cover Vivi’s mouth. Ivan’s dark eyes shifted past him, toward the open doorway. Slowly, Till sank back into the chair, pulling Vivi onto his lap, eyes glued to Ivan.

Yes. Did you expect a different answer?

Ivan’s words knocked around in Till’s head, and his heart pounded harder the more Ivan stood there. It was incredibly stupid to bring Ivan here, but he gave in to his selfish desires of wanting a way to connect with him–to get to know him more. Now that his opportunity had finally arrived, Ivan was going to report them to whoever just walked through that door. Till struggled to breathe through his nose in ragged huffs, and Vivi remained rigid against him, her hands clasped around the arm keeping her in place. Ivan gave him one last look, and Till could feel himself begging him with his eyes, but Ivan’s expression left little to be told. The footsteps grew closer, incoherent sentences becoming tangible with every step.

“What’s the estimate until your arrival, Guard 7243?”

Till saw the familiar glint of armour in the doorway, stepping inside–

Ivan pressed himself against the wall just before the Guard entered the room, concealing himself. Till felt the heat of the red beam on the Guard’s headgear settle on them, and squeezed his eyes tight, folding his body inward to shield Vivi as the Guard mechanically reached for his gun. 

But after a long moment, he didn’t feel the familiar burn of a bullet coursing through him. He fluttered his eyes open, his fingers pressing into Vivi’s sweater, forcing himself to look. 

Ivan had the Guard in chokehold. Till watched in a still moment of shock as the man inside the metal trashed and jerked under Ivan’s weight. But Ivan kept holding him tightly, arm snug under his throat, expression blank, detached, as he dragged the man into unconsciousness, shifting only slightly to ensure his airway was blocked. Till’s breath caught,  he couldn’t move, only watched the scene with stunned confusion. Then, quickly, he pulled Vivi’s face into his chest, covering her widening eyes.

“Don’t look,” Till whispered into her ear, patting down her hair. “It’s alright.”

After a taut, breathless moment, the Guard finally went limp in Ivan’s grip. Almost instantly, he released him, the armored body crashing to the floor with a metallic thud that echoed through the room. Ivan stepped over the body, crouched, and tore the helmet free. He fitted it around his own head in one smooth motion, the hiss of the clasps locking into place cutting through the heavy quiet. Ivan pulled the body further into the room, out of the threshold, before stepping out of the room just as the door opened again. 

“You were ordered to wait outside.” An unfamiliar voice spoke up, robotic–calculated.

“I apologize, you were taking too long.” Ivan.

“Why did you change out of your uniform? We still have to proceed to patrol external activity.”

“I am in understanding of the next tasks orders,” Ivan responded, ignoring the initial question. “Give me additional time here before we proceed.”

Till heard metal creak–the mysterious Guard taking a step forward. Ivan’s shadow remained rigid against the wall. 

“State ID. Now.” It sounded angry, Till noticed. This particular Guard was certainly of higher status, yet he didn’t sound so mechanic like the rest of them. The Guard’s suspicions reeling a low, shaky breath from him.

“Four-seven-eight-three,” Ivan responded, without hesitation. 

Till’s head snapped up, mouth falling open. Ivan’s ID was 7089.

After a long beat, the Guard’s voice returned, rather clipped. “We will meet at the location discussed. Make haste–we are on limited time. You may return for your possessions later.”

“Okay.”

Till could feel the world still in that moment. Ivan slipped up right at every end. He waited.

“Once we return, you’ll be checked at Headquarters. The Segyein will initiate a reset.”

Reset?

“... Understood,” Ivan replied as the Guard turned and left, the door slamming shut behind him.

Ivan lingered in the doorway for several cautious seconds, his posture taut, listening for any sign of the Guard’s return. When none came, he stepped back inside, ripping the helmet off with a sharp hiss of released air. His breathing was heavy, uneven, eyes darting across the room as though searching for something, until they landed on Till and Vivi. For a fleeting moment, it was almost as if he had forgotten they were there. But he hadn’t, he couldn’t have. And now the weight of  what happened seemed to grind against everything inside him, at war with instinct and doubt, until it slipped away just as easily as it came. Till stayed quiet, his grip around Vivi finally easing up, and he heard her exhale from her lungs, causing him to feel guilty. Scared, almost shyly, his eyes dragged up to Ivan, uncertain of what to do from here–if they were really in the clear, given everything. If he’d have a sudden change of heart.

“Are you two alright?” Ivan asked, his voice low, expression softening as Vivi buried her face in Till’s shirt, clutching him with trembling hands. She was shaking so hard Till felt it reverberate through his own chest.

All he could manage was a slow nod, his hand rubbing gentle circles across her back.

Ivan nodded once in return, but the distress in his face was unmistakable. As if scorched, he let the helmet slip from his fingers; it clattered against the floor and rolled until it came to rest beside the Guard’s limp body.

“Get what you came here for,” Ivan muttered, stepping back as though distance might steady him. “Then we leave.” His fingers dragged along the wall as he left, coming to a fist at his sides.

Till didn’t waste any time–instantly rising to his feet once more. At this point, he didn’t even want anything. All of this felt so fruitless–so reckless, as he held Vivi closer to his chest, a voice in his head telling him a good father would not have bought her here. But he didn’t think they’d come back, what if he came here without Ivan? What if he made due of his promise? Why hadn’t he? 

He forced the thoughts down, shoving the record player under his arm. Without sparing the body on the floor so much as a glance, he strode for the door, taking the front exit this time.

When Till got back home, he found his motorcycle back in its place–and he knew he was screwed. 

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Luka defended, hands up in the air. “You left one of your gloves on the bar counter, and Dewey went to return it. Also, it’s not my fault you suck at hiding your bike.”

Vivi sat with her siblings at a table in the bar, forking mouthfuls of Dewey’s signature fried rice; a decent meal after what he’d just put her through. She was doing better than she had a couple of hours ago, even insisting she was fine, over and over. But no matter how many times she said it, the guilt gnawed at him.

Ivan sat beside him, posture rigid and upright, a stark contrast to Till–who’d collapsed into his seat like a deflated balloon. Dewey was grilling holes into their heads, their secret unraveled in one day. Now Dewey knew that Ivan had discovered the base wasn’t a PDA experiment, that Till had taken them to a Guard Station, and that Ivan had threatened to report them. In short, it was not looking good for them. 

“Luka,” Dewey snapped, causing the man to flinch. “You knew, too. I’d sit this one out if I were you.”

Luka clicked his tongue, snapped his fingers, and slid off to the kids’ table without a word. Till exhaled through his nose, eyes narrowing; of course Luka got out scot-free.

Dewey dragged a chair across the floor with a deafening scrape, spinning it backward as he sat, facing Ivan directly, causing him to look up. It wasn’t often the man didn’t smile, and it was scary for everyone the moment he was all doom and gloom. This was one of those times. 

“Why didn’t you report us?”

Ivan’s eyes darted back to his hands. “I don’t know.”

“You better figure it out,” Dewey shot back. “Because that answer isn’t gonna cut it.”

“Dewey…” Till trialled off when his stare threatened to turn him into stone. 

“I really,” Ivan sighed out, as if exhausted, dragging a hand through his hair. He looked so dishevelled, his quip responses falling short. “Don’t know. Logic attempted to guide me.”

“So you ignored ‘logic?’” Dewey spat out plainly.

“No.”

“No? You just said you did.”

Ivan’s hand slid up to his chest, clutching at his heart. Till lingered on the act, though he didn’t understand exactly what it meant. Was he having chest pains?

“Logic doesn’t feel… right, anymore,” Ivan answered quietly. “I listened to my heart.”

Everything got quiet, and Till’s worries fell away in that instant. 

Dewey had closed down the bar, Isaac away at the infirmary–totally clueless to the interrogation going on, and it was better that way. Dewey’s disappointment was easier to handle; he expected nothing from you, and if he did, the bar was hilariously low. Isaac, though–letting him down felt like punting a defenseless creature, and that was worse than Dewey’s wrath. Because, if you managed to say the right thing, he’d lighten up, because he was softy–afterall. And Ivan had unknowingly hit him exactly where he needed to. 

Dewey breathed out. “What does that tell you?”

Ivan looked Till straight in the eyes, causing him to squirm. “That the Subject, his dependent–everyone here, despite their classification, are… human .” 

Till gasped, and it was like he discovered something new, and shiny–something worth cherishing. He didn’t refer to them as pets, or anything else the Segyein told them to refer to as a way to dehumanize them. He called them ‘human’, and whilst Till didn’t know what that word meant to him, exactly, it had enough meaning for him to take action against another Guard in order to protect him and Vivi.

“So, will you report us to the PDA in the future, if you get the chance?”

Vivi shouted something, her voice swallowed up by Taehyun’s louder one. Ivan glanced over his shoulder at them, and for the first time, Till caught a flicker of light in his eyes as he turned back.

“No, I won’t.”

Dewey leaned back, scratching the back of his head. The sappiness was clearly seeping through the cracks of his semi-blackened heart, and his biggest question had been answered in a way he could live with.

“Alright,” Dewey waved a hand, like swaying away mist in the air. “What we discussed doesn’t leave this room. Understand?”

“Yes,” Ivan and Till said in unison. Dewey shot them a look, face scrunching.

“Then pull up a chair before the food’s gone.” He dragged his own over, muttering under his breath–something along the lines of, “too old for this.”

Though they nodded, they continued to stay seated in their small huddle–words unsaid between them.

“... Thank you,” Till said, fiddling with his hands. “For protecting us.”

Ivan bowed his head, raising it again. “No problem.”

“I have a question,” he quickly added, before Ivan could leave. “When that Guard asked you for your ID, why did you lie?”

Ivan blinked, then shook his head. “I didn’t lie.”

“But your number is 7089,” Till reiterated. “I would know.”

“He asked me to state ID,” Ivan said evenly. “He didn’t ask for my ID. I scanned his helmet for his number and gave him that.”

Till hummed, nodding–that made sense. Ivan was a quick thinker, Till realized, but in a way, he always was quick on his feet–recklessly so. “That was smart.”

“Yes,” Ivan agreed. “More intelligent than your hiding spot for your motorcycle.”

“Hey!”

Observation Report – Subject: Till
Filed by: Ivan
Date: 06-06

Today, I acted in a way that feels… unfamiliar. It contradicted my programming, my protocol; everything I was designed to uphold. I analyzed every outcome, weighed every variable, and as always, I reached a logical decision. But when the moment came to execute it, I didn’t.

No. I refused to.

I don’t understand why, not fully. It wasn’t logic that stopped me. It was… something else. Something deeper. I can only describe it as acting with my heart, though that is an organ I do not understand in its entirety other than its functionality to keep me alive. Yet, in that moment, my actions moved of their own accord, and I followed. At first, I tried to fight it, and I tried to convince myself I had been derailed from expectations. But when I examined the result, I could not bring myself to feel shame. Or guilt. Instead, I felt… satisfaction. Perhaps even happiness–as I’ve mentioned before in previous reports . These feelings are becoming more frequent, though fleeting currents that run through me when I know I should be feeling nothing at all. I find myself chasing it, and I want more of its sensation.

The Subject, and the dependent… they bring this feeling most often. I have factored in every possible outcome why they make me feel this way, and yet, the only conclusion I can draw is that such a loss of said feeling because of them would be unfortunate. This is for efficiency, I’m sure–for the success of my mission. Sometimes I catch him–the Subject–looking at me, eyes glossed over with something I once could not define. I now know it as sadness. I understood this in theory, but lately, when I see him, I feel them. The way he looks at me differently, how his eyes softened in that one small moment together, I feel something else entirely. Something I can’t yet name–but I wish for all the time. I am aware this is unacceptable, and  this likely warrants a reset. But I have been reset before, and still, these memories, these emotions, remain. I do not believe it would change anything.

To conclude this report: I am making a formal request. I no longer wish to observe the Subject as an experiment. I wish to remain with him, and interact with him as a human. I believe this approach will yield greater results, of course. I apologize that this report pertains more to myself than to the Subject–but, admittedly, I have not been observing him as much. I have been… observing myself, one could say. Trying to understand why I am changing–my life before what I have become. So that I can understand him, to eventually understand them all.

Chapter Text

Ivan tentatively entered Till’s bedroom–well, their bedroom now, he supposed.

After a month of recovery, he’d finally gone to the infirmary for a check-up, where Isaac had declared his injury fully healed, and Ivan wasn’t surprised; Guards were durable, built to withstand more than most, and he felt healed. Still, Isaac had dragged out the appointment, stretching a ten-minute evaluation into an hour under the guise of “extra tests.”

The questions started reasonably, then drifted into territory Ivan couldn’t categorize.

“What does your daily nutrition consist of?”

Meat, vegetables, and any snacks Vivi shared with him. 

“Do you experience any fatigue these days?”

Only at night–but he supposed that meant he was tired.

“Rate this picture from one being the lowest and ten being the highest.”

He rated it a seven, docking three points due its blurriness. 

“I heard you like In The Thick Of It. What do you think of Kiko’s character? Personally, I think the writers hate her–did you see what they put her through in the first episode of the second season?”

He quite liked Kiko as a person, but thought most of her actions were foolish. Therefore, her consequences were inevitable.

He wasn’t sure which of Isaac’s questions had been medical, or relevant to his evaluation. But somehow, that last one carried them into a debate that stretched into the late afternoon, ending only when Isaac finally agreed to disagree and sent him on his way. When he got back home, Till was waiting excitedly in the living-room, arms behind his back and a wide-grin on his face. Ivan’s gaze swept over the space out of habit, noting immediately that his bedding–the pillows and blankets from the couch–were missing. It wasn’t unusual for them to vanish briefly during a washing cycle, only to reappear later neatly folded, but today wasn’t laundry day. And the way Till darted toward the couch, gesturing theatrically at the empty space, made the absence feel intentional.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Till said, throwing a hand over his mouth in mock horror. His voice pitched higher, feigning panic: “‘Oh no! Where are my blankets? However will I keep myself warm tonight?’”

“Not exactly, no,” Ivan replied. Till puffed up his cheeks in exaggerated offense, and Ivan, realizing, added, “Just the ‘where are my blankets’ part. That much is true.”

“Okay, so basically what I said,” Till insisted, tugging Ivan’s arm and pressing himself against his side, dragging him down the hall with determination. “But fear not! I have a surprise for you!”

Ivan let Till pull him forward, only halting in his movement when he realized where they were going. Till tried to get him to continue moving, but he planted his sock feet where they stood.

“I can’t,” Ivan reminded him. “I’m not permitted inside your sleeping quarters.”

Till gave him a look, then it quickly softened–taking notice of Ivan’s nerves. 

“As of tonight, you are now granted permission into our room,” Till reassured him. 

Ivan opened his mouth to attempt and clarify what he meant, but Till pushed the door open before he could so much as get a word out.

Till’s bed was no longer  in the center of the room, stripped of the clutter of Vivi’s forgotten toys that used to line its headboard. Instead, it had been shifted to the left, the dresser now planted in the middle to divide Till’s side of the room from… his. At least, Ivan assumed it was his, if his blankets being neatly made upon the other bed was any indication. It was a little smaller than Till’s, and it didn’t have a headboard, but it had enough space to toss and turn without any difficulties, unlike the couch. And it was his. He hadn’t had a bed in a very long time, it was certainly hard to compute that he had one now.

 That Guard Station had a bed, and he wondered why it had. Perhaps their work had been considered more important than his own, their comfort a priority to ensure better performance. He couldn’t help but think, then, that the bed Till had given him–plain as it was–was a thousand times better than a Guard’s.

The line of wooden ducks sat on the dresser, facing Ivan’s side of the room. He was still piecing it all together when his gaze landed on the bed again. It took him a moment to notice the small lump nestled in the center of the mattress, pink hair fanned out across the pillow, dark eyes peeking at them from beneath the strands. Vivi stared back at him, as though she had been waiting to see his reaction all along. If he hadn’t been trained for the unexpected, he might’ve jumped. 

“Vivi has to inspect all our new furniture,” Till explained just as Vivi sat up like a person rising from the dead. “We must wait for the princess’s ruling.”

Ivan nodded seriously, not one to reject rules… usually. Vivi fluffed the pillows behind her head, smoothing out the blankets with an exaggerated care. She gave a little bounce, as if testing the quality of the springs, then grinned to herself. The next moment she was standing, hair flying as she jumped high into the air, strings of laughter drifting around the room. Vivi screamed when Till caught her by the ankle and gently dragged her down. She wriggled in his grasp, kicking and squealing as he tickled her sides.

“I said to test it, not jump on it,” Till scolded, but it didn’t sound so intimidating through his own bouts of laughter, Vivi attempting to roll away from his tickling fingers. 

Ivan lingered at the doorway, watching them; an image unfamiliar to him. Eventually, he inched across the room and sat down at the end of the bed. At the sight of his reprieve, Vivi scrambled upright and darted into his lap. Her hands clutched his sleeves as she pressed her head against his chest, using him as a shield. Ivan stiffened at first, then, slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, reeling away from Till as he leaned over the bed.

“You’re lucky,” Till claimed, leaning forward with a playful smirk, causing Vivi’s defiant laughter to stifle against his shirt. “You’re saved from the tickle monster this time. But you know he always comes back.”

Vivi leaned back in his arms, giving Ivan a small, relieved smile. His heart tightened; just for a moment, she looked a lot like him. He’d been noticing it more lately, the ways they mirrored each other. It wasn’t often that she smiled, but when she did, it was always a little crooked–like his. Like someone who’d spent more time frowning, and wasn’t entirely used to showing happiness when it finally came. He thought of the Alien Stage memorial, of the kidnapping of the children last year. He was ordered to watch out for sightings of them, and to report them if found. Now, with her running to him, trusting him to protect her from something as trivial as the ‘tickle monster’, he couldn’t stomach the idea that at one point he might actually have. He had the opportunity to do just that, and he decided against it. 

And he was ‘happy’ he had.

“Is the bed satisfactory?” Ivan asked, tilting his head. 

Vivi nodded vehemently, giving him two thumbs up; that meant double satisfactory, he supposed. Ivan struggled with an internal dilemma at that moment–should he smile back? Just as he attempted to raise his lips in a way that wouldn’t look strained, or awkward, Vivi was still staring up at him–Till swopped her up by her waist, and she shrieked at being caught off-guard. Immediately, Ivan stood up, the instinct to take her back coursing up in him, but he quickly realized how illogical that was. Till settled her on her feet, and Ivan sat back down. Yes, of course–she was safe, he needed to calm down.

“It’s time to get ready for bed,” Till instructed. Vivi groaned, flopping half her body onto the bed, her legs dangling. “You have school in the morning.”

“Can I sleep with you guys tonight?” her words were muffled in the blanket. 

Till put a hand on his hip. “We’re not staying up all night playing, Vivi.”

“I won’t play!” Vivi insisted. “I’ll go to sleep. Really.”

Till turned to him, and Ivan blinked, taken by surprise. “What do you think?”

“It’s fine with me,” Ivan shrugged, and Vivi immediately raised her head, eyes shining. 

“Come on,” Till beckoned, motioning her down the hall. “We need to pick out your clothes for tomorrow. And you can only bring one stuffed animal to bed.”

“Yes, just one.” Vivi must’ve held up a finger as they walked, incredulous by the statement. “How do you think I feel when I step on Todd and Ketchup because they’ve fallen off the bed in the night? You say you love them, but every morning you leave them to the mercy of my feet. By the way, Todd hurts.”

When he was certain Till and Vivi had gone off for her nightly routine, Ivan shifted up toward the head of the bed. He sat with his back against the wall, testing the mattress for himself, and quickly understood why Vivi had approved. It was soft in a way the couch never had been, promising no trouble falling asleep tonight. His gaze drifted to the nightstand, and resting there was his tablet, along with a few belongings he used to keep beneath the coffee table; Till must have moved everything into the bedroom for him. Like a moth drawn to flame, his hand found the device, he unlocked it, opened Viewtube with familiarity, and rewound the video already waiting for him.

He’d been playing Round 6 over and over, unable to stop. It was the closest thing he could compare to an addiction; unhealthy, painful, but irresistible for the way it had made him feel at the start. He’d only sat through the interview portion a handful of times, just enough to engrave every word he said into his memory. Luka had told him to study his own articles and interviews, to better understand himself beyond the idol persona. But nothing about those words felt true. Not a single thing. At first, Ivan chalked it up to distance, maybe he simply didn’t know that version of himself well enough yet. Maybe, given time, the contradictions would start to make sense. But then he watched Round 6. And after that, he had no trouble discerning his lies from his truths–because he hadn’t told many truths at all.

“Are you close with Till?”

Ivan–younger, brighter, unsuspecting–stared into the camera during his confessional, minutes from going against Till. 

“I’m not sure what defines close,” he laughed into his hand, eyes half-lidded as the sound drifted away. “We were fine, I guess. That’s about it.”

“How do you feel going against someone you grew up with?”

Ivan hummed in thought, staring up at the ceiling, then his eyes danced back towards the camera. Pretended to think about a rehearsed answer.

“I try not to get too emotional. But thinking about how I’ll be on stage for the first time with my childhood friend makes me want to be my best.” He nodded to solidify this answer-Unsha approved. “I’m sure he’s worked hard to come this far, and I hope he feels the same way.”

“Do you have anything to say to Till?”

Ivan gave a shake of his fist, smiling–but it looked tired… distant from the words that left his mouth–a slip up the world would only recognize until the episode aired. 

“Cheer up…?”

Till didn’t have a confessional interview. They tried, but he looked dejected, fumbling with the sleeves of his long shirt, eyes purposefully missing the ring lights. They asked him a similar first question, but he remained silent. He didn’t seem to be intentionally defiant, but it was like he hadn’t cared either way. Urak said something tense, the lens shook as he stepped into frame. Then the footage jolted as the camera dropped out of focus, tilted toward the floor just as an audible slap rang out, and the scene cut short.

Ivan only watched that part once, and he’s skipped ever since.

Till’s vocals betrayed him, the first to sing as he rose up from under the stage. Though his tone changed with the lyrics and the melody–his facial expression remained slack, devoid of any emotion or effort. He looked like had given up, despite giving his best vocally.

Ivan held onto his mic, rain slicking down his hair and face, but he sang through it all, unbothered, his voice cutting across the sea of Segyein and humans alike. It appeared like he was really putting in the effort, giving a fair fight despite the inevitable outcome. But then Till stopped singing, and Ivan finally glanced his way–saw his pain, his lack of hope–unwillingness to keep going. That was enough to break the persona that got him so far, to contradict all the words he had said, along with his snide remarks to Sua. All of it had gone out of the window at that moment when he threw away his prop and strode across the stage to close the distance between them. 

Ivan always replayed this part, when the camera zoomed in on their faces. Just as Till registers Ivan’s presence, allows him to take his face delicately into his palm, and bring him forward by his neck.  It was instinct, a reckless impulse that startled them both. By the time either of them realized what was happening, Ivan was already kissing him–sealing his fate, laying his heart bare in the worst way, in the worst place imaginable. 

Till tried to pull away, but selfishly–desperately–Ivan pulled him back in, until Till surrendered against him, hands braced on his chest to steady himself. That was when Ivan’s hands slid from his cheek to his throat, closing around it with an unshakable grip. He stared past him, past the stage lights, to the scoreboard above, watching the numbers collapse, lower and lower, until redemption was impossible. Ivan remembered the way Till’s skin felt beneath his fingertips, how his pulse faltered under his hold, how his lashes trembled shut. One bullet, another–then another. His body convulsed, blood bubbling up his throat, spilling over his lips as he spluttered. Still, he clung to Till until he couldn’t anymore, until all that welcomed him was the slick, freezing stage beneath their feet.

Then there was that face. The one that haunted him; etched so deeply into his mind that he gave it a meaning all its own. For years it lingered over him like a dark cloud, until even the memory of how it made him feel–why it made him feel at all–slipped away.

Ivan dragged his finger along the red bar, rewinding further and further until he was seconds away from the kiss. He replayed it mindlessly, as if the answer might reveal itself if he watched enough times, the odd pumping of his heart, the look in his own eyes, how he’d come undone yet felt redefined all at once. Without thinking, his fingers rose to his lips, brushing over them in a trance.

“Ivan,” Till’s voice carried down the hall, “you can take a shower now. Your stuff is in the bottom drawer.”

Quickly, Ivan shut down the tablet and threw onto the dresser. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, replaying that video. He dragged himself to his feet, and opened one of its bottom drawers, sifting through it. Ivan managed to take out some night clothes just as Till walked in, standing in the threshold. 

“You alright?” Till asked, brows lifting as he rubbed a towel through his damp hair. He was already dressed for bed; a loose t-shirt and long cotton pants.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Ivan replied, nodding a little too firmly.

“Vivi’s picking out a bedtime story,” Till said as he sat on the edge of his mattress, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll try to have her asleep by the time you get back. Sorry about that, by the way. She hates being left out of things.”

“It’s fine, really,” Ivan murmured as he headed toward the door. “I don’t mind her being here. It’s her home, after all.”

“You’re too nice, Ivan,” Till teased, flicking on the lamp at his bedside, and its warm glow softened his expression. “Keep that up and she’ll walk all over you. Kids feed on that energy.”

Ivan forced himself to look away. “I’m going to go take a shower now,” he changed the topic, leaving their room. 

“Do you want me to blow dry your hair?”

Ivan pretended like he didn’t hear him, quietly closing the bathroom door behind him. 

After a long, hot shower, Ivan went back to the room. All the lights were off now, apart from the lamp Till turned on before he left–it was just dimmer now, serving as a makeshift night light. True to his word, Vivi was already asleep, curled tightly against Till’s side with a slightly singed pink teddy bear hugged close to her chest.

At the sound of his footsteps, Till’s eyes opened, hadn’t drifted off yet. “Oh, you already dried your hair,” he whispered.

Ivan pressed his lips together and turned away. He hadn’t wanted to take Till up on the offer, not tonight, not when his mind was entirely somewhere else.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Till asked, lifting his head slightly from the pillow.

Ivan’s gaze betrayed him, drawn to the curve of his mouth; the light pink tint of them. The guilt festered, thick and insistent, and he twisted away again before it showed. He crossed the room carefully, aware of Till’s eyes trailing him the whole way, and slid under his own blankets.

He loves you a lot, and he’s struggling because of it.

There was once a time Ivan knew what love meant. However it was chaotic, inconsistent, and… hurtful–he knew. In ways that made him lament for days on end, lucid dream after lucid dream.

“I can assure you that I am fine,” Ivan said flatly, at least, he hoped it sounded that way. He rolled onto his side, turning his back. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Till replied after a long pause. The sheets rustled as he shifted, probably to adjust Vivi’s sleeping position. Ivan had just let his eyes fall shut when Till’s voice drifted across the room, softer  than before.

“You can talk to me about anything that’s bothering you, Ivan. I’m your friend, after all.”

Ivan’s eyes fluttered open, but his throat tightened, leaving him wordless. Silence settled in their stead, save only for Vivi’s steady breaths. After a moment of no response, a sigh escaped Till, and no one spoke anymore after that.

Ivan was a very private person. 

Till had grown accustomed to this part of him when they were kids, suffering through Ivan’s preferred ways of showing his thoughts; by picking a fight, or blurting out some strange remark that was never brought up again. Now, though, Ivan preferred to bottle it all up, even if his face betrayed him. Either Ivan was getting better at showing his emotions, or Till had simply gotten better at reading him. He wanted to know about Ivan, what he thought about certain foods, of certain people… of him. Ivan felt like more of a person now, but he still left far away, no matter how hard Till tried to close that gap. Even though they shared a room now, Till still found himself at a standstill. Between working at the bar and being a parent, life circumstances made it hard to stop and just–talk to him. Whilst Ivan wasn’t much of a conversationalist, still he answered questions easily enough. How complete those answers were, Till couldn’t say. For all his inability to lie, Till was certain Ivan still held on to secrets. At the very least, he had kept their little escapade to the costume shop between the two of them.

“I don’t know what to do,” Till mumbled, taking in a deep breath as the smell of Luka’s cooking rafting around them. He was baking pizzas, and told Till to come by to take a couple of them home with him. “I want to get closer to him, but he’s so…”

“Boring?” Luka offered, pointing the wooden spoon he was spreading sauce with in Till’s direction. “It’s okay. You can say it.”

Till hummed, leaning back in his chair. He found himself shaking his head in disagreement. “No. Not boring. Just…” he tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he searched for the appropriate word, but all he could land on was, “Not talkative.”

Luka laughed, sprinkling cheese across the dough.

“Really,” Till pressed. “He can be fun. When we watch TV, it’s nice. And sometimes, he even reads Vivi a bedtime story. He’s there, you know? He’s part of our everyday life. But I wonder what he really thinks of us. When he’s with you, does he talk more? About himself?”

Luka shrugged, cocking his head as he dug into the shredded cheese bag once more. “No, not really. I ask him a lot of questions, but he’s good at jumping through hoops when he answers them. But sometimes, I genuinely think that he has no idea how he feels about a lot of things.”

Till’s lips pressed into a pout, though it wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected that answer. Ivan had been unsettled ever since that night at the Guard Station; confused by his own actions, and what it meant for his future on the base. Lately, he seemed even more rattled, especially with everything he was learning about himself. Till had pieced together, through subtle spying and endless days of watching him, that Ivan had been reading articles about his own past, of his life before the Guards. But even knowing that left more questions than answers. What was he finding that affected him so deeply? Why did it feel like they were suddenly moving at different pace, until they staggered in place? Ivan’s new nervousness was jarring, almost frightening in its unfamiliarity of a characteristic for him. And it left Till wondering if he had done something wrong, and if he had–why was Ivan so afraid to say it?

“To be fair,” Luka reasoned, now reaching for mushrooms, spinach, green peppers to adorn the pizza with, “your questions aren’t exactly things you can ask around a kid. They’re better asked one-on-one. You know?”

Till blew out a breath, eyes sliding toward the playpen in the kitchen. The baby was wide awake, shaking a rattle in her pudgy arms. She sat up with the assistance of pillows around the mesh walls. She was getting bigger everyday, and her hair was growing, brown locks long enough to curl around her ears now. When she caught him staring, she babbled, and he pulled a silly face in return. She shrieked in delight before promptly stuffing the rattle in her mouth, distracted with chewing.

“Yeah, that’s if I can get him alone,” Till muttered, slumping back. 

They had that thirty-minutes of alone time before bed, where they stayed up in the living-room, watch TV together. But that was all they did; watch TV.Ivan sat absorbed in the shows, serious about the plots, characters, the stories. Till had learned not to talk during them, unless it was a commercial break. He didn’t mind, really, he just liked sitting there beside him. Then came bedtime, and Ivan would twist away from him after giving him a pretty definite goodnight.

“Go out,” Luka suggested. “The way to get a boring person to have fun–”

“He’s not boring,” Till chimed, defensive. 

“--is to make him fun,” Luka finished, lips curling into a mischievous grin. Till eyed him, wary, but Luka just kept smiling, angling his head toward the pizza as if admiring his own glorious brilliance. “If you catch my drift.”

“No,” Till answered flatly. “I don’t. I really don’t catch this drift you speak of.”

Luka clicked his tongue with a groan, and did a gesture with his fingers. He pressed his thumb to his lips, sticking his pinky finger out. Till eyes widened, and he snapped his head away, grumbling.

“I’m not doing that,” Till said firmly, cheeks heating up. “That’s–that’s–”

“I’m not saying shove it down his throat,” Luka cut in, throwing his hands on his hips. “Ask him if he’s interested in going out for drinks, get him to relax, and then–” he rushed the last part together in a mutter, “justaskhimquestionsuntilltheyspilloutofhismouth. Preferably slurred.”

Till scoffed, getting up from his seat. “I know I shouldn’t have asked you for advice. All you know is chaos.”

“Untrue,” Luka countered. “I also know persuasion. Like how I’m about to persuade you to take the kids for me on Saturday.”

Till bent to scoop up the baby, her little arms already reaching for the strings of his hoodie. He groaned under his breath, tucking them out of her grasp before she strangled him by accident. “No persuasion needed. I’ll take them. But I’ll have to set her crib up in the living room when I get home.”

Luka opened the oven, and Till’s stomach just about grumbled from how delicious the pizzas smelt. “Everyone but her. She’s coming with me on Saturday to meet a potential adoptive family.”

Till awed, bouncing her in his arms, and she put a string of choppy laughs at the motion. “Really? That’s great! I thought you'd wait a little longer, though, until she was six months.”

Luka gazed at them with a softness that didn’t quite match his usual grin, leaning back against the counter in that careless way of his. But Till caught the hitch; the way his shoulder pressed a little too heavily, how his stance faltered before he masked it, a gasp slipping out of his lips. Concern tugged at Till’s expression. Lately, Luka had been doing that more and more: leaning, bracing, and pretending the slips in his balance were intentional–no big deal.

“Are you alright?” Till asked, stepping closer. He clasped a hand around Luka’s arm, steadying him, but Luka only brushed it off with a weak shove.

“I’m fine,” Luka muttered, eyes darting away, his jaw working as if thinking of what else to say. Then, too quickly, “It’s better to get her with a family now. Before she starts learning how to speak, or more motor skills. Those are the kinds of things parents don’t want to miss.”

Till hesitated, his hand still hovering. The weight of Luka’s deflection settled heavy in his chest. Why was everyone hiding something from him lately? Ivan, now Luka. Of course he wasn’t entitled to the truth, but it still hurt. As if sensing Till’s thoughts, Luka slid a hand up his arm, offering him a genuine smile.

“I’m alright.” Luka reassured him. “You know how my heart acts up, sometimes.”

“Are you taking your meds?” Till stared him down, eyes dancing across his face. 

Luka nodded, his expression tightening with annoyance. “You have to take your medication,” Till reminded him, unsatisfied. “If you don’t, I’ll be–really upset with you.”

Luka let out a shaky chuckle, swatting him lightly before stepping away to get a couple of pizza boxes. 

“Who’d known that one day, you’d actually care if I was gone,” Luka muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” Till asked loudly, snapping his head up. 

Luka loved mentioning death, as if it were his favorite pastime. Oftentimes, he pondered what the afterlife was like–if it existed at all. There was a time humans believed in a god, but as decades rolled on with them suffering greatly under the Segyein rule, the hope that an unseen, all-powerful being would save them grew slim, until they no longer believed at all. Till didn’t know where the soul went once you died, but when one dies on the base, they hold a wake to commemorate their life within the colony, before burying them in the cemetery, close to Luka’s home. Luka went there a lot.

“Nothing,” Luka hissed quickly, shoulders hunching as if he already regretted letting Till hear. He slapped a stack of unbuilt pizza boxes onto the counter with more force than necessary. “Nothing. I said nothing.”

Till kept his gaze on him for a long moment, fighting the urge to push. Finally, he put the baby back down in her playpen, pulling two boxes toward himself and quietly helping fold them into shape.

“I thought so,” Till muttered after a stretch of silence. Luka let out a short, breathy laugh, their squabble already dissipating, but not gone–not really.

“If you do want to hang out with Ivan,” Luka carried on. “I can take care of Vivi for you this Friday night, in exchange for taking care of my team on Saturday."

Till snorted at the usage of the word ‘team.’ “Since you’re offering, then sure. You all can stay in my apartment, since I’ll have them on Saturday anyway.”

“It’s a deal,” Luka agreed. 

Till told Luka he could come by Friday, and now Friday was here, and he only had a few hours left to ask Ivan out to dinner. His stomach was in knots. He’d even practiced in the mirror, which was ridiculous. He was a grown man, for crying out loud–yet this felt impossible. Though he’d never admit it, he hadn’t exactly dated since joining the rebellion. People had asked him out, and sometimes he said yes just to be polite, but nothing ever lasted beyond that one day. It didn’t take long for everyone to realize he was too hung up on his dead-not-dead, ex-not-ex boyfriend to be capable of anything serious. Then he became a dad, and that was the nail in the coffin; romance radar wiped clean. In short: he was out of practice, way out of practice… Embarrassingly out of practice. Wait. Was he ever in practice? 

Eventually, after slapping himself enough times to turn himself red in the face, so that the actual blush wouldn’t be too normal. He tentatively crept over to Ivan, standing at the kitchen counter as he spread some peanut butter onto a slice of bread with a butter knife. Ivan’s motions stopped almost immediately, as if he had a Till radar, and looked at him over his shoulder. 

“Uh, hey,” Till stretched out, almost embarrassingly, waving. “What are you doing?”

“I am… making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich," Ivan stated the obvious, making Till blink. 

“Oh, right,” Till laughed, a little too awkwardly. He shoved his hands behind his back. “Stop making that, just for a second.”

Ivan set the knife down carefully on a napkin, then crossed his arms, leaning into the counter. He gave Till his full attention, and the weight of it made his throat dry. There were times Ivan was almost freakishly human; an odd thing to even think, let alone say. Some days he stood so rigid it was as if his bones were welded in place, but then there were others when he let himself soften: the casual fold of his arms, the lazy bend of his spine, little things that reminded Till of the past. Of Ivan, tired of being perfect, giving himself permission to slouch.

“Listen,” Ivan was already listening, of course. “I wanted to know if you’d be interested in going out with me tonight.”

“Where?” Ivan asked. Till hoped he would take some time to answer, to give him time to think. 

“Uh,” Till fumbled with his fingers. “Just to the bar. For dinner. To eat. Dinner.”

If Ivan thought that mess of a sentence was strange, he didn’t comment. His expression didn’t shift, he only asked, “Isn’t the bar where you got that cheeseburger from?”

Till blinked, his brain malfunctioning. Of all the possible responses, that hadn’t been one he expected. He shrugged helplessly. “I think?”

Ivan nodded firmly. “Is the dependent also going?”

“No,” Till said, no longer nervous after what felt like the billionth question.

“Yes,” Ivan concluded with the same finality. “Then I’d be interested in going out with you.”

Till blew out a breath of relief, and smiled brightly at him. Did Ivan just want it to be the two of them? Or was that not really a determining factor to his answer. Till didn’t know, but he said yes. “Okay, cool. Luka will be around in a couple of hours to watch Vivi while we’re gone. You can go back to making your sandwich now.”

Ivan twisted back around, and picked up his butter knife once more. Just as Till was about to go off and celebrate his victory, Ivan gestured to the condiments. “Would you like one, too?”

“Yes, I’d take one,” Till answered a little too quickly, his heart soaring at the offer.

“Then sit down,” Ivan said, going back to carefully spreading jelly on a new piece of bread. Till sat, silently giddy about their… date-not-date. Ivan and he, Till realized, had a lot of not’s. 

Till hadn’t expected Ivan to change his clothes. For Ivan, it was probably nothing more than the usual, shower, then something clean. But Till couldn’t shake the thought that it might also be, just maybe, because he wanted to look nice. The comfortable hoodie and sweats he usually wore around the house were gone; in their place, a white shirt, a black leather jacket, and a pair of jeans. His hair was swept back, and–Till squinted–was that gel? A few stubborn strands still fell across his forehead, softening the sharpness of the look. For a moment, he resembled that night on Alien Stage, and Till gave his head a small shake, chasing the memory away. He looked really good, so much so that Till couldn't look at him completely. 

Till, on the other hand, felt a little underdressed. All he had managed was a white turtleneck layered under a sweater, with plain khaki pants. Standing beside Ivan’s leather jacket and crisp shirt, he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d wandered into the wrong kind of date, the fancier kind, not the sort meant for Isaac and Dewey’s dodgy establishment. Luka didn’t bother with words of encouragement–just grinned ear to ear as he ushered them out the door. Before shutting it, he mouthed, “make him fun.” Till barely had time to scowl before the door clicked shut in his face.

“What can I get you two tonight?”

“Isaac, you smile any wider and you might sprain something there,” Till gritted through his teeth. 

He’d been eyeing them since they came through the door. Till glowered as he watched Dewey and Isaac whisper to one another behind the counter, Dewey making it a mission to actually point at him as they did so. He hoped they wouldn’t bring too much attention to them, but there weren't exactly many romantic places to go on the base. But this wasn’t meant to be romantic–just friends hanging out, which is why Till chose it. 

“I’m a medical professional,” Isaac said cheerfully, ignoring the jab. “If I sprain anything, I’ll stitch myself right up.”

Till snatched the menu from him, and Isaac somehow grinned wider. 

Ivan didn’t even open his menu. “I would like a cheeseburger.”

“Do you want anything else with that?” Isaac asked, a little astonished at how quickly he made up his mind. Till, however, was more surprised that Ivan had been quietly fixated on the greasy sandwich for over a month.

Ivan glanced at him, and Till froze, realizing Ivan had no idea what came next.

“Uh,” Till stammered, covering for him. “Just… make the burger with everything. Fries on the side.”

Isaac scribbled it down, muttering a low “how sweet” under his breath. Till ignored it.

“And you?” Isaac asked.

“I’ll take the same,” Till answered quickly, if only to cut the exchange short.

“No drinks?” 

"Just two waters is fine.”

“Tab open?” Dewey called from the bar. 

Till snapped his menu closed, handing it back. “Closed.” 

Everyone was working to be on his bad side, he noticed. Isaac raised his hand in surrender, as if to leave him out of it–like he hadn’t been the very one to start it. Finally, they were left alone. As usual, the bar was busy, music blaring from the speakers and intoxicated people calling out their drink order as if they’ll magically appear. It was honestly messing with him, having to fight the urge to get up and serve their barking. But he wasn’t working, he was on a date-not-date. Ivan glanced around, looking around at their surroundings curiously, occasionally sipping on water they were given. 

“It’s pretty loud,” Till said, to just get rid of the silence between them. “I hope it’s not bothering you.”

Ivan shook his head. Okay.

“You could’ve told me you wanted that cheeseburger,” Till tried again, smiling some. “I would’ve bought you another one.”

“I like your cooking,” Ivan said. “I don’t need any outsourced food without reason.”

The compliment fluttered in Till’s chest, and he had to look down to hide it. “Sometimes Vivi and I have lazy meals. Haven’t done one in a while. But yeah, I like cooking, so I usually just make things instead of going out.”

Ivan tilted his head. “Then why go out tonight?”

“Uh–just,” Till cleared his throat, caught off-guard. “So we could be alone. I know having Vivi around all the time can be tiresome, sometimes. I love her, but she has a lot of energy!”

Ivan considered that, his eyes steady on Till. “I’m not used to children, or the energy they carry. But it isn’t unpleasant, no. Still…” His voice softened, making Till’s breath hitch. “Being alone with you… I can see how that would be impossible otherwise.”

Till pulled the sleeves of his shirt over his fingers, nervously. He didn’t want to take those words and over-analyze them. Ivan didn’t waste words; when he said something, it was simply true. All Till could manage was a stiff nod, his gaze fixed on the trail of condensation slipping down his water glass. Their food arrived soon after, a quiet reprieve from the conversation. Both of them focused on their burgers. Till had to admit, they were incredible. The bar’s cook, a grouchy old man who constantly wiped sweat from his bald head, had always been a master at the grill. Years ago, he’d even shown Till a few tricks, back when Till was trying to learn how to make more than just scrambled eggs.

“I can totally see why you wanted this burger,” Till mused, shoving a couple of fries into his mouth.

“Yes, it’s… tasty,” Ivan agreed after a beat. “I will learn how to prepare it, so that we can have more at home.”

The word home hit Till in a way he tried not to dwell on, so he only nodded, smiling. “You should! You’ve gotten a lot better at cooking, Ivan. Whatever you put your mind to, you can do it.”

“Thank you,” Ivan said simply, reaching for his water glass, only to find it empty. He stared at the cup a moment, as if trying to will it full again.

Till chuckled under his breath. “Want me to grab us a refill?”

Ivan shook his head. “No. Stay. I’ll do it.”

Before Till could insist, Ivan was already rising from his seat, the empty glass in hand. Till leaned back, watching him weave through the crowd. He looked so out of place here; straight-backed, serious, moving with purpose in a room full of swaying bodies and drunken laughter.

“Till?” a slurry voice called from behind him. Till went rigid. He cursed under his breath, willing it to pass, but the voice grew louder until a clumsy hand clapped down on his shoulder.

“I didn’t know you were here!”

Till forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Hey, Cariah,” he muttered, grunting as Cariah collapsed into the empty chair across from him, using Till as leverage. “I knew you were here. Get it? Because you’re so loud.”

Cariah burst into a wheezy laugh, leaning across the table and smacking his arm. Till flinched at the sting, cradling the spot with a scowl.

“You’re so funny, Till!” Cariah slurred, beaming like they’d just shared the best joke in the world. “Man, I don’t get why the other guys called you stuck-up.”

Till only blinked at him, lips pressing into a thin line. He hadn’t spoken much to Cariah since the Luka mission… for obvious reasons. Reliable–kind of–when sober, but most of the time he was a stumbling, intoxicated mess. 

Alright, that was a lie. 

The truth was, Cariah was one of only six people willing to throw themselves into the cause, and Till was grateful for that. Immensely, even. But gratitude from afar was better in this case because the closer Cariah got, the harder it was to ignore everything else that came with him-like the rowdy group of strangers now drifting their way.

“It’s because I am stuck up,” Till countered, eye widening. “So you should go, before you get ostracized for being around me. I would feel so guilty.”

Cariah only laughed, louder this time, the sound weighted with liquor. “See? You could’ve been a comedian! Guys, over here!”

Too late. Their glazed eyes locked on the table, and within moments the five of them crashed down into the remaining seats, crowding in like they’d been invited. They were all talking hurriedly over each other, that no one but Till noticed Ivan stalking back up to the table, a glass of water in his hand. Till fumbled up and out of his seat, touching his arm, trying to explain what just became of their table in the couple of minutes he was away. 

“Robo-Cop can join us, too,” one of the women at the table barked, so graciously. “Pull up a seat!”

“We’re gonna play a drinking game,” Cariah explained. 

Till paused. “Again? You guys look like you’ve played a drinking game three times tonight.”

They barked out in laughter again, unbothered. Till hadn’t meant it as a joke.

Another man slapped the chair Till had just vacated. “Classic Stuck-Up Till. Let ’em go. We’ll find someone else who isn’t afraid to have fun.”

Till brushed off the jab, already relieved to slip away and find another table. But Ivan didn’t move. He stayed planted in his place, staring them down with such a cold intensity that Till’s stomach twisted.

“What game are you playing?” Ivan asked them, and the table actually quieted down.

Cariah put a stack of cups on the table, and started to space them out along its surface. “It’s called beer pong–but with a catch.”

“We don’t have to play,” Till murmured, leaning toward him. His tone was soft, pleading. But Ivan wasn’t listening. His eyes stayed fixed on the setup.

“Explain the catch.” Ivan dropped into the vacant seat like he’d already committed. A few nearby patrons started whispering, curious, but when Till shot them a sharp look, they quickly ducked their heads.

“We don’t use beer,” Cariah said with a grin, pulling a hefty glass bottle out from beneath the table and setting it down with a loud thunk; amber liquid sloshed inside. “We use whiskey. Simple rules, sink the ball in the cup, or take a shot if you miss.”

Ivan nodded, as if that was all he needed to hear. “Alright. I’ll play.”

Till bit his lip and sighed, dragging a chair closer before slumping into it.

They played for a while, the table erupting every time someone scored. Till had already missed a couple of shots, each one punishing him with another glass of whiskey. His stomach burned with every swallow, but he refused to let Ivan face Cariah and his pack alone. When Ivan finally missed–his ping-pong ball bouncing twice before rolling off the edge–Till’s half-lidded eyes shot wide open. The crowd cheered like it was a victory, hooting as Kayle filled the shot glass to overflowing before sliding it across the table to Ivan. He looked at the liquor with that unreadable face of his, giving nothing away.

“Drink! Drink! Drink!” 

Other tables drifted over, eager to watch the PDA Guard suffer a penalty. Till’s sluggish gaze slid toward the bar, where Isaac and Dewey were watching with worry written all over their faces. He rolled his eyes, then shifted his attention back just in time to see Ivan tip his head back. The liquor disappeared in one massive gulp, and he slammed the glass down with a ragged gasp.

So much for a date-not-date.

Ivan was fine, until he wasn’t fine. Till realized that Ivan was a lightweight. Perhaps it was in a PDA Guard’s programming, to keep going when they very clearly could not. It was one game, then two. There would’ve three if half of the participants weren't banned from drinking any further than they already had, falling asleep on the chairs. Till had bowed out after the first round. Someone had to stay sensible, someone had to get them home.

Ivan’s weight nearly toppled Till more than once on the walk home. He kept a steady arm looped around his waist, fingers firm at his side, guiding him one slow, stubborn step at a time. Sweat beaded on Till’s forehead, each breath a weary huff as they inched closer to the apartment. Ivan was still awake, though his words slurred together, spilling out in half-coherent attempts at conversation.

“I have a headache,” Ivan groaned. “Feels like someone’s pounding nails into my brain.”

Till stifled a laugh as he propped him against the elevator wall. “Look on the bright side, you won.”

“There is no bright side,” Ivan muttered, letting his head slump onto Till’s shoulder. “There is only darkness.”

“That sounds depressing.”

“I feel depressing.”

Whatever that meant, Till couldn’t help but smile–drunk Ivan was pretty funny. But for the sake of his ego, Till swallowed his chuckles down. He nursed some water throughout their time at the bar, so he didn’t feel all too crappy, unlike Ivan–who was experiencing impending doom. 

“What happened to him?” Luka’s jaw practically hit the floor when Till shouldered through the door. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“I didn’t,” Till snapped, easing Ivan onto Vivi’s pink bench by the door. He crouched down, tugging off Ivan’s sneakers and tossing them aside for later. “As if I’d actually listen to you. He played beer pong with Cariah and his friends–got completely smashed.”

“Wow,” Luka whistled. “Did he win, though?”

“Seriously?” Till whipped his head around to look at him. “Of course he won,” he muttered. 

After Luka spent some time quietly snickering to himself, he finally assisted Till with getting Ivan off of the stool. They hustled him through the living room and down the hall. Till peeked into Vivi’s opened bedroom door, spotting all the sprawled out bodies of her siblings in sleeping bags on the bedroom floor–his responsibility the moment the sun came up. Till groaned, already exhausted at the thought of wrangling five children and a likely hungover Ivan. They tossed Ivan onto his bed, and Till would’ve thought he was dead if it wasn’t from the slow breathes leaving him.

“I should take a picture of this,” Luka at least had the respect to whisper, searching his pockets for his phone. 

“You better not,” Till hissed, playfully shoving him towards the door. “In fact, get out of my house.”

Luka held his hands up in mock surrender, grinning. “Alright, alright. I’m grabbing the baby and heading out. Have fun,” he sing-sung on his way out, leaving Till standing in the dim room with a grimace.

Once Till heard his front door shut, he turned back around at the mess that was Ivan. With a sigh, he sat beside him on the bed, pulling down his leather jacket so he could be more comfortable. Ivan helped as much as he could, flailing limbs until it was off. Till folded the jacket, and sat it in his lap, staring at him. Ivan laid on his back, an arm swung over his eyes, watching him, too, though his eyes were heavy.

“I’m sorry,” Till apologized. “I should’ve told them to go away. I didn’t mean for you to get drunk.”

“They called you stuck-up,” Ivan replied, and Till stiffened up. “I suppose I just got…”

Till tilted his head, finding himself leaning in. 

“Angry?” Ivan finished, but it left him with a question mark. “People here seem to favor harsh nicknames.”

Angry? For his sake?

Till lightly shook his head with a chuckle, looking across the room, towards his own bed. He fiddled with his fingers–tried not to think too much. “They do. We’re all very lucky to be as free as we are. We should be kind to one another. Everyone carries complicated stories.”

“You’re incredibly kind,” Ivan hiccupped, eyes half-lidded. “And selfless, I’ve come to notice. When the world–or others–are not fair to you–you are still… unrelenting in your empathy towards others. Towards me.”

Till stiffened, and slowly turned him shyly, his face heating up. Though the words fumbled around clumsily in Ivan’s mouth, he somehow managed to still get his words across. 

“That’s really sweet of you to say, Ivan,” Till smiled tiredly at him. He stood up, helping Ivan to get underneath the blankets. “I’m sure your memories of me might not reflect much of who I am now. I was a very rebellious kid.”

“They do,” Ivan responded–still not one to be short of words. “They reflect you accurately, even then. I remember. Maybe… maybe that’s why the reset didn’t work.”

There goes that word again. 

“Reset?” Till repeated. “What does that mean?”

“A reset is what Segyein do to Guards to get them prepared for deployment. It erases all their memories from childhood, and adulthood, depending on when the reset is taking place. It created a blank slate–something… easier to control. If they think you’re slipping, they’ll reset you again. Humans are faulty like that, in their eyes.”

“Have you been researching this stuff?” Till asked him, surprised at how much he knew, and how objectively he was talking about it. Ivan nodded, dragging a hand down his face. “But you still remember me.”

“I didn’t want to forget you,” Ivan confessed. “I wanted to remember you in any capacity, even if it meant if I didn’t know why. Or that I couldn’t remember the way… that you made me feel. I know that now.”

Till breath caught, and something in him broke open. Filling him with an emotion he couldn’t describe, something he wished from Ivan all along–from the moment he met him, until now; honesty. Brutal honesty, even if it meant hurting him beyond repair. But instead, it did the opposite–it healed parts of his heart. It filled the shallow places in his chest, piecing him back together where he hadn’t even realized he was fractured. His eyes burned, tears gathering fast, as he scrubbed at his face with his sleeve.

“What’s wrong?” The words left Ivan slowly, his hand seeking Till’s.

“I,” Till muttered out, trying to recompose himself. “I didn’t know I was that special to you. Enough for you to want to remember me at all.”

“I didn’t know I was precious to you, either,” Ivan murmured, his thumb tracing circles over Till’s skin. “But I understand that now. Undoubtedly. And I won’t question it anymore, not like I used to, all those years ago.”

“You probably won’t remember any of this tomorrow,” Till laughed wetly, reluctantly taking his hand away, taking off his own shoes now.

“I’ll remember every moment with you.” Ivan’s voice was fading, soft with sleep. “I wouldn’t forget. Not even if they reset me a hundred times over.”

“You’re gonna swear none of those words ever left your mouth,” Till teased, Ivan was so unlike himself. So vulnerable, and needy in ways he couldn’t disguise–refusing to just go to sleep. Till pulled his sweater over his head, about to walk over to his own bed.

“Till.”

Till froze, his head still stuck in the darkness of his sweater. He quickly plucked the fabric from over his head, eyes trained on Ivan. He was still looking at him–but it was different, so different. His eyes were bright, the red of the iris so memorizing. 

“You make me so confused,” Ivan whispered, more to himself than anything. “But I think… I understand now.”

Till threw his sweater onto the floor, and shyly looked away, twisting around. This was beginning to be too much. 

He just said his name. 

“Go to bed, Ivan,” Till managed, voice rough. “You’re tired.”

“Stay with me. Until I fall asleep.”

“I’m right across the room.”

“That’s too far.”

Till snapped his gaze back, but Ivan wasn’t teasing, wasn’t baiting him. It was raw honesty, unguarded, slipping past his drunken haze. And Till, guilt pressing hard against his ribs, couldn’t bring himself to deny him this one thing. With a quiet sigh, he climbed onto the bed. He didn’t dare slip beneath the covers–that would be too close, but settled over the blanket beside him.

Ivan shifted almost instantly, turning toward him, chasing Till’s warmth, his breath sweet with whiskey as it drifted in steady puffs. Till watched him, the way his features softened once sleep claimed him, the way he always had that peaceful look about him as he slept. Till should have slipped away, then. He could have, if he really wanted to. But instead he stayed, his own eyes falling shut as though his body knew the truth before his mind did. He’d be lucky to get three hours of sleep, because once Louie woke up, they’d both have things to explain. But for now he let himself rest.

Chapter Text

Till crinkled his nose, cracking his eyes open when it felt like he had slept suspiciously too long—far too long. Why hadn’t Louie woken him up yet?

He sat up, eyes throbbing against the overhead light, dousing the room in its brightness. . His clothes from last night still clung to him, a sweater abandoned across the room. He dragged his gaze towards the other side of the bed, towards the wall, where he fell asleep pressed against Ivan’s backside.

But Ivan wasn’t there anymore. 

Till barely had time to rubbed at his tired eyes, his body sliding off of the bed, now in parental mode. There were five children in his apartment–five very energetic children that were currently unsupervised. He fumbled around for his phone, time not a concept in the moment, as he bounded down the hallway, peaking his head into the livingroom–unprepared for the mess surely awaiting him. The living room TV blared cartoons, but no one was watching. The cushions on the sofas were in place, the floor clean of crumbs and toys. Till crept further in, his confusion increasing the more the room remained still.

“Anyone home?” Till called out, but received no response.

He checked the kitchen, though it remained vacant also. Just to be sure, he opened Vivi’s bedroom room, but it was empty, the lights off–sleeping bags still tossed around the floor, with no child within it. Lost, Till padded back to the living room, finally powering on his phone to check the time. 

9AM. 

Where did everyone go? They knew not to leave the apartment without an adult. Weird of all, Louie didn’t come crying for him once he realized Luka and the baby weren’t there anymore. He began to worry, his fingernail between his lips as he debated telling Luka he had lost the children, when the front door opened. A rush of voices spilled in, overlapping laughter and chatter. Three bodies barreled past him, tossing bright “Good morning, Dad!”s over their shoulders before stampeding toward the kitchen. Louie caught onto his pants leg as Lucas and Suella carried two bags in their hands, and they smelled oddly syrupy. Breakfast? 

Behind them, Ivan stepped through the door, waiting for Vivi to enter the apartment before closing it behind them. Their eyes met, Till gave him a relieved smile, obliging Louie's cries to be picked up. Ivan didn’t look dead inside, not in the least–he was wide awake, perhaps a little winded from the kids. For someone who had been bedridden teeming between drunk and hungover hours ago, he looked fine, as if last night’s whiskey had never entered his system at all. Till shouldn’t be surprised, Guard’s were durable like that, he supposed. 

“Good morning,” Till greeted, hoisting Louie onto his hip. Vivi brushed past with a quick wave, and Till reached out, threading his fingers through her hair before letting her go join her siblings in the kitchen. From there came Taehyun’s voice–yelling, as always, about which meal was his. Lucas threatened to withhold it if he didn’t stop shouting, and, miraculously, the noise dropped into silence.

“Good morning, Till,” Ivan replied, dipping his head slightly. He lifted a white bag in one hand. “I bought food. There weren’t enough eggs for me to prepare breakfast.”

Till blinked, pausing. Ivan just said his name–again. This time, completely sober, as if it were the most natural thing in the world between them. Till figured last night had been a fluke, that he’d go back to his reclusive self, forgetting he even called him by name. But here it was again, spoken with such ease it was almost casual, as though it had always been like this, and Till had simply missed it until now. It sounded even better the second time; light, yet solid, the syllable barely leaving Ivan’s tongue yet he already had Till’s full attention. He forced himself not to make it a big deal, letting the moment pass between them. If he treated it like nothing, maybe it would become just that: a natural part of their rhythm, another layer of familiarity entangled into the space they shared. He didn’t know when it had shifted, only that he hoped–earnestly–it was here to stay.

“Thanks a lot,” Till said, watching as Ivan dug through the bag. After a moment, Ivan pulled out a takeout box and held it toward him. Through the lid, Till saw waffles, scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, the scent alone making his stomach twist with hunger he hadn’t noticed before. He took it with his free hand, the warmth seeping into his palm, Ivan’s fingers brushing against his skin in the handoff. “I really appreciate you doing that.”

“Last night,” Ivan said, his gaze lifting, expression soft. “I didn’t forget. And I meant all of it. But I assume you already know that. Considering.”

Till swallowed, clutching the container to his chest as though it might steady him. “Yeah,” he muttered, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I’m… very much aware. Though, I guess I was wrong, huh?”

“Not wrong,” Ivan corrected, without hesitation, not wanting to leave him in doubt. “Only inaccurate. I cannot remember most of the night, otherwise.”

Till snorted, smiling at what he knew to be completely true. Ivan must’ve stopped having coherent thoughts after his seventh shot, and checked completely out once the ninth tore through his system. He had a semblance of clarity once he laid down, and inadvertently made Till so flustered, that he began questioning if Ivan was alright at all. What stood out most, though, was how casually Ivan spoke when drunk. Maybe it was the grogginess that stripped away his filters, leaving him with only the words closest at hand. But Ivan was loosening up entirely; his voice carried less restraint now, easier and more natural. At least Vivi no longer stared at him in bewilderment whenever he tried to hold a conversation, as if he wasn’t a walking thesaurus. 

Till’s heart just about stopped when Ivan smiled back. It was closed mouthed, and albeit small–but it changed his face in an instant. Ivan was naturally intimidating, had been since they were children. He was only unapproachable at the start, when his eyes told nothing as he studied you with something akin to scrutiny. But when he smiled–not the kind of smile he gave the cameras and flashing lights, but the ones reserved only for him–was when Ivan looked the most angelic. Till knew Ivan had tried, in the beginning, to be his authentic self, but somewhere along the way it blurred. It had started that night beneath the stars, when Till first realized he couldn’t quite read him anymore; his motives, his feelings, any of it. Yet now, as he looked at him, he understood. That smile alone was the answer he had been waiting for.

“Louie, did you listen to Mister Ivan?” Till asked, and Louie shoved his face into the crook of his shoulder, arms around his neck. “He’s really shy, I’m surprised he left the house with you.”

“They’re all well-behaved,” Ivan noted. “Lucas made them hold hands”

“That’s Lucas for you,” Till laughed, lightly shaking his head. “He’s the leader, and the rest just fall in line. I’d rather him be the one calling the shots than, you know, Taehyun.”

“Taehyun is related to you, no?” Ivan asked, his confusion almost endearing. The way he spoke their names so easily–no longer the dependents–made Till’s heart lift.

“Suella and Taehyun share my DNA,” Till explained. “Lucas–obviously–and Louie are Luka’s. And Vivi–”

“She looks like me,” Ivan cut in before he could finish, the words startling him as much as they startled Till. “She has my eyes.”

“Right,” Till said softly, nodding. “She’s the only one related to you. Looking at her sometimes… feels like staring at you.”

Ivan nodded, thoughts somewhere else as they stood in silence for a moment. 

“She reminds me of someone else,” Ivan said finally. “They all do, in ways.”

Till eyes softened on him. He knew that feeling–finding little glimpses of Mizi and Sua in the kids. He didn’t know Hyuna, but he knew Taehyun didn’t get his stubbornness from him–at least, he didn’t think so. It was bittersweet, seeing these kids carry the legacy of their ‘parents’’ absence, of tragedy instead of choice. Till thought of them as his own, but he couldn’t speak for the others. 

Mizi might never accept Vivi if that day ever came, not after everything. Sua, though, she had always been kind, yet stoic, but her love had already been spoken for. To learn that children had been born of science, and not love, would break her heart. Yet Till knew she wouldn’t take that out on the children. It wasn’t their fault they existed, but since they did, Till and Luka bore the responsibility. They were the ones who had to love them, wholly and without condition, because others only saw their flaws. Especially Vivi’s.

“That’s to be expected,” Till answered, smiling brightly as Taehyun shrieked about Suella taking his fork. “Some more than others–Taehyun, just get another fork!”

“But it was my fork,” Taehyun yelled back.

Ivan lowered his head, going through the bag again. “Till, I know it’s quite belated–”

“Ella, you’ll fall! Let me get it."

“You can’t get it either, Taehyun, it’s too high,” came reasonable Lucas. 

“Hold that thought, Ivan,” Till apologized sheepishly, and Ivan nodded in understanding. Till turned on his heel and marched towards the kitchen. “What did we say about climbing on furniture, Taehyun? What do you need?”

Taehyun immediately jumped down from the chair, straining and failing to reach the syrup in the cabinet. The girls sat at the kitchen island, watching their brothers bicker, digging into their breakfast. Just as he was about to place Louie down to get the bottle of syrup, Ivan brushed past him, reaching for it in his stead. Till eyed him, stunned, as he flipped the cap and began to carefully drizzle the sugary condiment onto Suella’s waffles. 

“Is that enough?” he asked her, and she politely nodded, offering a meek ‘thank you.’ Vivi pushed her plate forward, and Ivan began to douse her waffles in syrup–just how she liked it.

“Me too, Mister Ivan!” Taehyun perked up, waving his hand, causing Ivan to turn to him next. 

“Since when were you two friends?” Till asked, surprised. 

“Since this morning,” Taehyun said proudly, cramming a forkful of eggs into his mouth and humming at the taste.

“That’s only because he bought you food,” Lucas deadpanned as he slid into a seat. He waved off Ivan’s offer of syrup–he preferred jam. “Taehyun, you’d befriend the monster under the bed if it gave you a snack.”

“Nuh-uh!” Taehyun shook his head furiously, then leaned forward, curious. “Wait… what kind of snack are we talking about?”

Till rolled his eyes, gesturing toward Ivan. He hugged the syrup bottle to his chest, conflicted about where the conversation was headed. “Be nice to Mister Ivan. Did you all thank him for breakfast?”

“Thank you, Mister Ivan,” Louie mumbled. Till’s brows lifted, impressed. Considering how hesitant Louie usually was, Louie was quick to accept Ivan.

The rest of the kids echoed the sentiment in chorus, their voices overlapping as they turned to Ivan in sync. Ivan froze at the sudden attention, eyes darting over the small faces before dipping his head in uncertainty. Was he… shy?

“You’re welcome,” he said quickly, moving toward the counter. With no extra chairs left at the island, he chose to stand, quietly eating his meal off to the side.

Vivi scooted over in her seat, Louie climbing into the chair beside her after Till set him down. The kids ate and chatted, having a bunch to discuss for so early in the morning. Till watched them for a moment, always happy to see them getting along. Spending time with the five of them was rare, he was so busy it was a miracle that found time for Vivi at the end of the day. He really wanted to take in more of them, but they wanted to stay with Luka. He couldn’t blame them–Luka definitely had more time for them, plus they lived with him for so long, being without him routinely would no doubt be strange for them.

“Dad?” Taehyun called from the island while Till busied himself with a pot of coffee. “What are we doing today?”

“Well,” Till said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “I was thinking we all pile into the living room, crack open a book, and read all day. No TV, no tablets; just endless literature.”

The resounding groans in response made it hard to conceal the smile threatening to break out on his face. Till only hummed, pouring coffee into two mugs. “What’s the problem? Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“No,” Lucas muttered. “That sounds boring.”

“Alright then,” Till replied lightly, reaching for the cream and sugar. “Guess that means you’ll just clean instead.”

“No!” the table erupted in unison, suddenly very invested in the idea of reading.

“While you guys do that,” Till added, cackling like a cartoon villain, he slid a steaming mug across the counter to Ivan. Ivan accepted it with a small nod of gratitude before returning to his food. He didn’t devour it like a starved wolf anymore–maybe because he’d finally realized meals would always be in abundance here. “Ivan and I will be going to the underground arcade.”

“That’s not fair!” Taehyun cried, nearly toppling out of his chair.

“I wanna go to the underground arcade,” Suella muttered, tapping her chin with one finger. “I like the claw games.”

“Horsey,” Louie declared to Vivi, who nodded solemnly in agreement, he lived for the coin-operated horse ride.

Till sighed with exaggerated reluctance, leaning back against the counter. “Fine,” he dragged out the word, long and dramatic. “I guess you guys can come, too.” The kitchen erupted in cheers. The five of them immediately shoveled the rest of their food into their mouths like it was a race, desperate to leave as soon as possible.

“Underground arcade?” Ivan asked at last, curious. “Is it really underground?”

Till chuckled, nodding. “It is. Saturdays are usually crowded, but I think you’ll like it.”

“It’s so fun!” Taehyun squealed, practically vibrating in his seat. A second later, he bolted out of it. The rest of his siblings weren’t far behind, ditching their plates in the sink, tossing their trash, and sprinting down the hall toward Vivi’s room to get ready.

“Where are you guys going? We’re not leaving until noon,” Till called out, shaking his head in defeat. He sighed, twisting back towards Ivan. “Right–what were you going to say back in the living room?”

Ivan’s eyes widened, straightening up as he pushed his coffee mug away, swallowing what was in his mouth. He reached for the bag beside him on the counter, sliding it towards himself. “I have–”

A loud bang cut him off, echoing through the apartment. Almost immediately, Louie’s wails pierced the air.

“I didn’t mean to!” Suella’s voice rang out, quite rare for how loud she was. “I’m sorry, Lou!”

Till set his mug down hard and shot Ivan an apologetic look. Ivan only gave a small nod, jerking his chin toward the kitchen doorway in a silent go. Till hurried to tend to the crying child–parenting comes first, though occasionally at the worst times.

The underground arcade sprawled beneath the base, hidden down a wide metal staircase that dropped into what had once been a subway station. The moment Ivan stepped inside, a tidal wave of sound crashed over him; music blasting from mounted speakers, the roar of racing simulators, effects from the abundance of arcade games, and the relentless chorus of clattering tokens and children’s laughter.

 Kids darted past, shouting as they sprinted toward the old subway track, where an immovable rail car sat like a centerpiece. Its exterior was smothered in graffiti–bright tags and murals layered over one another in chaotic color. From its windows, lights pulsed in sync with the beat of the speakers overhead, flashing blue, pink, and violet across the vast space. Among the painted walls, one piece stood out: a striking portrait of a woman with long brown hair, sunglasses dangling from her teeth as she gave a playful, knowing wink.

“Cool, right?” Till shouted over the music, leaning toward his ear.

Ivan nodded distractedly, still taking everything in. Louie clung stubbornly to his hand while his siblings scattered toward their favorite games. The horse rides were already taken, so Louie had no choice but to wait, bouncing impatiently in place, thumb in his mouth.

“It’s amazing how much fits in such a limited space,” Ivan muttered, tilting his head back as his gaze swept across the flashing lights and games.

Till laughed, nudging him with his shoulder. “Right? Half the games here were found from all over the world; remnants of human entertainment before the Segyein came.”

“How long has this place been around?”

“The base?” Till cocked his head, thinking. “A long, long time. Word is it was founded just a couple years after the Segyein colonized Earth. Ours isn’t the only one, but it’s the oldest. That’s why we’ve got so many elders here.” His voice softened a little, eyes bright. “Not everyone fights in the rebellion, but the rebellion is why we’re here at all.”

Ivan stared down at him, and Till squeezed his arm, pointing out more things to him. His passion for the base became endearing to Ivan at some point, he couldn’t pin when it had. Couldn’t pin the moment he knew he liked hearing Till talk about his home, how it became his home, and why he loved it so much. As a Guard, Ivan never ventured outside of his missions, but the Segyein world couldn’t compare to the colony–it was bright and happy, and inhabited so much culture from humankind. Advanced technology kept the base alive and efficient, but alongside it lived wonders he’d never seen before, like an arcade hidden underground, humming with life.

“Who is she?” Ivan pointed to the rail car, to the mural that stood out in all of the cartoon stylistic arts on the side of the vehicle. Till gasped, letting go of his arm to run ahead of Ivan and Louie, waving his fingers excitedly at the painting. 

“That is Hyuna, the rebellion’s late leader,” Till announced proudly. “I never met her, unfortunately. I painted her using a photo Isaac gave me as reference.”

“She seems familiar,” Ivan muttered, Louie stomping his feet at his side, copying a couple of teens playing a dance-step game nearby. 

“She was on Alien Stage, too,” Till revealed. “Remember how she was always in the news?”

“That’s not where I know her from,” Ivan shook his head with a frown. She frequently appeared in his training modules when he was being taught about the rebellion. He learned the rebellion were a group of terrorists, dead set on destroying the Segyein utopia, and if they ever accomplished their goal, Ivan would have no purpose. He was starting to see how wrong they were.

“This right here is her game,” Till explained further. 

“The whole rail car is dedicated to her game?” Ivan asked, stunned.

“Yep,” Till came back to his side, watching as a group of teens spilled out of one of the rail car doors. “It’s called Diva Karaoke. Apparently, she loved karaoke. You can sing by yourself, with a group, or compete against others.” His gaze lingered on the painted woman, a small ache in his voice. “I wish I could’ve heard her sing. I listened to her music, and it’s devastating that a person like her is now lost to the world.”

To Ivan, Hyuna seemed like a bright, fearless soul; nothing like the ruthless figure the Segyein had painted her to be. Maybe there was truth in what they said, but those so-called flaws were exactly what had kept the base safe. What they called dangerous, the rebellion remembered as her protection over them. 

Till turned his head, letting out a gasp. “Oh, look, Lou! One of the horsies opened up. Let’s go before it’s taken.”

Louie instantly released Ivan’s hand, latching onto Till’s instead as Till pressed a plastic card into Ivan’s palm.

“That’s my debit card,” Till explained quickly. “Use it to top up tickets for the kids, grab food–whatever. Lou’s probably going to be glued to that ride forever, so we’ll split up for now.” Louie tugged eagerly at his hand, his legs pumping. Though he barely budged Till an inch, Till started to walk with him. “Try out some of the games, too!”

Till gave Ivan a little wave, before they ran to get the horse ride. Ivan stood in the middle of the arcade, a little lost, staring down at the debit card in his hands. He opened his jacket, and tucked it into one of his side pockets–he wouldn’t be using it. 

For a while he simply drifted, letting the chaos swirl around him, until he caught sight of Vivi and Suella hunched over a claw machine. Suella’s tongue poked out in fierce concentration as she nudged the joystick, while Vivi pressed against the glass, offering directions like a coach. On Vivi’s count, Suella smacked the drop button. The claw descended into the pile of plush animals, plastic trinkets, and jangly jewelry. The three of them watched in tense silence until the claw jerked back up–miraculously clutching a bundle of sticker packs.

“Yes!” Suella squealed, her small voice swallowed by the noise. She slapped Vivi’s palm in a triumphant high five as the prize chute rattled and the amount of tickets they won flashed across the screen. Quickly, Suella yanked them out and hugged them to her chest, immensely happy, before giving Vivi a page–Vivi accepted it with a small smile, though her eyes had already drifted back to the claw machine, far less interested in the reward than the game itself.

“Do you want to try, Mister Ivan?” Suella tilted her head in question. 

“No, thank you,” Ivan shook his head.

“How about this one?” Taehyun’s voice called over the music, making them turn towards him. He was pointing to the basketball game Till mentioned earlier, Lucas tossed one of the mini-balls into the air, and caught it when it came down. “You and me, versus Lucas. He’s always so good at these things.”

The guilt lingered from the time he’d barked orders at Taehyun while they baked cakes, an event he’d never really corrected. He hadn’t apologized, yet he hadn’t made up for it either. Slowly, he made his way across the arcade toward the game. Two small hoops tucked beneath a scoreboard that flash red numbers, a cluster of balls piled in the machine’s cradle. Ivan gave Taehyun a small nod, and the boy’s face lit up instantly. Lucas just smirked, unfazed as he spun the ball once in his hands, and with ease, launched it into the hoop. The swish was satisfying as the ball dropped neatly back into the rack.

“Good luck,” Lucas teased, making his little brother roll his eyes, swiping his ticket card to start the game. 

Ivan had no time to prepare. He shoved up his sleeves just as the scoreboard lit and the timer began ticking down from a minute. Lucas snatched the first ball and sank it, already reaching for the next before it even bounced back. Taehyun scrambled beside him, fumbling to keep pace. Ivan grabbed a ball and launched it. It went in, and then another. Each shot was almost rhythmic, sliding cleanly through the net, his trained aim coming in clutch to keep their score rising. The scoreboard climbed higher and higher in their favor, Taehyun missing more than he made, while Lucas’ numbers steadily rose across from them. A sharp click of Lucas’ tongue sounded beside them, and he didn’t look so confident, then. 

Soon, the timer reached ten seconds and once the balls were thrown, they were no longer being spat back out. They were tied with Lucas, and only two balls remained. Ivan quickly reached for one as the time settled into three seconds, Lucas missed, fumbling for the very last ball. Just as Ivan was about to toss it towards the net with everything he had–he pressed the ball into Taehyun’s chest. Taehyun's eyes widened in surprise, blinking towards the timer. Quickly, he recovered and stepped forward, springing up off his sneakers, tossing the ball just as the buzzer blared–it went in, whilst Lucas’ tethered around the rim, toppling off the edge, giving them the win.

“Yeah!” Taehyun jumped, pumping the air. “You lost, we won! You have to buy me a drink now!”

“I should’ve known someone like Mister Ivan would have a good aim,” Lucas muttered, folding his arms with a sigh. Still, he didn’t argue. “Fine. A deal’s a deal. Can we go to the canteen?”

It took Ivan a second to realize Lucas was looking at him for permission. He was the only adult standing there. “Yes,” he said finally. “But don’t lose each other.”

Lucas stuck out his hand, and Taehyun latched onto it without hesitation. The two took off down the carpet, Taehyun skipping and swinging their arms wildly as he bragged about the win loud enough for the whole arcade to hear. Ivan watched them go, waiting to see them safely enter the entrance of the cafeteria, before twisting around to find the girls. They were at yet another claw game–but not alone. They were huddled by a crowd, all eyes on Vivi. She stood in front of the machine, moving the joystick with calculated care. Her dark eyes were narrowed, focused on the task at hand. The machine wasn’t filled with plush toys like the others–this one was called Ticket Ring. Inside were glossy black discs stamped with bold white numbers: 200, 500, 1000. This machine must’ve been popular, as others waited their turn, others stood around just trying to see if she won anything.

“Vivi’s been saving up for something in the ticket shop,” Suella whispered to him, wringing her hands, they were dotted with stickers she won from the other game, the rest most likely stashed in her purse. “She only needs a couple thousand more to get it.”

They all watched as she finally hit the drop button, and the claw arm veered down into the back side. Initially, it gathered up four bands, and the gasps around them were resounded–until three slipped from its grasps. Only one remained, wobbly in the center of its spike, before it released the band into the chute. Vivi, though disappointed she didn’t get all four, dropped down and pulled out the one it did grace her with. The frown on her face vanished, replaced with a smile that stretched wider and wider, until she twirled around and waved the band in their direction. 

“Ella, it’s two-thousand,” Vivi chirped. “It’s enough for the toy!”

Suella clapped excitedly, and like dominoes, the others joined in, a ripple of applause spreading through the little crowd. Vivi blinked, caught off guard–she shrank under the sudden attention, when she’d only meant to share her joy with them. Clutching the band tightly, she shuffled toward their group, ignoring the smiles and cheerful congratulations aimed her way. Ivan’s brows furrowed, his mind flashed back to that visit at Luka’s house, to the words the old man had said about her. Vivi was always uneasy around strangers, and this proved it again–their well-meaning praise unsettled her, like she wasn’t used to it. Surely not everyone was like that old man, he reminded himself. There were kinder faces, like the old woman’s. But still… there wasn’t exactly a shortage of people who weren’t. Vivi relaxed once out of the crowd, back to smiling, showing off the band to them.

“Do you want to exchange it now?” Suella asked.

“No,” Vivi said, twisting the plastic band in her hands. “I want to show Dad first. When Louie wants to take a nap, I’ll show him!”

“Okay,” Suella nodded, satisfied. “Then can we please go play some games now? The claw machines are making me mad.”

Vivi laughed and nodded. “Yeah, we can! Are you gonna play with us?”

Ivan blinked when Vivi looked up at him, expectant. “I will stay out of the duo games,” he said carefully, “to make it fair.”

“Who cares about fair?” Suella huffed, grabbing one of his hands. She used to be so shy around him, hesitant, all of them had been, but now she tugged him along without a second thought. “It’s about fun!” she declared.

“Fun, fun, fun!” Vivi echoed, latching onto his other arm. Together, the girls pulled him toward the nearest racing game, giggling the whole way.

They played countless games for about an hour, the boys joining in thirty minutes into their venture. Each pair had one card each, and Ivan topped them up at the ticket center whenever they went low, using cash he had on him. Eventually, they all started to tire out, and they went to find Till in the cafeteria. He was scrolling on his phone, Louie was sound asleep, leaning against his chest, using Till’s jacket as a blanket. When he noticed them, he smiled, causing all the children to run towards him, talking all at once. He tried to engage with all of them, but Ivan could tell it was a tad bit overwhelming. 

“I’m happy you all had fun,” Till beamed, and they all chorused that they did, readying to start hounding him again, until Ivan spoke up.

“Vivienne,” Ivan gestured toward Till. “Show Till what you won.”

Vivi’s eyes lit up, and she stepped forward. “Oh, yeah! Dad, look what I got–”

She paused, her hand sliding up her arm–but nothing was there. She held the band over her shoulder like a bag as they played, though it wasn’t there anymore. Vivi spun in her spot, searching the ground for the object. 

“Did you lose it?” Lucas started looking under tables. 

“I had it,” Vivi insisted. “I had it.”

“It’s alright,” Till said quickly, carefully lifting Louie so he could stand. “We’ll split up and check everywhere you went.”

But Vivi’s lower lip was already trembling, tears brimming as if she was moments from crying. Suella grabbed her hand and tried to soothe her while Taehyun and Lucas spread out, checking the cafeteria. Ivan remained still for a moment, watching the way her small shoulders shook, his jaw tightening. Then he crouched in front of her, lowering himself to her eye level.

“We’ll find it,” he told her softly, meeting her eyes. “I’ll go back through the arcade with you. Show me where you last remember having it.” Vivi sniffled, nodding hard, and slipped her hand into his.

“We’ll go look at the race cars,” Suella chimed, and they went separate ways.

Vivi remembered still having the ticket band at the air hockey table, so that was where they went first. Ivan crouched, scanning the floor, then straightened to check the tops of nearby machines in case she had set it down somewhere. They retraced every step she could recall; air hockey, jump rope, the coin pushers; and found nothing. Each time Ivan looked at her, Vivi’s eyes were glassy, her face scrunched with the effort of holding back tears. It only made him search harder, dropping to his knees to look under tables, circling around cabinets to check behind them. When he ran out of places to check–under, over, behind– his stomach twisted at the thought of telling her to give up, when he promised her they’d find it.

 Then, as he turned to scan the room one more time, and that’s when his eyes locked on the three rainbow stickers, stuck on a 2000 ticket band dangling from a stranger’s elbow. Vivi had put them there, not wanting to stick them to herself when Suella happily gave them to her. That was her ticket band.

Without thinking, Ivan grabbed Vivi’s hand and marched over to the person. They were a group of teenagers, chatting about something Ivan didn’t care about. He cleared his throat, garnering their attention–they stared him down, scanning him with his eyes until he finally spoke. 

“Excuse me,” Ivan said, pointing, and they all looked at the band on her elbow. “I believe you have her ticket band.”

The girl with the band blinked, confused, and looked down at her elbow. “What? No, this is–”

“She put those stickers on it,” Ivan cut her off–he didn’t have time to go back and forth. “We just spent twenty minutes looking for it. It’s hers.”

The group glanced at each other, and one of the boys let out a short laugh. They angled themselves towards them, honing in on Ivan, as if determining he was worth their time. “There’s a little thing called finder keepers, dude. Should’ve held on to it better.”

“It’s okay,” Vivi muttered, tugging on his arm. “They won’t give it back. Let’s just go.”

The girl in the group paused. Then she tipped her head, noticing Vivi at his side. She smiled, and Ivan narrowed his eyes–it wasn’t a pleasant smile that graced her lips. 

“Think of it this way,” she started, sliding her snake-eyes back up to him. “Maybe it’s her Karma for having a witch as a mother.”

The group laughed at what she said, and Ivan suddenly felt hot inside. Vivi’s grip on his hand faltered, but he readjusted his grip–wouldn’t let her release her hand. 

“I’m addressing you,” Ivan snapped. “Not you, you, or you. You,” he pointed his finger at the young girl, and she reeled back, a little stunned. “If you think so little of her, why do you want her ticket band? I wouldn’t take something from someone I dislike.” 

The girl narrowed her eyes at him, lips thin–as if she couldn’t believe he was talking to her this way.  Then her brows shot up, and a sly smile spread as though she’d just solved a puzzle.

“You guys,” she tapped the shoulders of the two boys at her side, her voice dripping with mockery. “I think those freaks are related. What, are you her dad?”

Ivan didn’t answer. His silence only made her grin wider. She covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a laugh. “A PDA lackey for a dad, and a witch for a mom. How unfortunate.” She tugged the band down her arm and held it out between two fingers like it was tainted.

 “Here. I don’t even want it. It’s… nasty.”

But Ivan didn’t take it–he was seeing red. He felt so angry, it was so hot that it crept up his neck and caused him to make a tight fist at his side, his nails digging into his skin. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so mad. He couldn’t let them walk away like this, having hurt Vivi’s feelings–bullying an innocent girl for things out of her control. They wouldn’t walk away vindicated, believing they were the better human beings between a seven-year-old and a man who only just learned what being human was. 

“You can keep it,” Ivan said calmly, the band still dangling between them.

“Didn’t you hear me?” The girl voiced, reeling back. “I said–”

“You beat me in a game,” Ivan cut her off, he got sick of her voice, “then you can keep it. If I win, then you give it back–”

Her venomous smile slithered back into place, and she shoved the band up her arm with a mock shrug. “Alright.”

“I’m not finished,” Ivan said, and his voice became colder, rooting her in place. “You give it back. And you apologise to her.”

The girl slid her face over to Vivi, who was glaring at her like she wanted to set her on fire. She grinned, laughing that bane laugh, and her friends rolled their eyes–like it’ll be easy. 

“Fine,” she settled, walking ahead of them. “And since I’m so nice. I’ll even let you choose the game.”

Ivan didn’t even have to think. “Diva Karaoke.” 

One of the boy's eyes widened. Ivan noticed he’d been staring at him that whole conversation–perhaps he connected the dots, but it was already too late. “Aeri–”

Aeri ignored him, sauntering on towards the rail car, waving her hand. They passed by Till and the kids, having heard the partial commotion. He quickly ran to Ivan’s side, holding Louie close–luckily he hadn’t woken up in all this noise. 

“Ivan, what’s going on?” Till asked him, concerned. 

“I’m winning Vivienne’s ticket band back,” Ivan said, like that was enough. Till didn’t get to say another word, as Ivan picked up his pace–Vivi still at his side. An interested crowd followed behind them, wanting to see the outcome of this competition. 

They all spilled into the rail car, and it was somehow cooler on the inside. It was somewhat similar to the bar–chairs and tables organized in a familiar manner, a prop bar off to the side of the small stage. A large projector was at the front, an expensive looking karaoke machine snug in the center, with mics on stands, at the ready. The crowd sat at the tables, some forced to stand once space ran out. Till and the kids sat close to the stage. His face was scrunched in concern, but it also looked mesmerised, just seeing him up on that wooden platform must have bought back so many memories–and Ivan could tell by his face they weren’t comfortable ones. 

“What mode are ya’ll playin’?” The game host asked, preparing them. 

Aeri smirked, hand on her hip as she spoke for both of them. “Competition mode. Hard.”

“Ah,” the host sighed, jerking her head. “There’s only three songs for hard mode. It’s called Project: Alien Stage.”

“Choose a song,” Ivan replied, growing a bit impatient. 

Aeri eyed him suspiciously. Maybe she thought he’d be more nervous–and he was, he was just great at hiding it. He hadn’t sung in years, but lately, he’d been practicing again at work, humming through the tracks from his season of Alien Stage. Before each performance, songs were pre-recorded. It was never the first time they sang them, but it didn’t mean things such as lyrics, composition, and the song itself couldn’t be changed if the contestants decided at the last second. Still, the finalized version–the way the song was meant to be sung–always ended up uploaded to streaming platforms after the round.

Aeri made a show of scrolling through the three songs deemed for Alien Stage hard mode; “All-in”, “My Clematis”, and–

“I’ll go with Black Sorrow,” the teenager announced. Ivan masked the faint quirk tugging at his lips, disguising it with a relaxed swipe of his tongue. “What can I say? It’s a good song.”

“Are you certain? That’s quite ambitious,” he said, taking his mic off the stand, and that made Aeri glance up, searching.

“I can handle it,” Aeri replied stiffly, tightening her grip on the mic stand. They talked over the drums cueing them in, the tentative taps of piano keys as the lights deemed. The light from the screen painted the crowd around them yellowish-red; like the sky that night.

Ivan stepped forward, and he saw her hands trembling as lifted the microphone closer to his lips. “We’ll see.”

Aeri began the song first, and Ivan let her voice carry. To compliment her would be like sharing a table with the enemy. Still, he couldn’t deny she handled the opening well: vocals steady, notes crisp, drawing cheers from the crowd. Ivan stood idly by, letting her bask in it; after all, it was about to get much harder. When the instrumental faded away to bring in the second verse, Ivan sang into his microphone. He immediately drowned her out, and she struggled to be heard at all. It came so naturally to him, that it could’ve startled him–the way his voice carried, the how easy the melody found him after all these years–his lungs carrying every line, every high note, with unnerving grace.

It was like that night, the way the audience was so silent listening to such somber lyrics, taking in the reverberance of his voice around the stadium. Eventually, Aeri stopped trying at all, and when he looked at her, her eyes widened in horror upon the realization that this was his song. It didn’t feel like a competition anymore, or a silly karaoke performance. Each “black sorrow” rasped from his throat with raw power, his arms stretched wide as if reaching out for the stars. The crowd was spellbound, suspended in his voice. Then, as the final notes teetered off, the leaderboard shifted. His name climbed past the bottom, past Aeri’s, until it stopped in second place; right beneath Hyuna’s. 

The guests rose once the lights stopped strobing, cheering and clapping. Ivan ignored them, busying himself with placing the microphone back on its stand. He hadn’t done this for their applause, nor to change their opinion of him. He had done it for the reason his hand stretched out the moment they stepped off the stage, outside the rail car. Vivi stood in front of him, his other hand purchased on her shoulder. 

Aeri sheepishly pressed the band into his palm, rubbing her arm. She looked embarrassed with herself. 

“You could’ve told me you were Ivan,” she muttered, huffing. “I would’ve chosen a different song.”

“Now why would I do that?” Ivan tilted his head. “If you were more observant–any of you–you would’ve learned my name and connected the dots before it led to your demise. You have a very intelligent friend, and if he knew any better, he’d go find better friends.”

The boy gasped behind her, sucking his teeth before looking away, ashamed. Aeri turned to leave.

“Hey.” The word wasn’t from Ivan. Till stomped up, anger burning in his eyes. “I didn’t hear an apology come out of your mouth.”

Aeri fumbled, then sighed in defeat. “I’m sorry.”

“To whom are you sorry?” Till pressed, Louie clinging to his hand, rubbing his eyes. The other children clustered behind, Taehyun’s grin wide enough to make Aeri irritated.

“I’m sorry, Vivienne,” Aeri muttered. “For… for calling you names. It won’t happen again.”

Till leaned in, his eyes still scrutinising. “Who else?”

Aeri blinked, looking between the two adults. She crossed her arms and looked up at the ceiling. “And to Ivan, too. I guess.”

“Alright,” Till turned away from her, shooing her away. “You better hope I don’t bring this up to your parents, young lady.”

“Wait,” Aeri called. “Are you going to forgive me?”

“We don't have to accept it,” Ivan found himself saying. “No one has to forgive you for things you had no business saying, anyway.”

Aeri’s expression softened, as if something clicked. Ivan doubted his words would make her better overnight, but perhaps, when she grew, she’d learn to mean her apologies; otherwise she’d end up like that old man. She said nothing more, only shoved past her friends toward the arcade stairs.

Ivan kneeled down, and gave Vivi back her ticket band. She accepted it, turning it around in her hands. Yet she looked so… sad.

“Thank you, Mister Ivan,” Vivi threw her arms around his neck, hugging him. It took Ivan back for a moment, but he wrapped his arms around her. 

“You’re very welcome, Vivienne,” he accepted her gratitude, smiling at her when they separated. But it faltered when she didn’t smile back. “Are you–alright?”

Vivi nodded, offering him a faint, closed mouth smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. 

“Do you want to take your band to the counter?” Till asked. “Trade it in for a prize?”

Vivi shook her head, handing it to Till. “I want to go, I think.”

Till frowned, and Ivan’s stomach dipped just looking at him. “I’ll go turn it in for you, then we can go.”

When he came back, they all climbed up the steps. The children walked ahead of them, eating candy Ivan bought as they waited for Till. Suella was chatting with Vivi, and though she was listening, she had gone completely silent. 

“I don’t understand,” Ivan murmured as he paced beside Till.

“What?” Till asked.

“She said she was okay,” Ivan gestured toward Vivienne, “but she looks so distraught.”

Till gave him a small, sympathetic smile. “That’s kids for you. They struggle to say what they’re really feeling. But they’re not very good at hiding it, either. If you can see that, you can handle them accordingly.”

“And what’s the right way to do that?”

“Comfort them. Talk it through. Protect them, like you did today.” Till nudged him lightly. “I’ll handle it when we get to Luka’s. Over some ice cream. That usually does the trick.”

The children were really excited for the baby when they arrived at Luka's house. She was happy to see them, too, squealing in her playpen as they all looked down upon her, cooing and talking with her. Though, they didn’t understand her babbles.

“How’d the meeting go?” Till asked as they set down the kids’ sleepover bags in the corridor. 

Luka shrugged, not making eye contact. “They were lovely people, but I just…” 

Ivan watched him, tried to study his emotions, but he came back with nothing. Perhaps it was much too complicated for him to understand.

Lightly, Till patted him on the shoulder, smiling softly. “You don’t have to rush. Maybe wait until she’s six months, and try again.”

Luka nodded. “Yeah…” it trailed, as if he wanted to say more, but he quickly closed his mouth. Till held a blank expression, like he was dissatisfied with the answer. But he didn’t express it, instead, he wrapped an arm around Luka’s shoulder, raising his hand up to the sky. 

“Who wants to raid Luka’s freezer for ice cream? I know I do!”

The kids squawked back in unison, and Ivan lifted his arm slowly, which earned laughter from the two men. Soon the children piled into the kitchen, shoveling cold dessert into their mouths while chattering in a language only they seemed to understand.

From his seat at the table, Ivan could see through the mesh screen of the back door. Till and Vivi sat in the rocking chairs outside. Vivi kept her head bowed, staring into her cup of chocolate ice cream, nodding absently as Till spoke. Then, finally, a smile lifted at her lips;  faint at first, but then it grew wider the more Till punctuated his words with an exaggerated gesture. She nodded more firmly that time, leaning in when Till wrapped her in his embrace.

Afterward, she rose from the chair and pushed open the door. There was more life in her step now, a little bounce as she crossed into the kitchen. Ivan stood, gesturing for her to join her siblings at the crowded table. When there was no room left for him, he simply picked up his own ice cream, a bag, and stepped outside. Through the open archway, he caught sight of Luka in the living room, cradling the baby against his chest. Luka’s gaze was downcast, his expression solemn. Ivan lingered a moment, wondering if anything could bring him happiness right then.

“Hi,” Till brightened up at the sight of him over his shoulder. He rocked himself in the chair, cup full of strawberry ice cream on his lap. 

“Hello,” Ivan returned the greeting, sitting in the chair next to him. “Vivienne looked much happier when she entered the house just then.”

“Told you ice cream does the trick,” Till teased, watching him stretch his legs out. “She’ll be okay. I just wish she didn’t have to hear things like that. You know?”

Ivan nodded in agreement. “Yes. I’ve recently learned that we can’t control what people do–only that we can control how we react to it.”

“And you decided to deal with that by belting out Black Sorrow?” Till tried not to smile, but it left him with a snort, and then he was full on grinning.

Ivan swirled the ice cream on his tongue to bid himself some time, then shrugged. “She suggested I choose the game. I cannot take responsibility for what happened afterwards. Hopefully, she learns her lesson about thievery and challenging those she knows nothing about.” 

Till shook his head, amused. “You still have a beautiful voice.”

Ivan froze, Round 6 flashing through his mind. “... Thanks.”

“I haven’t sung much since… Alien Stage,” Till revealed quietly. Ivan watched as his hand slithered up his neck, curling his fingers around the scars. He threw away that bloody napkin before Till got home–felt like it wasn’t his right to ask about it. Any of it. “My voice is a little damaged, but I don’t know how much it affected my singing. I used to love music, even back then. I have a feeling I have loved it since I was small. Back before…” Till sighed out, angling his head towards his cup, like he didn’t wish to finish that sentence. 

Ivan realized he was fond of listening to him–of the words that left his lips without much effort, yet they always felt so profound, holding meaning in every word.

“Did I hurt you?” Ivan leaned in, voice low. Till blinked, snapping his head towards him. 

“Oh–you mean my stomach?” he asked. He tugged his shirt up just enough to brush over the faint bruise where Ivan had shoved him against the counter. “No, not at all. I mean, it’s bruised a little, but–”

“I meant,” Ivan interrupted gently, ghosting his fingers up his own throat. “Your neck. Did I do that? Back then?”

Till froze, then quickly shook his head. “No–goodness, no. You didn’t–hurt me, that night,” Till fumbled out, struggling for words. He bit his lips, hand clenching around his cup until it turned white, hanging his head. “I did it to myself.”

“Because of me,” Ivan answered the question in the air. They remained quiet for a moment, with Ivan trying to understand that feeling in his chest. 

“Because of me,” Till replied, whipping his head up at him, expression serious. “Because I–couldn’t believe that you were gone. Why you were gone, and–and that it was all my fault. Because I wasn’t a good friend to you, then–but you still sacrificed yourself for me.”

Ivan stared at him, deep in thought. Lightly, he shook his head in silent disagreement. “My actions that night were of my own volition. A choice I made to prove something–something I don’t even fully understand now. But I know it meant everything to me then, that made it worth it. But, Till, I’m not dead. I haven’t died at all.”

Till’s eyes widened, and Ivan dropped his gaze. He always said that his younger self was full of contradictions, yet it seemed his older self was no different. Just a little over a month ago, he told Till that the man he knew died five years ago, that he couldn’t be his friend, and that he would report the base the moment he had the chance. But here he was now, saying he’d been here all along, accepting his friendship, and he couldn’t  bring himself to give up their home to the PDA.

 But unlike his younger self, he meant the words that left his mouth; almost like a promise, preordained from his life as a Guard. Though he wasn’t one anymore, he couldn’t imagine being dishonest with him. Whatever Till wanted to know, he felt inclined to tell him, even more so because he asked so little of him. He saw him as a friend, a person with feelings and emotions–allowing Ivan to reveal things at his own pace. 

“Yeah,” it left Till slowly, tilting his head. “You didn’t die.”

Ivan licked his lips, training his gaze to the sky. The sun was dipping, leaving a purplish-orange in its wake. “After Alien Stage, I think I just dreamed for a really long time. Time went by, and I have no knowledge of it. It’s like… I was waiting for something. But I don’t know what that was. Then when I finally woke up, I was in my pod, assigned the first order that I can recall. I’m sorry, I wish I knew more.” 

Till waved away his apology. “No, that’s okay. I’m just happy that I found you again,” he smiled at him when he turned back toward him, and it was warm. “I’m happy you’re here.”

Ivan didn’t answer. Happy you’re here. Did Till mean now, in this moment? Or did that hold true even when Ivan had cornered him in the infirmary, hands rough and words harmful? He didn’t ask, instead, he reached for the bag at his feet.

“It was your birthday last month,” Ivan recounted. “I didn’t see anyone celebrate it.”

“I don’t make a big deal out of it,” Till explained, sitting up a little. “It’s been just another day for a while. You didn’t have to get me anything.”

Ivan took out a sketchbook and a couple of long, back pencils. Till’s eyes lit up, gently taking them from him. “You illustrate quite frequently, I assume you’re running out of pages. And the pencils you use are worn down.”

Till blushed at his words, and he hadn’t meant for what he said to make him flustered. He figured it was just hard for the man to use different writing utensils after using one for so long. He was always like that, using a pencil until it was smaller than his pinky finger. 

“Thank you, Ivan,” Till murmured, taking the items kindly. “You didn’t have to. Did Dewey give you money? You don’t have to spend it on me.”

Ivan shook his head. “No. I work.”

Till blinked. “You work? Where? When?”

Ivan snorted lightly at his bewilderment. “I work at the mechanic shop. It’s only for a couple of days a week, I work when you’re at the bar and Vivienne is in school.”

“Really?” Till leaned back, surprised, tracing his hand over the cover of the pad. “I… didn’t know you knew about vehicles.”

“I have intermediate knowledge due to working as a Guard. I’m learning a lot, and it’s a task, so I’m satisfied.”

Till smiled at him, his eyes crinkling, but he looked somewhat sad. “There’s a lot I don’t know about you.”

“You just have to ask,” Ivan quickly said. “There’s nothing I won’t answer. As long as it’s within my capabilities.”

Till nodded in understanding, letting out a laugh, likely at how silly the obvious answer was. Ivan wondered if it would be an exaggeration to call it the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. Till looked at him with soft eyes, his cheeks faintly pink from the afternoon chill. He held the supplies close to his chest as though they were treasures, irreplaceable.

 Ivan tried not to stare too long, because when he did, it felt like a trance. Every thought became consumed by Till–by the emotions he carried for him. Some were clear, easy to name, and others remained murky and shapeless. Yet–all of them seemed to converge into a single truth, exuberant in its many forms. There were countless days when he lost himself in Till’s eyes, in the curve of his lips, in the delicate brush of his fingers; always wondering what it meant. It felt like a dangerous game, one that might end the same way it had years ago if he didn’t stop himself…

“Ivan?”

Ivan fluttered his eyelashes, taking a moment to realize just how close he was. His eyes hung on Till’s lips, until they sheepishly dragged up to his stunned expression. Ivan quickly reeled back, looking away abashedly–what was he doing?

“I apologize,” Ivan fumbled out, dragging a hand down his face. “I just wanted to see…” Ivan wished, too, someday that he knew when to shut his mouth and embrace the silence. 

Ivan expected him to let out a nervous laugh, and change the topic for his sake. Till’s hands were cold when they cupped his face, gently coxing his gaze to return to him. His eyes were bright–the glint in the teal of them so unshakable. He caressed Ivan’s cheek, tucking a smile between pressed lips, taking him in. 

“If it would be like it was back then?” Till came out soft, innocent in its prodding. “I have a question.”

Ivan wasn’t sure if this was the time for questions. “Yes?”

“Can we pretend that is the first time?”

He froze, caught between disbelief and longing, but his head gave the smallest nod. Till’s smile revealed itself as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind Ivan’s ear, his touch lingering, before drawing him in. Ivan tilted his head almost instinctively, as if his body had been waiting for this moment, and then their lips met.

Till didn’t pull away, and Ivan didn’t ‘die’ in his arms. Time wasn’t rushing them along, nor was there a scoreboard to seal their fates. Tomorrow would come, and they’d still be here to deal with the aftermath of this kiss. And so would the next day, and the next day. It was nothing like the first time, and Ivan didn’t want it to be. In a way, this truly was their first kiss–in a whole new world; just older, changed, yet able to meet each other halfway. Though Ivan’s heart didn’t soar, nor did his ears pound–it still felt as right as it could for a Guard–ex-Guard, still learning about himself. 

But beneath that rightness was another feeling, one that had stalked him since the first time he met Till’s eyes. It was restless, and relentless, and achingly nameless. It burned in his chest then, demanding to be called by its true name.

Observation Report – No Subject
Filed by: Ivan
Date: 07-26

The feeling I’ve struggled to name for so long is love. But I wonder if I’m capable of it. I can replicate its shape, its gestures, but are they my true emotions, or am I only convincing myself?

I don’t want to let him down, nor do I want to disappoint him. I don’t want to cling to the mechanical patterns that have defined me, though they are all I know. What I want is simple: to love him in the way he loves me. To feel his affection as he feels mine. And yet, when the moment came, I felt nothing. Not uneasiness, not discomfort; just absence. I wanted it, after all–so how could I oppose it?  If it happens again, I will try harder to ignite a feeling, even if it means peeling away more of my molten identity.

I hope it happens again.

Ivan

Chapter Text

They kissed. They actually kissed. Till didn’t know what came over him at the moment. All he could remember was Ivan staring at him in a trance-like intrigue, with a yearning Till could no longer ignore. He had in the beginning, figuring that he was just misreading him, and it was his high hopes fogging up his brain. But that was until Ivan started to lean in, and then he knew; there were still undoctored feelings inside of him, and before the man could allow himself to ignore it, Till cupped his face, hoping Ivan could see the reassurance in his gaze. It was alright not to understand, not to name the feeling–only to want it. And then he kissed him.

It wasn’t long, not more than fifteen seconds, yet Till’s heart just about leapt into his throat, his fingers sliding from Ivan’s soft skin and into his hair, eyes fluttering shut. He relished in the act–on how he always wished for a second chance to reciprocate Ivan’s feelings, how he wished that in that moment of sorrow he held him just as closely. But now they were opposites, Ivan pin-straight in his seat, fist clutched around his cup of ice cream, but he didn’t pull away. And that was enough for Till to know he hadn’t been wrong. 

He didn’t want to overwhelm him, so Till broke them apart, eyes still bright, and he couldn’t control the smile on his face. Ivan’s eyes opened once he realized it was over, then they faltered to the side, and the curl of Till’s lips cracked slightly.  

“I,” Ivan muttered, dark eyes tentatively meeting him, “didn’t really feel anything. I apologize.”

“That’s okay,” Till reassured him–he figured as much. Perhaps a kiss brought forth so much unknown emotion that they all neutralized within him. He briefly wondered what a hug would do. “You don’t have to apologize.”

Ivan hesitated, lips pressing together, then added quickly, almost awkwardly: “But… It was nice.” A faint curve touched his mouth, small but there, and Till felt his chest tighten.

“Was it?” Till leaned back, laughing. “Yeah, I guess it was.” Till paused, a tease on his tongue he couldn’t help, “Want to try again?”

Ivan’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, but he could try to grab for words. Till patted his back with a string of giggles. “I’m joking, I’m joking!”

Ivan gave him a soft smile, hand threading through his neck-length hair. “Ah. A joke.”

Till leaned in. “You used to tell really good jokes, you know. Well–more like quipped remarks that were kind of funny when I wasn’t mad at you.”

Ivan tilted his chin, thoughtful, his hand bracing it. “I don’t think I am as humorous anymore.”

“That’s alright,” Till assured with a grin. “It’ll come back to you.”

Ivan nodded, settling his hands in his lap before standing. “I must research this.”

“Research,” Till echoed, raising a brow. “Like… comedy?”

“Sure.” Ivan shrugged, taking Till’s cup, his ice cream long since melted. “I’ll get you more.” He didn’t even get to thank him–or decline–before Ivan slipped through the back door into the house, leaving Till staring after him, baffled. He turned to the yard with a long exhale, shaking his head.

“Just what have I done?”

“You kissed Ivan?” Luka’s jaw just about dropped, and Till rolled his eyes. “Like–on the lips?”

“Where else would I kiss him, Luka?” Till mumbled, furrowing his eyes towards the chicken in front of him, tumbling it through seasoning in a bowl. He was making lunch–on a time crunch as five hungry children periodically asked him through dramatics when lunch would be ready. Luka was meant to be helping, but he was too busy staring at him with wide eyes; they'd surely pop out of their sockets any moment now. 

“I would’ve guessed the floor, near his feet, before he’d even let you that close,” Luka snorted, finally dropping the batter-heavy chicken legs into the oil. “I’m just… surprised. He’s improving really fast, and honestly? It’s a little concerning.”

“What’s so concerning about it?” Till asked, whipping his head around just in time to catch Taehyun trying to sneak into the kitchen. The boy grinned cheekily before retreating upstairs.

“I don’t know,” Luka shrugged. “I’ve never seen someone develop so quickly.”

“Don’t tell me you think he’s trying to trick me,” Till said playfully, washing his hands under the faucet. “What? He becomes more human, I kiss him, he declares his love for me–and when I least expect it, he betrays us all!”

“Till.”

“Wait, I’m not done,” Till whipped his hands on his apron. “Then, in a very cartoonish, episodic, villain cackle, he goes ‘you were a fool to trust me! Now I shall burn this place to the ground for Segyein kind!’”

Luka stared at him, deadpanned.

“What?” Till lifted his hands in surrender. “It’s been nine years.”

That actually got Luka to snort, shaking his head in defeat. “For one, I don’t think deception is in his programming, so we’re safe from more fires. And secondly… you’re right. I’m being ridiculous.” He wiped down the counter with a shrug. “I just. I don’t know.”

Till frowned, the humor slipping from his face.

“I think I’m a little…” Luka mumbled.

Till leaned in, a grin slipping through. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you. What was that?”

“...Jealous. Okay?” Luka huffed out, raising his head. 

Till frowned, watching Luka’s blond eyes widen, chasing after those words with more than he expected. “That’s not to say I’m not happy for you, Till. I am happy for you.”

“I know,” Till reassured softly, squeezing his shoulder. “I’m just… shocked you’re being this vulnerable. Usually you’re so–” He screwed his face into something that looked like a dead bug on its back.

Luka rolled his eyes and shoved him lightly. “I miss Hyuna. A lot,” he admitted, voice quiet. “So much. And I don’t think I could handle it if she were alive, but… not her. Not how I knew her. You know?”

Till’s teasing faded as he listened to him.

“You’re strong, Till. And incredibly patient. Between the two of us, you’re the one who deserves the chance to make things right. I had mine, and I…” Luka stopped talking, softly shaking his head, his hair falling into his face. “I’m sorry. I’m making this about myself.”

There was a time Luka wasn’t so self-aware. Where he only cared for his feelings. A time where the world felt like it only revolved around Luka, and no one else. It still shocked Till when he displayed signs of care, and empathy towards him, or to the kids. He really grew a lot, and though Till swore never to… he actually admired Luka and looked up to him. He struggled with expressing himself, bottling everything up when, in the past, he wore all his emotions on his sleeve. Till understood how incredibly lucky he was, but that didn’t devalue Luka’s festering feelings towards what became of their lives since Till found Ivan. Sure, Luka may tease him, or offer–whilst well-meaning–god-awful advice, but beneath it all was genuine; a stubborn way of showing support.

They had both been stuck in the past, their lives dictated by the ghosts of their loved ones, unable to move forward. For the longest time, they only had each other; first in the early days, when they’d have preferred to be islands apart. Now, if someone asked Till who his best friend was, he’d pull a face, stick out his tongue in mock disgust, and then admit, without hesitation, that it was Luka. Luka never showed any romantic interest in anyone whilst living on the base, though women had some very obvious crushes on him, he never paid them any mind. Part of it was his insecurities, and the other half was that his heart belonged to someone else. Instead, all his time went towards taking care of the kids, finding a new purpose in fatherhood. It was as if he and Till shared an unspoken pact: neither of them would ever move on from their past loves, and though Till technically hadn’t, it was like he was breaking that promise. 

“No, it’s okay,” Till said, his gaze on Luka as he started to place the fried chicken into a bowl. “I’m not mad. It’s still really crazy. I don’t think it’ll ever feel normal, not for a long time. But I think feeling a little jealous is okay. Honestly, it’s probably easier to believe this was all a Segyein ploy than to face the reality of it.”

Luka huffed out a breath, the tension in his shoulders easing. “The Segyein aren’t smart enough to pull off a strategic plane crash just to send Ivan back. So you can rest easy.”

“That’s true.” Till smiled and nudged him. “By the way, don’t worry, you’re still my best friend.”

“Till, shut up–”

“Well, behind Isaac. He’s my ultra, super best friend–”

“Now that’s just rude.”

Till laughed, slipping Luka into a side hug he gawked at but didn’t push away, before reaching for plates to finally feed their impatient piranhas. Once the kids were settled at the kitchen table, tearing into their food like they hadn’t eaten in days, Luka pressed a warm tupperware against his chest. Till blinked at it; fried chicken, rice, and vegetables neatly packed inside.

“It’s for Ivan,” Luka muttered off-handedly, the baby strapped to his chest now quiet after fussing for him earlier. “You should bring him lunch while he’s at work. Didn’t you say you had something else to give him too?”

Till nodded at the reminder. “He told me he usually just grabs something at the shop across the street.”

“Gods,” Luka rolled his eyes. “I hand you an excuse to go see him and you hand me reasons why you shouldn’t. But fine, if you’d rather sit here listening to Taehyun chew like a cow–”

“Hey,” Taehyun whipped his head up, cheeks puffed with food, earning a chorus of snickers from his siblings.

“--then be my guest,” Luka finished with a smirk, reaching to take the container back.

Till twisted away from him, face warming. “I’ll give it to him. And the other thing.” He grabbed the gift bag off the table before Luka could say another word.

“Also,” Luka called out just as he stepped out of the front door. “Do you know if Ivan can swim?”

Till turned around slowly, eyes dancing around. “Why? Are you planning to dump him in the middle of the ocean?”

“No,” Luka said through a chuckle. “We should go to the beach this Friday. So–wait, yes. Yes, I am.”

Till smiled, and shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ll ask him, and let you know. But I think the beach is a great idea.”

“Of course it is,” Luka said, smug, a hand on his hip while the baby pawed at a curl that had slipped loose from his bun. “I only have good ideas.”

“Mm,” Till hummed doubtfully. “Remember last week when you–”

“Goodbye,” Luka cut him off, shutting the door in his face. Till blew out a breath, laughing to himself as he headed off.

The mechanic shop sat just down the road from the bar,  Till passed it every day on his way to work. It was run by an older couple, the most trustworthy hands on the base whenever his motorcycle coughed or sputtered. Back before he ever thought about rescue work, Till had helped out there briefly. On his first anniversary with the base, they’d gifted him the very motorcycle he still rode today. They were kind, dependable people; so it didn’t surprise him that, of all the businesses here, they’d be the ones to hire Ivan. Still, walking there now set his nerves on edge, though he couldn’t explain why. They lived together, and saw each other every day. 

Ivan was outside of the shop, in the large garage. His legs were sticking out from underneath the van he was working on, muttering underneath his breath about a problem he was currently working on fixing. 

“Ivan,” A voice called out, frail and shaky just as Till came to a stop outside of the shop. “Take a break, young man. You’ve been at that all morning–Till, is that you?”

Till lifted a hand, waving at the old man coming out of the garage. “Good evening, Mister Itto. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Mr. Itto agrees, shaking his hand. “Far too long. It’s good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you, too,” Till bowed his head slightly, gesturing towards Ivan, still underneath the car. “I came to give Ivan his lunch.”

“That kid,” the old man clicked his tongue. “He’ll work all day if you let him. It’s nice to have such a hard working employee, but he works any harder, and I’ll feel like I’m underpaying him.”

Till laughed softly, watching from the corner of his eye as Ivan finally rolled out from beneath the van. He pushed his work goggles up onto his head, sitting upright on the creeper. His dark-blue jumper hung loose, unzipped and shrugged down to his waist, leaving only a soot-smudged sleeveless shirt clinging to him, streaked with oil and effort. He twirled a wrench in his hand, in thought for a moment, before he tossed it in the tool tray beside him. Till tried not to stare, and he really did. He focused on Mr. Itto and the string of words leaving the old man’s mouth, nodding at the right moments, but it was getting harder and harder the closer Ivan came. Until it was suddenly quiet, Ivan was now standing beside the old man.

“Till?”

“Uh–yes?” Till stammered, swearing at himself internally. He snapped his head toward Mr. Itto, who was watching him with mild concern.

“I asked how work was going,” Mr. Itto repeated, more slowly this time.

“Oh.” Till forced a smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Work is fine. I just love getting screamed at by drunk people.”

Mr. Itto chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve been telling Isaac we need to get you back out there, doing rescue work. I hope you’ll be back in your element soon.”

Till’s heart warmed, nodding his head in agreement. He really did miss doing his rescue work–it never stopped, but it was so rewarding. But Ivan became his priority, and he had to hang up his duties temporarily to help him. He hoped, secretly, that once he resumed his missions, Ivan could be his partner. Luka didn’t participate in missions–he was needed here, on the base, but he always thought it would be nice to do work with a friend. 

“I hope so, too,” Till replied softly. Ivan quietly listened to their conversation, lifting the stray sleeve of his jumper to wipe away the sweat on his forehead. 

“Well,” Mr. Itto said, patting Ivan’s back before glancing between them. “I’ll leave you two to talk. After your break, Ivan, I’ll show you how to order parts.”

“Yes, sir,” Ivan replied promptly.

“Tell Miss Ayano I said hello,” Till called after the old man as he retreated beneath the garage awning, disappearing into the shop.

Once alone, the two of them remained in awkward silence. Till shifted his weight, suddenly all too aware of the container tucked under his arm. Snapping out of it, he thrust it forward a little too quickly, holding it out between them like an offering.

“Lunch,” Till explained. “Luka and I made it for the kids, and we had some left over, so…”

Ivan blinked, then accepted it with careful hands, as if it were fragile. “Thank you. I… appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” Till mumbled.

“What is in the bag?”

“Oh!” He startled, fumbling to pull the bag off his arm. He’d nearly forgotten he was carrying it. “This is for you too. Open it.”

Ivan took the bag, then paused, his eyebrows furrowed. He glanced between the container and the bag, clearly trying to work out the logistics. Till couldn’t help himself, and he snorted behind his hand. Ivan cleared his throat as he sheepishly handed back the container, freeing up one hand to handle the bag properly. Till watched him with a childish excitement as he opened the bag. Ivan's eyes widened slightly, pulling the phone from where it was nestled nicely between paper. 

“It’s a phone,” Till stated the obvious, smiling wide. “Since you’re working now, we should have another way of communication. You know, just in case of emergencies, or if Vivi needs anything if I’m not around, or–”

“Or just for idle conversation,” Ivan interrupted, still staring at the device as though it were far more significant than Till had meant it to be. The words came out flat, but his small, though firm, nod made them feel heavier. Like that simple reason was enough; just talking to Till, about absolutely nothing at all, was an explanation enough for why he’d need a phone. 

“Right,” Till agreed, voice a little high. “I put everyone’s contacts in it already.”

“Thank you,” Ivan tucked the phone safely in his pocket, taking back the container. “I’ll return the favor.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Till waved away his sense of obligation. “It’s a gift.”

“Okay,” Ivan replied, satisfied with this explanation. 

“Ivan, can you swim?” Till blurted, pressing his hands together like he couldn’t hold the question in any longer.

Ivan’s eyes flicked to the side before he nodded. “Yes, I can. Why?”

“That’s great!” Till said, a little too loudly. “Would you be interested in going to the beach with us on Friday?”

Ivan blinked. “I’ve never been to the beach.”

“It’s nice there,” Till assured him quickly. “You’ll like it. It’s outside the base, but still in our territory. We just need to get permission to go.”

“Then I’m interested,” Ivan decided after a short pause, gaze softening. “You all do a lot of activities on the weekends.”

Till chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “We have to. When you know what the kids are up to, it’s a lot harder for them to get into trouble.”

“I wasn’t implying it was negative,” Ivan said, giving him a small, earnest smile that sent Till’s heart soaring. “It’s fun. I just… hope–” He cut himself off, biting his lip.

Till tilted his head, concern creeping in. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Ivan exhaled, voice low. “I was going to say I hope we can go out again someday.”

“Oh, we can definitely do that,” Till reassured him brightly. “We can go out to eat tonight, Vivi’s been begging me lately.”

“No.” Ivan shifted his weight, his features suddenly pensive. His voice was slower this time, careful. “I meant… alone. Just the two of us.”

Till wondered why his feet were still planted on the cement, and why he hadn’t shot straight into space. He stood there frozen, mouth agape with a sentence on his tongue that he had forgotten the moment Ivan finished that sentence. IIvan’s gaze slid away, his hand coming up to cover his mouth as if shielding some private thought he didn’t want to externally display. Say something, Till begged himself. Anything before you ruin this. But before he could collect his words, Ivan spoke again, his voice quieter now.

“I understand that Vivienne is our priority,” he murmured, thumb brushing over his lower lip. “So something like that might not be feasible right now. But I thought I should say that I’d be interested–if the opportunity ever presented itself.” He paused, then straightened slightly, shifting the topic. “However,” he added more firmly, “I would still like to go out to eat tonight. The three of us. It will be my treat.”

Our priority. Till didn’t know when Ivan began to feel a responsibility towards Vivi, and that alone was driving him mad. Ivan was changing in ways he hadn’t even had time to grasp, finding out these developments in moments that left him shell-shocked. He could only offer a rather nervous laugh, one that sounded more confused the longer it went on. Finally, he coughed away the jitters, and clasped his hands behind his back. 

“Okay. Cool.” Two measly words, but they were all he could manage. They felt pitiful coming out of his mouth, but apparently they were good enough. Anyone else would have tilted their head, asked for clarification, maybe even been offended. But this was Ivan; sweet, earnest, wonderfully clueless Ivan. And somehow, for him, “Okay. Cool.” was answer enough.

“I have to get back to work,” Ivan jabbed his thumb back to the van. And just like that, the moment was gone. 

“Ah, right. Of course,” Till stepped back, still fumbling with his hands behind his back. “I hadn’t meant to hold you up.”

“No,” Ivan shook his head. “You didn’t. I will see you when I get home.”

“Okay,” Till beamed. Ivan backed slowly, nodding at Till as he shifted awkwardly down the path. “See you later.”

Till hadn’t made it three buildings down before his phone began to ring. The caller ID flashed Ivan’s name, and he stopped in his tracks. Had he forgotten something? Till answered and pressed the device to his ear. 

“Hello?”

“Hello. Um–again.” Ivan’s deep voice rumbled through the speaker, sending a shiver down Till’s spine. There was a beat of hesitation before he added, “I just remembered something that I forgot to say.”

“What is it?” Till asked, bracing himself. Ivan’s been saying a lot of things he’d been ill-prepared for lately.

There was a pause, then Ivan replied, “Why did the picture end up incarcerated?"

Till blinked, caught completely off guard. “...I don’t know. Why?”

“Because it was framed,” Ivan said flatly, as though reporting a mission status. Then, after a perfectly timed beat of silence, he added, “I believe this is when you laugh.”

Till looked up at the sky, speechless. “Um… that’s because it wasn’t funny.”

“Oh,” Ivan replied, and he sounded disappointed. “Wait. Let me try again.”

Till stayed still, allowing Ivan his second chance. But he was just too bewildered to even deny him this potential redemption. Ivan shifted on the other side, pages rippling. 

Was he reading these off–from a book?

“Alright,” Ivan returned after a while. “First you need context. Do you know of the fable Humpty Dumpty?”

“Uh, yes?”

“So you are also aware of how he sat on a wall, and then had a great fall?”

“Ivan,” Till blinked, swishing away the incoming second-hand embarrassment. “You’re not supposed to explain jokes.”

“But I am not,” Ivan insisted. “I am simply making sure you are knowledgeable about Humpty Dumpty.”

“Okay,” Till sighed out, pinching his nose. “Finish the joke.”

“Humpty Dumpty had a great fall,” Ivan recited, as if he were reading–and he most likely was. “But, he also had a great winter. Wait, no, I said it wrong.”

“Ivan,” Till didn’t want to break his spirit, but anymore and he might visibly cringe.

“Just one more,” Ivan was earnest. “What has thirteen hearts but, coincidentally, it lacks organs?”

“That’s not a joke–that’s a riddle.”

“Mister Itto told me that one,” Ivan muttered. 

“Most jokes come from life experiences, or natural moments,” he explained, continuing his slow walk toward the house. “When I said you were funny, I meant more in a deadpan way. Even now, the things you say that aren’t meant to be funny, they just are. I’m sorry if I made you think I meant you weren’t funny at all.” He kicked a rock in the dirt, cheeks warming.

“I want to make you laugh more,” Ivan said suddenly, decisive in a way that made Till’s breath hitch. “Perhaps you do find me humorous at times,” he continued, “but I will work harder to be more… ‘natural.’”

From the background came Mister Itto’s voice: “Ivan, a customer needs an oil change.”

“Wait,” Till blurted before Ivan could go. “You called me just to tell me jokes?”

“Yes,” Ivan admitted. “Perhaps it was better this way. To save myself the humiliation.”

Till couldn’t help it, and he laughed. “See? That was funny. Have a good rest of your shift, okay? And don’t forget to eat.”

“I won’t. Goodbye.”

“Bye,” Till echoed, but Ivan had already hung up first. Till stared at his phone until it went dark, and then he pressed it against his chest with a deep exhale. Selfishly, he could get used to this.

Isaac looked up from his notepad, eyes widening at the group of people bounding into the bar. The shock went away in an instance, a laugh leaving him as he pushed his pencil behind his ear before placing his hand on his hip.

“Look at you all,” he teased, smiling wide. “I wish I could soak up some of that sun.”

They were dressed head-to-toe for the beach, so much so that the bar’s air conditioning made Till shiver. The kids couldn’t keep still, they were brimming with excitement, juggling beach balls, shovels, buckets, and water toys. Ivan had been saddled with most of the bags; sunscreen, towels, umbrellas. Luka’s hands were full with the baby in one arm and Louie hanging onto his hand. Till carried the rest of their items, the picnic basket, the baby’s bag, and all the little extras the kids swore were absolutely necessary.

“Just wanted to let you know we’re heading out now,” Till said. The children darted toward the bar counter, eager to show Dewey their new sandals and beach gear.

“Normally, it takes at least two Rebellion members to leave with the kids,” Isaac reminded, his tone serious as he tipped his chin toward Ivan. “But for obvious reasons, I’ll let you off the hook.”

Till nodded in understanding. With Ivan being a former Guard, and therefore more than capable of fighting if need be, he and Till were responsible for Luka and the children’s safety. Even if Segyein had no knowledge of the beach, protocol demanded double protection whenever the kids left the base. 

“Why can’t you guys come with us?” Suella mumbled through a pout. “You guys never want to come to the beach.”

“That’s because if we went too, there’d be no one left to run this place,” Dewey replied, dabbing at pretend tears. “So we make the sacrifice and let your dad go in our stead, just so that you guys can go play.”

Till rolled his eyes as the kids nodded with somber understanding. It wasn’t entirely untrue–but the real reasons were more complicated than they explained to the children. Over the past few years, it had become harder for Isaac and Dewey to leave the base. Till sometimes offered to run the bar so they could have a quiet day to themselves, but the place was their pride and joy, so they rejected his offers. Besides, if he were left to manage everything on his own, the bar would probably combust within the hour.

“Tell you what,” Isaac spoke up. “When you guys get back, I’ll make you sundaes to cool off.”

Luka groaned. “They’ve had too many sweets this week, and you guys contribute to it! You don’t have to be the ones getting four very hyper children into bed after giving them all that sugar.”

“Fruit cups, then,” Isaac reasoned. When Luka only sighed with dejection, the kids cheered. Dewey gave Till a small case of water bottles, and he balanced it amongst the other things he was carrying. With a chorus of goodbyes, they left the bar and were off towards the beach through the coded gate.

The beach was only two miles from the gated community, the path hugging the fence line until the grass and cement finally tapered off into pale sand and scattered rocks. The air shifted as they walked; first came the sharp tang of salt, earthy and raw, then the sound of waves rolling against the shore. When the horizon opened before them, it was nothing but ocean, stretching wide and endless in shades of emerald green and blue. The heat beat down on Till immediately, following behind Luka as the man scooped out a good spot in the sand to station all their things. There were a few people also at the beach, sitting on beach towels, and a group of guys playing beach volleyball in the distance. Most of them must’ve been rebellion members, enjoying a day in the sun before they were back to patrolling and missions.

“No one sets foot in the water until sunscreen’s on,” Luka called, his voice carrying over the crash of the waves. The kids, who had already begun inching toward the tide, groaned in unison and trudged back to the group.

As soon as Luka chose a spot, Ivan got to work; shaking out beach blankets, handing out toys, and driving umbrellas deep into the sand. Till unfolded the baby’s tent and secured it onto the fabric, freeing Luka’s hands so he could get the kids and slather them with the amount of sunscreen he deemed acceptable.

“Alright,” Luka said, now applying small amounts of sunscreen to the baby. “Go play to your heart's content. Stay close!”

“Yes, Papa,” the kids echoed in heed, wasting no time taking off their sandals, running for the water with their toys. 

Till’s eyes lingered on them as they scattered across the beach; Lucas and Suella sat down to mold sandcastles, while Vivi and Taehyun darted toward the currents, splashing each other before racing deeper into the ocean. He remembered their first time at the beach–how different it had been then. Suella had refused to go near the water, and Vivi had clung to his side the entire day. Louie had been terrified of the sand, and Lucas had spent the afternoon under an umbrella with a book, while only Taehyun had wanted to play in the shallows, Luka beside him, trying and failing to set a brave example for the rest as it was his first time, too. The memory made the scene before him all the more interesting. It filled him with awe to see how much they’d grown; less afraid of the boundaries of their world, and he hoped they’d grow to see so much more of it.

Till twisted towards where Ivan stood, wanting to ask his first impression. 

“Where did Ivan go?”

Luka whipped his head up, looking around as he absently tied the strings of the baby's bucket hat. “Isn’t that him right there?” He jerked his head towards the left, and Till peered towards the rocks. 

Louie perched on one of the clustered rocks, his yellow arm floaties bobbing in the water as he peered into the shallows. Suddenly, Ivan surged up from beneath the water with a splash, and Louie shrieked, jumping back, Till nearly bolted toward him–until the sound melted into laughter. Ivan said something to the boy with a smile, then placed an object into his palm before submerging himself back into the waves. 

“He’s been trying to make him laugh all week,” Luka said with a shake of his head. “Looks like he finally did it.”

“Really?” Till asked, dropping down beside him. “I mean, he’s been doing these silly voices when telling Vivi bedtime stories. She’s easy to crack, though–I’d say Suella and Louie are the toughest.”

Luka hummed in agreement, shifting the baby in his arms. “Exactly. They make me feel so corny sometimes. But if he can get those two to laugh, maybe he really is getting funnier. Just a little.”

Till scoffed as Ivan surfaced again, handing Louie another find. For all his squeamishness, the boy had a soft spot for little creatures, carefully accepting the tiny crabs Ivan dredged up from the ocean floor. He’d turn them gently in his hands before setting them on the rock beside him, watching with fascination as they scuttled away.

“Isn’t this her first time at the beach,” Till nodded toward the baby. “You should take a picture.”

Luka eyed him with uncertainty, shrugging. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” Till said, already kneeling to reach for Luka’s phone. He pulled up the camera and framed the shot. Luka looked stiff at first, but then adjusted the baby on his leg, holding her close. A small smile softened his face, head tilting as the baby stretched out her arms, legs kicking in delight. Till snapped the picture. He opened up the photo and nodded in satisfaction. “It’s cute!”

“Let me see.” Luka leaned in as Till zoomed into the shot. He gave a quick thumbs-up in approval. “Not bad.”

“Not at all,” Till agreed with a smile. “If we could still work in the entertainment industry, you’d make a great model. I used to hate how photogenic you were–it was like the camera had it out for me or something.”

“Well,” Luka grinned, “you didn’t exactly do yourself any favors. Wasn’t your signature pose the middle finger?”

“Whatever,” Till muttered, though the chuckle slipping through betrayed him. He lingered on the picture a moment longer, biting his lip in thought. The baby looked so comfortable in his arms, and weirdly they were becoming more alike. “You know, Luka,” Till teemed carefully, “if you wanted, you could just adopt–” His words faltered as he absently zoomed in further, the image sliding down to Luka’s hand. “Wait. What’s this?”

“What?” Luka leaned closer, then jerked back, snatching the phone from Till’s grasp. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Till’s eyes narrowed. He caught Luka’s arm before he could turn away, tugging harder than he meant to as he shoved the sleeve of his shirt upward. Luka’s hand was mottled with bruises, the usual scars still etched there–but one patch was darker, blackened.

“What’s this?” Till demanded, giving the hand a sharp shake, but Luka refused to meet his gaze. “Luka, are you okay?”

Probably sensing Till loosening his grip, Luka yanked his arm back, wrapping it around the baby, almost in a way to soothe his own self. He slid his sleeve back down, sheepishly drawing his knees to his chest. Till just stared at him intensely, unrelenting in his concern. Until Luka had no choice but to let out a frustrated sigh and snap his head in his direction. 

“It’s just from an IV drip, alright?” Luka forced through his lips. “It’s not a big deal.”

“What are you not telling me?” Till pressed, squinting at him, ignoring his initial words.

 He had been quiet this entire time, trying to explain away Luka’s dizzy spells, his sudden lack of energy, and now this. But he didn’t know for how much longer he could take his secrecy. Worry gnawed at him, dragging up Isaac’s words from back then–about how Heperu was only prolonging the inevitable. When the ‘inevitable’ would truly be just that. 

“It’s just,” Luka fumbled out, “for energy. I’ve been really… tired lately. Isaac gives me something to help with that, on top of my medication. That’s it, Till. Seriously.”

Till’s expression softened, his gaze tracing Luka’s features. He looked nervous–uneasy–and Till hated the thought that he might be the reason. He leaned back slightly, eyes falling to the colorful blankets spread beneath them.

“Do you promise?” Till blurted.

Luka’s eyes widened before he let out a short snort. “That’s so childish.”

“I don’t care,” Till snapped, fist tightening against his knee. “Do you promise that’s all there is?”

“Yes,” Luka finally exhaled, the weight in Till’s voice leaving him no room to dodge. “I promise.” The silence that followed was heavy, until Luka broke it by reaching over to ruffle Till’s hair. Till jerked away with a scowl.

“Awe, is someone worried about me?” Luka teased.

“No,” Till huffed, springing to his feet before Luka could try again. “I’m going to go swim.”

“You do that,” Luka said, leaning back on the blanket and sliding his sunglasses down over his eyes. “The baby and I are gonna catch a few Z’s.”

“You act like an old man,” Till muttered under his breath as he strode off.

“What was that?” Luka yelled after him, Till grinned at the fact he got the last word, running away.

The water was so warm as Till shifted through it, his feet hovering the further he went, until the current picked him off of them completely. He settled into its warmth, seeping deeper, and deeper, until his nose was the only thing above water. Till closed his eyes, letting out a long exhale through his nostrils, trying to hold in the tears that threatened to spill during his conversation with Luka. Since he’d been calling the base his home, no one close to him had passed. But you could just tell when someone died–the colony got so somber, and the skies were always dark, clouds full of rain poured down for hours. They had about three deaths a year, sometimes more if they lost people in action–but even then, while he may have been sad, Till had never cried. Now, the thought of Luka one day becoming part of that number made his chest ache. He could already picture the storm clouds gathering, and the endless downpour that would tell them so. Sometimes he wished he had Heperu’s science, though quite a selfish thought, he couldn’t help it.

Till’s eyes flew open when something clamped around his ankle. He thrashed upward, gasping for air, but with one effortless tug he was yanked beneath the surface. His eyes squeezed shut, only daring to crack one open when nothing else happened. There, inches away, Ivan hovered with puffed cheeks and a mischievous gleam in his dark eyes, his lips curled to match. The sight sent a rush of relief through Till’s chest, his racing heart slowing once his fears drifted away. He reached out instinctively, and Ivan met him halfway, threading their fingers together despite the resistance of the water. With a firm pull, Ivan drew Till into his chest, holding him close as he kicked them both upward. They broke the surface to a ray of sunlight and salt on their tongues. Till gulped down air as they bobbed together in the waves.

“You got me,” Till sputtered, laughing between breaths. “How long were you under there?”

“A few minutes,” Ivan's skin was soft against his back, he twisted around so that they were face to face. 

“Do you have gills or something?” Till teased.

“All Guards are put through intensive training,” Ivan said, hands lingering at his hips. “So that we are not–,” he paused, furrowing his eyebrows. “They are not inconvenienced in inclement weather.”

“That’s impressive,” Till admitted. “If I knew you were part Merman, I would’ve recommended the beach a long time ago.”

Ivan’s mouth curved into a faint smile, and before Till realized it, they were closer than before, their bodies drifting toward each other like magnets. “I suppose it’s more preferable than the PDA’s indoor pool,” Ivan replied, amused.

Till slid his arms around Ivan’s neck, pulling him nearer, unable to hide the fondness in his gaze. “I think a lot of things are better than anything the PDA ever produced.”

Ivan’s expression faltered. “Am I not a product of the PDA?” he asked, head tilting slightly in confusion.

“No,” Till said firmly, the word leaving his mouth like a promise, eyes straying. “You–and everyone else–you’re not just creations of the PDA. Some of you had mothers, or someone else, who loved you before all of this. Someone who was happy to have you… and heartbroken to see you go.”

“Yes,” Ivan nodded his head, like it all made sense then, hooking a finger under Till’s chin. Till suddenly felt shy, he didn’t know when Ivan got so touchy, so inclined to be so close to him–not that he minded. “I guess you’re right. I never had a mother, but I did have someone else.”

Till eyes softened on him, and he tucked his lips in to conceal the smile threatening to break through. Instead, he pulled Ivan closer, until his hands were fully wrapped around Till’s torso, and his face was cradled in the crook of his shoulder. This was the first time he’d ever hugged Ivan, and as he felt the solid weight of him in his arms, Till couldn’t help but wonder why he’d waited so long. Maybe back then, if Till received this form of comfort from him, he would have felt safe, and all those swirling emotions and feelings wouldn’t have been so confusing. Till breathed him in, and he smelled like all the water around them and more. Ivan’s grip around him was firm, enveloping him with no intention to pull away; perhaps he was thinking the same thing. 

“Can I have a hug?”

Till reeled back, eyes narrowing at the small voice that got picked up by the wind. Ivan reluctantly pulled away from him as they both turned towards the direction it came from. Louie sat cross-legged on the rocks, waving with both hands like he’d been waiting forever to be noticed.

Till burst out laughing, shaking his head as he started swimming toward him. “Of course you can, Lou,” he called.

Hauling himself halfway onto the rocks, Till scooped the boy up with ease. Louie felt practically weightless in his arms, still perfectly dry except for his damp hands; proof of his latest mission of collecting rocks and tiny crabs.

“One big bear hug, coming right up!” Till declared, squeezing him tight. Louie squealed, laughter ringing out as Till rocked him dramatically side to side. Ivan swam up beside them, like a shark peeking over the surface. As Till finally let go, Louie scrambled eagerly onto Ivan’s back when he turned around.

“Hold on tight,” Ivan instructed.

Louie immediately obeyed, arms wrapping securely around his neck. With a powerful kick, Ivan surged forward, cutting through the water narrowly. Louie’s shouts echoed as they raced for the shore. Till trailed after them at a slower pace, watching with an aching smile that ignited in his chest.

Once they made it back to shore, Till spotted Vivi and Taehyun crouched low in the sand, their hands moving furiously as they shaped towers and carved trenches. It seemed they’d returned from the water only to dive headfirst into a sandcastle building competition–and from the looks of it, they were winning despite their late start. A few feet away, Suella was in a frantic rush, trying to make up for Lucas’ lack of effort. He sat cross-legged beside her, more interested in the decorations for their lopsided castle than actually contributing to the foundation. Suella’s creative ideas faltered under the teamwork of Vivi and Taehyun’s incredulous energy. 

After the sandcastle war had run its course–Vivi and Taehyun proudly claiming victory while Suella pouted and Lucas remained completely unbothered–the kids trudged back toward the shade of the umbrellas. Their once boundless energy seemed to vanish all at once, replaced by a lazy, sun-drenched exhaustion. They munched halfheartedly on turkey sandwiches, chewing slow and quiet, until one by one, drowsiness claimed them. Towels were tugged around their shoulders and draped over one another, huddled together in a warm, tangled pile around Luka and the baby. 

Till sat on the by the tide, watching the sun make way for the moon. He hoped the kids would stay awake long enough to watch the sunset, but he guessed he was too optimistic about that. The warmth started to dip away, too, a cool breeze sweeping over them. The other rebellion members had left after stopping by for a short conversation to catch up. He lulled his chin in his palm, lost in thought as the wind swept through his hair, sighing out loud. 

“What are you thinking about?” Ivan asked, sitting down beside him. He ran a towel through his hair, starting to dry after being drenched from head to toe. 

“About the future,” Till confessed sheepishly. “Did you ever wonder what your life would be like a couple of years from now?”

Ivan tilted his head in thought. “No,” he said after a moment of quiet. “Everyday was the same routine. Tasks, objectives, and training. There really was no ‘life’.”

Till frowned, and though he knew Ivan felt no way towards the question, he still felt bad for asking it. 

“But now,” Ivan continued, causing Till to turn to him, “I think about it, a lot more than I used to. Is there something that concerns you?”

Till bit his lip, fingers absently sifting through the sand. The grains slipped through his hand no matter how tightly he tried to hold them. His gaze drifted over his shoulder, toward Luka. Luka held Louie close as he wrapped himself around his torso, his other hand reaching for the baby, her tiny palm clutching one of his fingers in her sleep, ensuring that she was there.

“I’m worried about Luka,” Till confessed, his laugh unsteady. “Sometimes it drives me crazy, how much. He seems fine now, but… there was a time he wasn’t. And I’m afraid those days are creeping back, faster than I want to admit.”

Ivan was quiet for a beat before he said, “Worrying about an uncertain future can keep you from appreciating the present.”

Till blinked, then let out a surprised laugh. “Since when are you so philosophical?”

“I’ve been reading,” Ivan said simply, with a small shrug.

Till snorted, shaking his head. “But you’re right. I just never expected to care about him this much. He’s like an older brother to me, though, sometimes, he feels younger than I am. He’s been through so much, and he’s come such a long way. I just…” Till’s words faltered as he stared at the horizon. “I want him to keep growing. To become himself–completely.”

Ivan tilted his head, studying him. “What was he like before?”

Till hesitated, uneasy. “…He was meaner. Ruder. Selfish, even.”

Ivan’s jaw tightened at that, his expression unreadable. Till frowned, unsure what thoughts were turning behind those dark eyes. Ivan had been looking himself up more and more lately, piecing together his past, and the last thing Till wanted was for him to see Luka through the harshest lens possible. He doesn’t think he’d ventured into Alien Stage territory. If he ever got there, Till feared Ivan’s opinion on Luka would change. He wouldn’t want anyone to judge him on how he acted in the past, so he wanted to make sure Ivan didn’t perceive Luka in a negative light from a time in their lives where every single one of their choices were made in an act of survival; survival for themselves–or for the survival of others.

“But how he was back then was the results of his environment," Till added quickly, patting Ivan’s shoulder. “What he’s dealing with now is also because of it. That’s why I think about his future more than my own.”

“I think Luka knows you care about him,” Ivan replied. “You should tell him these things, so he knows that it is coming from a place of concern.”

Till shrugged, dipping his head. “I will,” he muttered. “Eventually. Maybe when Vivi is my age.”

Ivan smiled, lightly brushing against him. “That’s funny.”

“Speaking of which, you’re getting so much better at making people laugh,” Till expressed, opening his arms. 

“Am I?”

“Mhm,” Till nodded. He inched closer, and timidly placed his head on Ivan’s shoulder. “But you’re also getting better at telling people what they need to hear. Thank you.”

His heart leapt in surprise when Ivan placed his head on his own. “... Anytime.”

Till plopped Louie onto one of Luka’s couches, the boy still sound asleep. The rest of his siblings were awake but sluggish in their movements. They had made it home before it got too late, and by then the kids were no longer concerned with Isaac’s fruit cups; just eager for showers and bed. They dropped their bags and umbrellas in the foyer, leaving them in a heap for Luka to sort through whenever he could muster the energy in the morning.

“Today was a lot of fun,” Luka declared, rustling sleepy heads as the kids made their way to the staircase. 

“You just slept the entire time,” Till deadpanned, but Luka only gleamed at him, the baby fast asleep across his chest. 

“You’re forgetting the time I woke up to feed and change the baby,” Luka reminded him with a smug smirk, dusting his hands off from some of the sand that fell out of Lucas’ hair, caught off guard by it. “Are you guys staying the night?”

Till sighed, sitting on the couch, gently pulling Louie into his lap to take off his floaties and sandals, none the wiser in his deep sleep. “Yes, I don’t think any of us can walk home.”

“Fair enough,” Luka decided, reaching for the TV remote. “That means you can help me with laundry before you head to work tomorrow!”

“Yay,” Till cheered, but it came out dry and unenthused. “Ivan, do you work tomorrow?”

He waited for a reply, but one didn’t come, he whipped his head in the man’s direction. Ivan stopped by the coffee table, eyes trained on the TV. But he didn’t have the expression on his face he got when it was a show he was interested in. It was almost… frightened. Till twisted his head towards Luka, and his finger was rapidly pressing the volume button, a Segyein news caster voice blaring through the speakers.

“The PDA is searching for what they believe to be a weapon that has gone rogue–”

Till flicked his eyes to the television, his heart pounded in his ears, to the point it drowned anything else out. Ivan’s photo was displayed on the right of the newscaster. It was a much older picture of him, back when his short, black hair fell into his eyes, and his facial features wiped clean of any emotions, dead eyes staring straight into the camera. It must’ve been the picture they used for his Guard ID, five years ago. 

VALUABLE PDA WEAPON GONE ROGUE, PLEASE RETURN ONCE FOUND.

Luka’s shock melted into a grin, spreading slow and playfully callous across his face as he turned toward Ivan. The situation didn’t exactly call for humor, but that had never stopped Luka before. Till could already feel his eyes rolling into the back of his head before the words left even his mouth:

“Well,” Luka clicked his tongue. “Look who’s the fugitive now.”

Chapter Text

The gymnasium was crowded, and loud. Hundreds of voices mingled together to the point they rumbled the metal seats. Ivan sat beside Till and Luka, observing those around them as they all waited for the announcement to begin. Though most tried not to make it obvious that they were staring, many didn’t care; their eyes tearing into Ivan with a scrutiny not unfamiliar to him during his time on the base. But somehow, they were more intense, emitted hostility that became harder to ignore the more they all sat there, listless in their waiting. Ivan only stopped gazing over his shoulder when Till squeezed his thigh, garnering his attention. 

“It’s alright,” Till said, the softness of his voice difficult to hear over the noise, but reading his lips were enough. “Isaac will clear it up.”

Ivan nodded, but it was tentative, staring back at him. He never felt so nervous, especially for something so out of his control. But somehow, it still felt like his fault; they were all potentially in danger because of him. 

It took less than a day for word of the Segyein discovering his “escape” to ripple across the base. By last night, it had reached a breaking point, with people demanding answers, explanations, and reassurances about their safety. He overheard someone mutter that they hadn’t felt this level of duress since Mizi sent that missile crashing into the Alien Stage auditorium. So that morning, Isaac’s voice rang out over the emergency speakers, calling for a meeting in the gymnasium at the learning center. Anyone who wished could attend, to hear the situation explained and learn the plans moving forward. Luka was against attending, saying that by doing so, it would seem like they–the closest people to Ivan–were even unsure about his status on the base. Till disagreed, saying that that is exactly why they should go; to support Ivan and clear up any questions they possibly could. 

Ivan turned toward Luka, who sat on the other side of him, idly worrying at his fingernail with his teeth. School was cancelled, so they had to leave the children with the caretakers at the orphanage to attend this.

“He’s just nervous about leaving the baby with strangers,” Till whispered, hoping to ease the edge in the air. “He hasn’t been apart from her since they met. But he wanted to be here, to speak up for you too.”

Ivan did appreciate their support, but it left him overwhelmed. All of this was so overwhelming, and the longer they sat there, the worse his thoughts became. Though Till smiled at him so reassuringly, the expression delicate, and his fingertips warm as they rose to his head, threading through his hair to rid the black strands out of his face. It calmed him–but only fleetingly, because soon after that Isaac stood at the center of the floor ground, microphone in hand as he stared up at only half of the population of the base. 

“I appreciate everyone who managed to make it here today,” Isaac began, making eye contact with those in the front row. “I know you’re all concerned about what we saw on the Segyein broadcast a few days ago. But before we begin, I want to make one thing absolutely clear: you are safe. Our location remains hidden. This meeting isn’t to debate the security of our protection, but to answer your concerns and questions.”

Ivan could audibly hear the multitude of exhales of relief that resonated in union around them. Till and Luka didn’t seem surprised by that information, in fact, they’d been telling him that at most, the Segyein only knew he was missing, but not where he was located due to how remote the base was in its entirety. They had a plethora of security cameras, signal blockers, and GPS jammers to the point that finding them would be a task within itself. They were essentially their own country with how concealed they were. The issue at hand was never concerns for their safety–but concerns about Ivanhimself. 

Immediately afterwards, a bunch of hands shot into the air; questions on their tongues. Isaac looked nervous to even point towards one, but eventually, he gestured to the older gentleman up front–Mitser Itto. Ivan didn’t even realize that he was here.

“I just don’t understand why we’re treating this any differently than the other times one of us ended up on the news,” Mister Itto expressed loudly. “I say we don’t make a big fuss out of this.”

“Of course you don’t understand the implications of any of this!” Another voice cried out, a man with green hair and a seemingly permanent scowl on his face. “This isn’t just anyone we’re talking about. He used to work for the Segyein. And you think this won’t escalate?”

“Isaac just said that our home is not at risk,” a woman said, her arms crossed on her chest. “So–no. It won’t escalate.” 

“Everyone,” Isaac muttered into the mic, already exasperated. He’d asked for questions, but so far, not a single one had been asked. “Questions only, please.”

“I have a question.” All eyes turned upward, to a white-haired woman raising her hand. “Okay, sure, the Segyein knows he’s alive, and missing. But how do they know that?”

The air shifted, and the muttering began. 

“I cannot accurately answer that,” Isaac said quickly. “But I–”

“Isn’t he supposed to have died in a plane crash?” Another voice asked.

“Who would’ve known that he hadn’t at all?”

“I think it’s time we be honest with ourselves,” a man stood up in the crowd with a deep frown. “Someone here told the Segyein.”His gaze locked on Ivan, and they were so cold that it sent a shiver up his spine. “And no one who truly loves this place would risk our lives. There’s only one person here who would’ve done such a thing.”

Ivan gazed flicked away, towards the polished hardwood beneath his feet. It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected the accusations–he heard them the entire time he sat there. But for someone to say it outwardly, and for that fact he couldn’t even fault him, made him feel–ashamed. Ashamed that whilst he’d been trying to acclimate and make amends with the residents, they still disliked him. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he began to care, but maybe it was around the time when Aeri connected that he and Vivi were related. When he fully grasped her difficulties on the base due to how they villainized Mizi, and it extended towards her. And that if Aeri had told anyone else, he would just make it worse. For her sake, he had been trying to be kinder, and less apathetic to the circumstance–but perhaps it wasn’t enough to gain their trust. It wasn’t enough to show them that this had become his ‘home’ too, when he previously didn’t have one–but in the end he was just fooling himself to believe he had become like them all; liberated from the Segyein manipulation. Even now, everyone sat quietly, with the words in the hanging in the air, not daring to come to his defense–

“Ivan would never do that.”

Till shot up from his seat, his face flushed, fists balled at his sides. “Maybe you can’t see it, but he’s come to love this place. This is his home too. He’s sitting here, listening to your concerns, because he cares. He wants to ease your fears. But all he’s hearing right now is you treating him like a criminal, like he asked for any of this. If you came here just to blame him, to make him the villain, then I suggest you leave.”

“Till.” The man who’d spoken earlier cut in, his tone sharp. “Don’t you find it interesting how all your companions, in some way or another, cause nothing but trouble for us?”

“What?” Till shouted, his feet moving up the metal steps. Ivan reached out, but Luka was already out of his seat–like that was all he had to hear to snap out of his fretting. He grabbed onto Till’s arm, shooting a glare up the bleachers.

“Hey!” Dewey’s voice cut through the large space, amplifying off of the walls. People flinched and the murmurs died; order snapped back in. Dewey didn’t look pleased; his eyebrows were drawn downward, and his jaw tight, his stare pinned so stiffly on the crowd that Till and Luka were stuck in place for a moment. Slowly, Till sank back into his seat as Luka remained standing, still holding onto his arm.

“Am I hearing people blame one of our own?” Dewey asked. The question hovered around the room, but all he was given in the form of an answer was a silence so deafening, you could hear a pin drop. “Am I?” he pressed loudly, yet still no one responded.

“I sure hope not.” He said finally, taking a step forward, his voice fierce. “And as for the disrespect to Isaac; that isn’t going to fly.” He paced in thought, then looked up. “I’ll be blunt. Yes, an ex-PDA Guard is among us. Yes, the Segyein knows he’s alive, and missing in action. And yes, you’re all frightened. But if I hear one more baseless theory about Ivan tipping them off, there will be consequences. We’re a family here; regardless of where we came from or what we look like. No one here is better than the next. We don’t turn on each other, and we certainly don’t alienate our own.”

There were some murmurs in agreement to his lecture, and it comforted him to know not everyone thought so negatively of him. After a moment, Dewey gave Isaac back the microphone and he cleared his throat. 

“We will keep you all updated,” he said, seemingly ending the meeting.That was for the better, because nothing substantial was coming from it, anyhow. He looked really disappointed with them all, and it was like they could feel it. “But like most things, this will more than likely blow over. If there are no further questions, we’ll conclude here.”

Ivan tentatively stuck his hand in the air, and Isaac smiled warmly, pointing him out. Ivan let go of Till’s hand, which he held in an attempt to calm Till down, so that he could rise to his feet.

“I don’t have any inquiries,” Ivan started, and he disliked how nervous he sounded. “I just wanted to say that all your concerns are understandable, and I can’t fault you all for worrying to the degree you are. But I haven’t been in communication with the Segyein since my last mission, two weeks before the plane crash. I’m also uncertain of how they found out my status, but I would never endanger your lives, or what you call your… home.” He nodded faintly, flattering momentarily.  “That is all.”

He sat back down, hands stiff in his lap. Till looked at him sadly, silently telling him that he didn’t need to do that. But he felt like he had to, in order to protect him and Vivi from further scrutiny. Whether they believed him or not was up to them, but he felt like saying nothing at all would've been equally as terrible. He felt stares settle onto him, but they felt more so sympathetic or guilty, and those that didn’t dare to look still held some semblance of edge in the weight of its lack thereof.

“Thank you, Ivan,” Isaac replied. “That’ll conclude this meeting. Enjoy the rest of your morning, and school will be back in session tomorrow. Sorry for the inconvenience this had on our parents here, but you are our number one priority.”

And just like that, all the tension in the air lifted. People in the bleachers began their descent down the steps, passing them by and leaving through the double doors. It didn’t go unnoticed to Ivan how Till stared down the man that accused him as he shifted past them sheepishly.

“Bastard,” Till said loud enough for him to hear as he walked by, and Luka snorted. “Let’s get out of here. I can’t believe these people.”

“I can,” Luka helped Till to his feet and they started towards the doors. “There’s so many people on the base who like to sit on their high horse. You’d think we have a common enemy, but somehow we’re still of different opinions.”

“Just ignore them, Ivan,” Till bumped his shoulder. “You did the right thing by coming here. Imagine the things they’d say if you didn’t.”

“I still think he shouldn’t have,” Luka pushed one of the double doors open, leading them out into the school hallway. “They’d still say them anyway, like that idiot up in the bleachers. Nothing even amounted from this meeting, they just used it as a way to hash out their dislike for him.”

“Some were kind,” Till murmured as they waved through the crowd. “Like Mister Itto. We should listen to those opinions instead of honing in on the negative ones.”

Ivan didn’t respond, letting the conversation between the two of them seep in. He wanted to remain optimistic, but the whole entire thing kept persistently bothering him. The first few weeks–when he came to settle onto the base, shedding his Guard protocols–Ivan was certain that he had been truly forgotten about by the Segyein. That they deemed him a casualty and wouldn’t bother looking for him, replacing his typical duties and spot on the PDA sector with some other guy. The longer he stayed here, recovering his feelings towards Till, harbouring fondness for the children, and even garnering friendship with Luka, the more he longed to remain.

 He didn’t want to return to the PDA, he hoped he had faded into obscurity, not a thought in the organization's mind. He was nothing but an expendable weapon, after all–so he didn’t understand why they claimed he was ‘valuable’. Perhaps it was the knowledge he had about the PDA, at least, what they permitted him to know. But since he’d been here, no one had really asked about the dealings of the PDA. Everyone on the bases only had one goal, and that was living the happiest lives they could muster, carrying on like the world outside of their community just simply didn’t exist. And perhaps foolishly, Ivan had begun to function similarly so. Had begun to think he had a place here, too. That Till, the kids, and even Luka… were his family. Ivan would never jeopardise that, not now–when he had begun to listen to his heart, instead of the years of protocol and programming poured into him. Not when he had just begun to feel. 

Ivan glanced over his shoulder, peering at the crowd of people shifting towards the exit. Offhandedly, he quietly wondered if someone had told the PDA he was still alive, living amongst the rebellion. But that felt unreasonable the more he thought about it–who’s loathing towards him can make someone risk all their lives? But the PDA knew he had gone ‘rogue’, when he could’ve simply been lost, attempting to return to headquarters himself. His eyes narrowed, squaring in the man with green hair as he pulled his phone out his pocket, watching intensely as he pressed around on the screen. 

Was it him? Or maybe it was the girl with the high ponytail, leaning into her friend to whisper in their ear, all while locking eyes with him. 

“Ivan?” Till called, watching with concern in his gaze.

Ivan snapped out of his thoughts, and lightly shook away the darkening thoughts. He was being ridiculous–completly unreasonable. There had to be some other explanation… 

“I have to go to work,” Ivan said, holding open the door to let Till and Luka outside. “We’ll split up here.”

Till slowed down once out on the pavement, others passing them by as Ivan pressed his back up against the door, keeping it open to let them through. “Oh, alright. We’re going to go pick up the kids, now.”

Ivan nodded. “I’ll call you later, then.”

Till smiled at him, tilting his head. “Okay. Have a good day at work.” Till gave him a small wave, twisting around and stepping down the few cement steps.

Luka didn’t wait for him, already a couple of feet away, only pausing when Till called his name. He turned around, and Ivan squinted against the sun to realize the blond was staring back at him. He had been restless during the entire meeting, and even though Till told Ivan it was because he worried about the baby, he couldn’t help but think there was more to it. His thoughts began to crowd his head as he and Luka continued to stare at each other, until it was suddenly broken by Luka turning back around once Till wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and they laughed at something Luka had said. That gesture didn’t calm him, if anything, it made the voices in his head louder, colliding and tangled, a storm of accusations. His stomach knotted with the sudden, jarring thought; Round 5 of Alien Stage–all at once, every suspicion narrowed to a single target. Luka. 

Ivan watched them leave, remaining on the school steps. Heat rose within him, and it only lulled when a hand clasped over his shoulder. Ivan whipped his head around, and it was Mister Itto, smiling at him with crinkled eyes. 

“Would you care to walk to work together?” The old man asked him. 

“Sure,” Ivan replied, finally closing the door when the last bits of people in the corridor dwindled outside. 

“The residents here,” Mister Itto poured something green and herby into a mug, setting the pot back on the burner, “are really privileged. Blessed by the unknown to be born here, and to never experience what life is truly like outside of our colony.”

He set the cup down on the table, and Ivan clasped his hands around it. It was hot, and the heat emitted from the ceramic, biting at his fingertips. He ignored the pressure– his thoughts elsewhere, only straying back to the present when Mister Itto began to speak.

 They decided to take a break a few hours into the work shift, going inside, and upstairs to the old couple's small apartment above the mechanic shop. Ivan wasn’t particularly hungry or thirsty, but he couldn’t deny Mister Itto’s offers, so he reluctantly accepted his invitation for tea, taking a break from replacing a rebellion member’s front brake on their motorcycle. 

“Were you born and raised here?” Ivan asked, finally lifting the mug to his lips. He took a sip, and it tasted earthy and sweet–he wasn’t sure if he liked it. 

“I wasn’t born here,” Mister Itto replied, chuckling at the expression of shock adorning Ivan’s face. He let out a small sigh as he sat down with his own cup of tea. “I was born in a caretaker facility. A group of rebellion members busted into the facility, and took every one of us children out of there. My wife and I both were born there.”

“I never knew that about you,” Ivan muttered. “I assumed that every person here, apart from a select few, were born on the base.”

“Let me ask you something,” Mister Itto said. 

“What’s your question?” 

Mister Itto has a curious look. “Have you ever met an elderly ‘pet’?”

Ivan faltered, shaking his head. “No, I haven’t.”

“And why do you think that is?” Mister Itto questioned him. 

Ivan shrugged, thinking. “Because the elderly are considered useless to the Segyein.”

“Right,” the old man nodded. “So many ‘pets’ don’t live to be my age. Heck, they don't even see forty. Because at a certain point–when you are no longer cute, or special, in their eyes, there is no point to you.”

Ivan frowned, but he couldn’t argue about that. Most ‘pets’ he had captured were children or young adults. Back then, he never thought about what happened after. Only here, among these people, had the question even crossed his mind.

“The people born here have never carried the faults, conditioning, or insecurities the Segyein forced on us. They’ve never been seen as entertainment,” Mister Itto paused, “or a weapon.”

That last part, belated in its outreach, caused Ivan to jolt.

“It’s easy for them to judge,” Mister Itto said, tone gentle. “But those of us who lived it? We’re more understanding of whoever finds their way here. Don’t let what they say get to you, Ivan. If you let their doubts define you, you’re only giving the Segyein what they always wanted: for you to believe you can be nothing more than what they made of you.” He gestured towards the television on the kitchen counter, its screen dark. “All that crap on the news? It’s a humiliation tactic. In hopes that you see it, and to put you in your place.”

Ivan nodded slowly, letting the words sink in. He couldn’t pretend as if their insults didn’t reach him. Till was always telling him how much he’d changed, how he was becoming more human. But around others, those encouragements drowned out; he still felt abnormal, stunted, like a machine trying to pass for a man. And yet he knew he wasn’t that anymore, because his self from only months ago couldn’t have understood the deep ache in his chest whenever Till was near–love, or the way his stomach soared when Vivi smiled–happiness. The lulling comfort of this life he’d stumbled into, one that somehow felt like it was meant for him, despite how ill-fitting it once was. 

“I understand,” Ivan said after a moment, tapping his fingernail against the mug. “I’ll be honest, I’ve been having negative thoughts towards this situation. And they are difficult to let go of. But I will keep your words of encouragement in mind.” Ivan raised his head. “Thank you, Mister Itto.”

“Of course,” Mister Itto said with a grin, patting his hand. “And listen, no one here is foolish enough to hand the Segyein anything about you. Most of us couldn’t care less about those creatures. If anything, their suspicion is just wishful thinking. Like I said before, it’s not the first time one of us has shown up on their broadcasts. They’ll never find you, and this will pass.”

Ivan nodded in heed of his reassurance, but only half-heartedly. He wasn’t sure how much of that he really believed. He’d been telling himself that since that morning, but every time, Luka would pop into his head. How they held each other’s gaze, and the chill in the air, only shifting once Till and him walked away. Ivan shook head lightly, letting out a soft huff–he was doing it again, he realized. If Mister Itto noticed the faraway look in his eyes, he didn’t address it. Instead, he stood up, having finished his drink, and took his cup to the sink. 

“Finish up your tea and you can join me back in the garage,” he gave Ivan another one of his kind grins, then disappeared out of the kitchen. Ivan waited until his footsteps ascended up the stairs, then he took his phone out of one of the pockets of his jumper. 

He finally got around to watching the final round. Admittedly, he never got around to watching it prior, far too curious–and then hooked on–Round 6 to backtrack or proceed to any other episodes. When he watched Round 5 of the season, he was much more jaded, and still adapting to all of the information just at his fingertips. He remembered, especially, how odd he found it that there was no Round 4, and he looked into why–only to find out that the participant had blatantly refused to go against her opponent. Luka. Then when he watched Round 5, all he felt were chills–rampant like cold water down his back.

In the interview portion, Luka radiated a kind of effortless confidence that rolled off his shoulders. He grinned, laughing into his hands between questions as if it were all a game and the outcome was already decided. His tone stayed silky and unbothered throughout, drifting toward boredom by the end; impatient for the stage.

“Do you have anything to say to your opponent?”

That actually gave the blond pause. His eyes widened slightly before he let out a giggle, shoulders bouncing in amusement. He tilted his head, almost ditzy in its movement.

“Hm. Right–what’s her name again?”

“It’s Mizi,” came the dry reply.

Luka let a curtain of pale curls fall across his eyes as he shook his head.

“Mizi,” he repeated, as if the name itself felt beneath him. “No. I have nothing to say to her. I’d rather let the music do the talking.”

Back then, Ivan barely knew him, so Luka’s demeanor stirred nothing in him. But now, looking back, it felt so unlike the man he’d come to know. Those eyes Ivan had since learned carried so much emotion when they met his–looked dead in that recording. They gleamed under the stage lights, yet were utterly lifeless. His whole presence was flippant, careless, as if the weight of this matchup meant nothing at all. And it didn’t take Ivan long to understand why.

Luka’s performance with Mizi was uncomfortable to watch. No matter how much she yanked, twisted, or tried to push him away, he only closed the distance; closer, closer, and closer. Mizi, already fragile, began to look terrified as the act went on. At one point, she froze completely when Luka hooked his fingers beneath her chin and forced her near, until she finally snapped out of whatever spell he’d cast over her. She began to turn in her spot, eyes shifting, searching after something unseen, yearning for it–until she snapped. Chaos erupted in an instant, and Luka, far too weak to defend himself, hit the ground hard, his feeble attempts to block swallowed by her blows. The camera shuddered with the violence, jerking and jolting, until finally it cut to black.

All Ivan was able to garner from the aftermath was that Luka needed time to recover, and that Mizi was deemed officially ‘missing’, unknowingly taken by the rebellion. After that, he didn’t dig much deeper, too infatuated by Round 6 and all the unidentifiable emotions it stirred up inside of him. 

Watching the final round unfold, Ivan could tell immediately that the beating Mizi had given the blond hadn’t bruised his ego in the slightest. Luka strutted beneath the pulsing green strobe lights, soaking in the roar of the crowd like it was his birthright. His voice cut through the noise, sharp and unshaken, every note steady and self-assured. But Till’s light didn’t falter… not at first. He came in strong, eyes blazing with determination, carrying himself with a high, unguarded energy. It was a stark contrast to his last performance, as if he’d decided there was nothing left to lose but himself, and so he gave everything, unfiltered and unrestrained. When the chorus hit, the two of them collided at center stage. Till was slick with sweat, his muscles taut, his expression fierce. Luka, by contrast, was calm and deliberate, smirking as he slid his ringed fingers up his waist, over his chest, and finally to his face, never breaking eye contact. The cocky grin that adorned his lips never wavered.

And Till, despite everything, held on firm. His vocals rang out powerfully, defiant as his hands moved with ease against the strings, strumming his holographic guitar. He fought back against Luka’s violin, and for a brief, electrifying moment, it felt like he might actually win. Until Luka stepped toward him, catching Till off guard, his slender hands clasping around his neck, pulling him in like he just might kiss him. Then in one smooth motion, Luka sang directly into Till’s ear tauntingly, his thumb dragging against his bottom lip. Till jerked back in terror, stumbling free, but Luka only smiled, letting him go as if the whole thing had been nothing more than a game before turning back toward the crowd.

Ivan disliked that action. Immeasurably.

Till froze mid-note, wide eyed like a deer caught in headlights. The camera cut to reveal the red targeting beams trained squarely on him, the whole stage momentarily suffocating under their glow. When he finally forced himself to sing again, his voice came out strained, faltering at the edges. Luka’s laugh, hidden behind his hand, was unmistakable as it slipped into the mic. That made Ivan clench his jaw. Heat surged up the back of his neck, settling behind his eyes until it became a pounding headache. 

Till didn’t try anymore after that. It was like he was under a spell, cast upon him the second Luka fingers brushed through his hair. Going through the motions, until he couldn’t pretend anymore, giving into the overbearing heat of the overhead lights. The scoreboard began its prodding, as if toying with him beyond repair. He stood in the center of the stage, seemingly broken as blood trailed from his nose. Luka eyed him the whole entire time, as if taking pleasure in watching him fall apart. When he finally cupped Till’s face between his palms, it was with a mockery of tenderness, his grin dripping with false pity. Ivan’s skull throbbed with rage, his heartbeat pounding loud and violent in his ears. Luka left him there, then, sauntering towards where he came from–all said and done in his eyes. 

That was until looked down, something catching his eyes. The shift was quick, the Till from the beginning still hanging on towards the last trinklings of the song. Luka noticed too, almost startled, and Ivan thinks that the most genuine emotion he had ever seen from him since watching. But just as quickly as that spark came, it died just in the same amount of time. Till, blissfully, extended his hand off of the stage, the camera catching just a glimpse of another hand cloaked in black reaching back. Then, Luka’s blue meter shot to full, and the Guard wasted no time as a gunshot went into the air. A bullet tore through Till’s neck, the force of it whipping his body backward and sending him tumbling off the stage. It was brutal–so brutal that bile rose up into Ivan’s throat. He quickly pressed the side button on his phone, his reflection staring back at him in the darkened screen.  

Ivan couldn’t fathom it–how after everything Luka had done, the manipulation, the relentless mind games, the cold, calculated way he toyed with Till on that stage–that Till could care for him. Could speak of him with a tremble in his voice, breathless, struggling to imagine a future without him. How could Luka come back from that? From being so selfish, so careless, so consumed by himself? It seemed impossible. And yet Till, of all people, was the one to stand in his defense, to insist there was more to Luka than what Ivan had seen.

But Till was right. Knowing what Luka had been like nine years ago shifted Ivan’s perspective of him entirely.

That realization unsettled him more than he cared to admit. It cracked something open, forced him to look at Luka in a new, uncomfortable light. Ivan tried to reason through it–tried to convince himself Luka would’ve just told him how he got his burns if there was something to hide. But he hadn’t. Instead, he told Ivan to watch Alien Stage.

And Ivan couldn’t quiet the alarm bells ringing in his head.

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense: Luka didn’t like that things were changing. That Till had someone else now, someone who shifted the balance they’d once had. Maybe Luka believed the hold he’d kept over Till all those years ago was still there. Maybe he thought the spell hadn’t broken. Ivan remembered their stare-down; the tension that crept into the air he’d brushed off at the time. He’d told himself he imagined it, but now he wasn’t so sure. Luka had laughed and joked that Ivan was a fugitive now, too, and back then, it felt like typical Luka banter. But maybe it wasn’t a joke at all. Maybe Luka felt guilty.

 Guilty for reporting him.

Ivan held onto Vivi’s overnight back, idly waiting for Luka to open the door. The little girl looked dejected the entire way there, arms crossed on her chest, huffing out exasperated breaths as they quietly waited for Luka.

Till had to work a double at the bar, and that left him and Vivi alone until sunrise. This wouldn’t be the first time the two of them were left without Till. Ivan got better at taking care of her, and she quite enjoyed the time they got to spend together, cooking and staying up watching cartoons until she dozed off. Ivan knew her disdain had nothing to do with him, but everything to do with having to spend her Friday night with Louie and the baby. Her other siblings were busy with other activities; Lucas and Taehyun had camp, and Suella was invited to a friend’s birthday sleepover. It must’ve been more magnifying that she was the odd one out during times like these. 

Luka understood why she was upset, and as one of her parental figures, he felt responsible for fixing it. So he’d dangled the promise of a movie night in front of her; popcorn, candy, and video games included. After some dramatic sighing and sulking, Vivi begrudgingly accepted the offer, though she made sure everyone knew it was under protest. The door swung open to reveal Louie, thumb stuck firmly in his mouth, lighting up the second he saw his sister.

“Hi, Vivi!” he mumbled around his thumb before Luka gently tugged it free.

Vivi’s scowl softened in an instant, apparently it was impossible to stay upset when Louie was looking at her like that, excitement bubbling over.

“Hi, Lou,” she murmured, a faint grumble still in her voice.

She stepped inside and wrapped her arms around Luka for a quick hug before following her brother down the hall. Louie was already chattering about the evening plans, asking something about where they’d sleep and whether they could stay up late. That left the two adults standing at the door, Luka watching them go with a small, knowing smile as Ivan shifted Vivi’s overnight bag higher on his shoulder. Luka smiled at him, but Ivan remained straight-faced, his stomach dipping from the guilt.

He hadn’t exactly been kind to him for the last few days. He always kept it quick, and to the point, but perhaps more-so than the usual. His festering grudge towards the man didn’t seem to be noticeable at first, but eventually, Luka’s facial expression always changed when it was just the two of them. As if he knew something, teeming on if he should say it aloud. If Ivan were more attuned with his own emotions, he’d probably understand why Luka looked so… hurt recently. Why the silence between presented itself so heavily, and why all felt so calculated. Since his revelation, Ivan quietly observed Luka for any difference in his demeanor or personality. But he remained the same; caring, attentive, and kind. Still, Ivan waited for the ball to drop–to finally see the true Luka behind a carefully curated mask. He wasn’t convinced Luka was no longer a semblance of that person he ‘used’ to be. He appeared to be a great pretender back then, and perhaps who he had become in the near two years he’d been here was all an act. A way to trick everyone around him that he could be trusted, until he found it convenient to manipulate them in the way he had done so to Mizi. To Till.  Ivan was consumed with such thoughts, to the point all Mister Itto advised him melted into white noise.

Ivan ignored Luka’s softening expression, instead he shrugged Vivi’s purple bag down his shoulder. He held it out to Luka, and the blond took it, though he seemed stunned at the stiff action. Ivan turned to leave. 

“Do you have somewhere important to be at six pm?” Luka asked, voice light, making Ivan stop. 

“No,” Ivan replied curtly.

“Then why don’t you stay?” Luka opened the door wider, gesturing past the threshold. “My invitation wasn’t just for Vivi. Plus, if you stayed, she might see this as a family thing. Not just something she has to sit through while her older siblings are off having fun.”

Family.

The word reverberated through Ivan’s mind, bouncing around like it had nowhere else to go. Family. He didn’t know Vivi saw him that way–much less Luka. The realization twisted something deep inside him, unfamiliar, yet warm. His fists curled at his sides as he wrestled with the thought. What had the potential to unfold the moment he stepped past that threshold.

“Just until they fall asleep,” Luka insisted, misreading Ivan’s silence for hesitation.

He wanted to be there for Vivi, she deserved that much after spending the whole morning sulking about thoughts she refused to tell them. If staying meant she’d see tonight as something special with her family, instead of a consolation prize, then he couldn’t walk away. Even if it meant being around Luka, as his feelings gnawed at him like engulfing flames, flaring up every time he caught a flicker of sincerity in Luka’s eyes. He gave a single, firm nod. Luka’s face lit up, relief passing through his features before he stepped aside to let him in. Ivan brushed past him without a word, careful not to meet his gaze, each step feeling heavier than the last as he untied his shoe laces.

The night went by awkwardly, to say the least. Luka would try to joke with him, or get him to engage in conversation, but Ivan could only allow himself to respond quite pointedly, little emotion seeping through his voice. It almost felt like he was back at the beginning, when all he could muster were calculative, devoid responses. This must be what distrust did to someone–leaving them so shapeless, cold, unbothered by how their detachment cut others down, even when they could see the damage being done. 

And Ivan did see it.

He saw the way Luka’s smile faltered a little more each time his attempts were met with silence. How his usual ease and brightness dimmed as the evening wore on. By the end of the night, Luka had grown quieter, and tense. The undeniable weight of Ivan’s demeanor fell over him, leaving Luka uncomfortable and tense. Though it was strange, Ivan expected Luka to be angry towards him, to grow impatient with him. Yet, the man only looked sad, taking his coldness, as if resigned to a nameless thing between them that they could both see, but wouldn’t address. At least, not in front of the kids. 

They were all gathered in the living room, the soft glow of the TV casting flickering shadows across the walls. The kids were fresh from their baths, dressed in cozy pajamas. Upstairs, the baby slept soundly in her crib, leaving the house quiet except for the movie playing and the occasional crunch of popcorn. Louie was nestled against Luka’s side, Luka held him close, absentmindedly stuffing handfuls of popcorn into his mouth while keeping his eyes on the screen. Vivi sat beside Ivan, her knees tucked up as she leaned forward, completely absorbed in the animated film; a story about a celebrity dog, a street smart cat, and a fearless hamster trying to find their way home.

The room filled with soft giggles whenever something funny happened, Vivi and Louie finding it the funniest. But as the movie shifted to its quieter, sadder moments, their laughter faded, replaced by a somber silence. Ivan noticed how Vivi shifted then, eyes narrowing before she quickly dragged her sleeve over her face–maybe it was the cat’s loneliness, he thought, striking a chord deep inside her.. Ivan's heart tightened watching her, and his hand reached out, threading through her hair as she dipped her head onto his arm, as if finding comfort in his presence. 

Louie was the first to fall asleep, sprawled across Luka’s lap. Vivi stayed up just long enough to finish the last bits of the movie before curling up into a ball in the middle of the couch. Luka yawned, stretching out his arms, then gently lifted Louie off of him, laying him where he had been when he rose to his feet. Ivan watched him take the knitted blanket over the couch, draping it over the kids, still sound asleep.  

“I guess they can just sleep here tonight,” Luka muttered.

Ivan’s gaze lingered on the faint limp in Luka’s step as he stooped to gather the forgotten snack containers, empty bottles, and stray pieces of popcorn scattered across the floor. He had noticed the shift in Luka’s movements the moment he entered, but he didn’t draw attention to it, and Luka seemed quietly grateful for that. Rather than leave right away, Ivan stayed to help, carrying dirty plates and clearing away what clutter remained in the living room. When Ivan made it into the kitchen, Luka was already there, water running as he washed the dishes, humming to himself. He gazed over his shoulder at Ivan, noticing his presence, then jerked his head to the side. 

“Just leave those at the end there,” Luka said, returning his attention back to the task at hand. “You can leave now, you don’t have to help me.”

Ivan inched over to the counter and set the dishes down where Luka had instructed him. The man looked tired; nothing unusual, given how much of his life revolved around child-rearing. But today it was different. This wasn’t the kind of weariness a night’s rest could cure; it was the heavy sort you simply learned to carry. An unwelcome thought pressed in. How nine years ago, Luka had seemed untouchable, brimming with energy, his spirit unbothered even as he left others shaken in his wake. Relishing in their demises, even, with brightened eyes and a cunning grin. Ivan told himself he wouldn’t say anything. He didn’t want to feed the doubts gnawing at him, yet they pressed against his throat, up, and up–until they were impossible to keep down.

“I finished watching Alien Stage,” Ivan simply stated, and though subtle, an uneasy shift lifted into the air.

Luka lifted his head.”Oh, really?” his hand rising to tuck a curl behind his ear. His tone was higher than how he usually talked, almost surprised. 

“Yes.” Ivan leaned against the counter, his stare so intense that it became heavy enough to pin Luka where he stood, cornering him between the counter’s edge and the only way out. “Though, I am left with more questions than answers.”

“Like what?” Luka tilted his head, and for some reason the gesture grated on Ivan. It reminded him of Luka’s careless dismissal of Mizi’s name, tossed aside as if it were trash–yet his expression now was guileless, almost naive. The dissonance was maddening, Ivan searching him for some kind of deceit, but what he found looked painfully genuine.

“I didn’t learn how you became so disfigured,” Ivan said flatly, the words slipping out harsher than intended. Luka recoiled as if struck, eyes widening, stepping back as though Ivan’s voice had burned him. A flicker of guilt passed through Ivan, but he let it freeze over; he wasn’t going to soften it.

“That’s because…” Luka trailed off, laughing nervously, attempting to roll Ivan’s previous comment off of his shoulders. “You have to watch the new segments. The–” He blinked hard, redirecting mid sentence. “When I told you to watch Alien Stage, you weren’t supposed to learn about me–”

“But I did,” Ivan stepped closer, his brain scattered, telling him this and that–heart and protocol, all blurring, disguised as wrath. “I learned a lot about you.”

He hadn’t noticed how he backed the blond up against the counter, the edge of the wood digging into Luka’s back. 

“What was that thing you did?” Ivan pressed, his voice low, dangerous. Luka’s eyes darted, unsteady, caught between fear and something unreadable.

“What… thing?” His breath hitched, chest rising and falling too quickly in the narrowing space between them.

“What you did to Mizi. To make her snap.” Ivan’s tone hardened, sharp like a knife aimed at Luka’s chest. “When you touched Till, he completely stopped trying. What did you do?”

Luka’s gaze faltered, skittering away from the question. Ivan’s hand shot up, cupping his chin, dragging his face back into place until their eyes locked.

“It was something like this,” he exemplified the moment Till lost all hope, Luka cradling his bowed head in his delicate fingers. “And you stared at him like–like you enjoyed watching him crumble in front of you. It was so,” Ivan tilted his head in thought, knowing he couldn’t take it back once it was said, “evil.”

He could feel Luka trembling, his arm reaching up to clasp around Ivan’s wrist. He looked terrified, and it almost started Ivan as he realized he didn’t care. It was an apathy he had come to find unfamiliar after so many weeks of trying to feel anything at all, until all his emotions bubbled forward–into this. Into Guard 7089. This person he couldn’t recognize, and the longer Luka’s blond eyes bore into his–Ivan knew he didn’t recognize him either. 

“You want to know?” Luka repeated, voice shaky. 

Slowly, Luka took his other wrist, and tentatively, he clamped Ivan’s hands around his neck. Ivan blinked, his fingertips sat idle on his muscles, constricting as he swallowed hard. He just kept them there, light in their grasp, Luka staring up at him with half-lidded eyes. 

“What are you doing?” Ivan pressed. 

“What do you see?” Luka asked.

“I only see you,” Ivan replied, his grip slightly tightening, and Luka winced at the sudden action. 

“That’s because I didn’t do anything.” Luka spat out, closing his eyes completely, then. “I took… advantage of their grief. Of how broken they were in that moment. I latched onto it, like a parasite, feeding off it, twisting it. When death is staring you in the eye–and looks a lot like a dead person you loved–it’s easy to let it swallow you whole.”

Ivan tilted his head at him. Though he put it so plainly, it all felt so eerie–a brutal honesty in the hands of someone who knew it first hand. 

 “So you manipulated them?”

Luka nodded tentatively, still shaking like a leaf. “I didn’t know what that felt like,” he whispered. “I didn’t know how terrifying it was, or how it could drive you mad. Not then.”

“They all wanted to live, too,” Ivan gritted out. “But did you care?”

Luka's eyes fluttered open as he shook his head. With every passing moment, Ivan found it harder to dislike him–harder to see this person he thought was still there. 

“No,” Luka squeaked, tears pooling in his eyes. “I didn’t care. And trust me, Ivan, I’ve paid for it every single day of my life since.” His shoulders shook, and Ivan’s eyes softened, hands still resting on his throat, a silent understanding hanging between them, what Ivan could do, and how Luka would just take it if he decided to. “I’ve tried to kill myself, over and over, but I just kept failing. I didn’t deserve to live, and I didn’t deserve to die. So I stay here, in limbo, trying to do right by my kids, because it’s the least I can do for all that I’ve done.”

Mister Itto’s advice echoed in Ivan’s mind: no one but them could truly understand the lasting effects the Segyein had on their conscience. Outsiders could easily judge them for their past actions–or for who they were. Giving in to doubt and uncertainty only proved those judgments right. And here he was, doing exactly that to Luka. He was a hypocrite, slipping back into his old, mechanical ways simply to assign blame. He couldn’t bear the thought of the residents staring at him, whispering behind their hands, accusing him of betraying himself. So certain he would never be more than a PDA lackey, Ivan felt the familiar ache of it settle in his chest. 

He took in a deep breath, the guilt eating at him, and an apology on his tongue as his grip unwound from around Luka’s neck. Suddenly, he felt the man tense up, his eyes flicking to somewhere behind him.

“Vivi?” 

Ivan’s heart dropped, immediately letting Luka go as he whipped his head around. Luka’s knees bucked out from under him, and he dropped to the tile flooring, hand balling into his shirt, gasping. Vivi inched back, fumbling with her hands in a nervous ticks, her eyes darting between them.

“I…” Vivi muttered, taking another step back. “Was thirsty…”

Ivan stayed frozen where he was, as if immobile. Vivi's voice trialled off, and she spun on the heel of her feet, running out of the kitchen entrance. Ivan swallowed hard, listening to her feet bound up the stairs, turning back around to Luka. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Luka gasped out, pointing towards the darkened living room. “Go check on her.”

Ivan nodded dumbly and hurried out of the kitchen, just as Luka began pulling himself upright, bracing against the counter. As he climbed the stairs, gripping the railing, his legs wobbled beneath him like jelly. Reaching the top, he whipped his head around, just in time to see Vivi slam the door to her room. He ran to it, hand reaching for the knob, only to meet the cold twist of the lock. Ivan exhaled, pressing his forehead against the wood.

“Can you open the door?” Ivan asked, pausing for a response. When none came, he added a pitiful, “Please?”

He could hear her shifting around inside, along with the small muffled sobs.

 “Vivienne,” Ivan pressed. “Please talk to me.”

“Go away,” came the muffled response.

His hand trembled against the knob. He shut his eyes, a storm of self-loathing swallowing him whole. “Vivi,” he tried once more, softer  this time, “if you’d just–”

“I don’t want to talk to you!”

The words hit like a blade to the chest, cutting so deep he staggered back.

“Everyone’s right,” Vivi’s voice quivered, though her words were merciless, reckless in the way only a child could muster. “I’ll be just like her. And you.”

Ivan’s hand slipped from the doorknob. He stood there in silence, the air heavy, his own breath loud in his ears. Slowly, he retreated a step, then another, as even the space there was suddenly lava. He nodded absently, snapping his head in the direction of the footsteps coming up the stairs. Luka stared at him solemnly, recovered from his stumble in the kitchen, only looking away when Ivan gave him a look of concern. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Luka nodded stiffly, pressing himself up against the bedroom door Vivi hid herself away in. “What happened?”

“She does not wish to speak to me,” Ivan said, bowing his head in uncertainty. “I’m unsure of how much she saw. Or heard.”

“It’s okay,” Luka reached out and patted his shoulder. “I’ll handle it. Maybe… it’s best if you go home. I'll bring her back tomorrow.”

Ivan didn’t want to go, but he knew being here wasn’t best either. So he reluctantly shook his head in agreement, shoving the sleeve of his shirt down, before he headed back down the stairs. He heard Luka murmur something through the door–and instantly, it opened. He paused on the staircase, watching the door close behind the man–and he couldn’t deny the way it hurt.

Vivi did not come home the next day. Or the next day. 

Ivan sat on the couch closest to the front door, shaking his knee with anxiety, hands folded over his mouth. When the lock twisted, the man sprung up from his seat, only to be met with disappointment when it was just Till. As Till closed the door behind him, Ivan noticed Vivi’s backpack hanging off of his shoulder.

“Where’s Vivienne?” 

Till startled, only just noticing his presence. He gave him the same smile he’d been giving him since Vivi refused to return to the apartment. It was pitying, with another equally pitiful excuse waiting on  his lips. 

“She doesn’t want to come home just yet,” Till explained, like it was that simple. But Ivan could tell how much it was bothering him, how much it pained him not to have his daughter around. And it was all because of him. 

It wouldn’t be long before Till started to loathe him, too.

“But she’s fine. Don’t worry.”

Ivan sat back down, cradling his forehead in his palm. A headache began to blossom between his eyes, and he shut them to try and sway it away. He’s been so stressed since Friday night, and the longer Vivi refused to talk to him, or return home, the worse it got. He’d acted irrationally, brutally, like… like a Guard. The motion had come too easily–too naturally–and that terrified him. The way he treated Luka like a villain, uncaring in the consequences had stayed with him, lingering especially in the quiet moments Vivi would fill. They had just begun to have a… relationship. She had begun to trust him, to rely on him, and just like that–it all snapped like a brittle thread. 

Ivan’s eyes fluttered open when the space next to him dipped, Till tentatively sitting beside him. He pressed a hand against his back, soothing him with circular motions. 

“Luka told me what happened,” Till offered carefully, making Ivan’s heart drop into his stomach. Luka’s neck still felt imprinted around his fingertips, beckoning him to do the inevitable. To release his anger in any way he could, on someone who wouldn’t do anything to refute it. But that small voice in the back of his head told him not to–his humanity, he’d come to realize. That part of him that made him gentle, and understanding. That made Vivi’s newfound disdain for him hurt so badly. 

“He said it was all a misunderstanding,” Till continued, intertwining their fingers with his other hand. “That it was his fault.”

Ivan shook his head, only feeling more terrible. He couldn’t believe himself, how he let the doubt engulf him whole, redirecting his own projections onto Luka. He had turned his own fears into accusations against Luka, when Luka had never once harmed him. When Ivan needed him, Luka hadn’t turned away or written him off as a lost cause. Ivan knew that Luka cared for Till, and he’d never do anything that could risk his life–which included reporting Ivan’s status to the Segyein. Ivan only believed Luka couldn’t change because Ivan believed he himself was incapable of it.

“No,” Ivan murmured, his stare boring into the coffee table. “I… frightened her. No one can bear that responsibility but me.”

 Till frowned at him, sitting up a little more. “Ivan, it was an honest mistake.”

“She said she’d be just like me,” Ivan spat out plainly. “What does that mean?”

Till only stared at him, lost in uncertainty. 

“I’ll tell you what that means,” Ivan’s voice grew hard, and Till stopped rubbing his back. “It means that she thinks she’ll become this unfeeling, violent monster. That she will only hurt those around her, because it is in her blood, so therefore, it has to be inevitable.”

Till’s expression was painful to look at, so he gazed elsewhere.

“I have been trying,” Ivan muttered, unsure of why his vision was so blurry. “I’ve tried so hard to become a better person–but it seems I only resort back to my primary functions, in the end.” Till sat there frozen, speechless as he laid his heart bare. All these mounting insecurities, that has resulted in him to tears. Ivan ran his sleeve over his face. “Perhaps it is unlikely for me to truly become human.”

“Don’t say that,” Till said, so small he hardly caught it. “That’s not true.”

“I love you. I know I love you. So why did I feel nothing when you kissed me?” Ivan asked him. It wasn’t much rhetorical, but the silence that followed made it seem so. Till was stunned, and Ivan realized that was the first time he ever admitted that aloud. He pulled himself to his feet. 

“Ivan,” Till sprung up after him, stomping after him. “Where are you going?”

“I think I should leave,” Ivan began to stuff his feet into his shoes. “She should be able to return to her own home, at least.”

“You’re being ridiculous," Till said through a laugh, but there was no humour in it. “This is your home, too. Where will you even go?”

“I apologize,” Ivan ignored his question, hand on the doorknob. “You were a fool to put so much trust in me. I’ve just made your life more difficult.”

Till paused in the doorway, his face gone pale. And for an eerie moment, it seemed he wasn’t looking at Ivan. Ivan slowly turned his head to find what held his attention so suddenly, but there was nothing there–only a blank wall.

 He opened the front door. “Don’t worry about me. Focus on Vivienne.”

Till made no indication that he heard him, so Ivan closed the door behind him. He began his descent down the apartment complex stairs. He hadn’t written Isaac a report in quite some time, and he was due for another one soon.

But he’ll just deliver this one in person.

Chapter Text

It was true that Ivan had nowhere else to go. Once he left the apartment, his path felt aimless, though only in the short term. Even after reaching his next destination, he had no idea where to turn from there. So he kept walking, steady on the worn path, until the sun sank fully below the horizon and the streetlights flickered on to guide him. He caught the bar’s scent before he even saw it. The air always carried it; thick, lingering, clinging stronger the closer he drew-alcohol, grease, and a strange sense of comfort all-in-one.

 Tonight, it was mingled with nicotine: a thin white curl of smoke rising from the cigarette balanced between Isaac’s fingers. Ivan stood at the foot of the wooden steps, the cool night air seeping in enough to make Ivan shoved his hands into his pockets. Isaac blew out a puff of smoke, only noticing his presence when Ivan climbed the first step, causing the porch to creek. He whipped his head around, smiling at him almost sheepishly as he sat up in his chair. 

“It’s just you?” Isaac sounded relieved. 

“Yes.” Ivan inched closer, settling into the wooden chair beside him. “It’s just me.”

“Lucky me,” Isaac mused, his next words fumbled around the cigarette. “Till wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if he caught me smoking.”

Ivan watched as the man pulled his baseball cap lower, leaning back in his seat. “Have you relapsed?”

“Relasped?” Isaac repeated, chuckling. “I think it’s too late to call it that. I stopped, off and on, over the years,” he flicked away some ash. “I picked it up after Hyuna died. I used to be the one telling her she needed to quit.”

Ivan eyed the cigarette, Isaac following his gaze. “I hear those things are highly addictive. And they offer no health benefits.”

Isaac seemed stunned at first, then shook his head lightly. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. They have their pros, kind of.”

“Do they alleviate stress?” Ivan asked

“Yeah, in a way,” Isaac said after a beat, the words teetering off regretfully. “But, of course, there are other–more healthy–things that can help with that, too.”

Ivan bit his lip in thought, then said, “Can I have one?”

Isaac stared at him for an amusing moment, breathing out a short laugh. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Ivan nodded, face straight as ever. “Since you say they help with stress.”

Isaac paused for a few more seconds, then tugged the cigarette carton out of his breast pocket of his flannel shirt. He flipped its flap open, and angled it towards Ivan. Hesitantly, Ivan pulled one free from the row, holding it thinly between his fingers. Isaac put it away, then picked up the lighter between his legs, flickering a tiny flame to life. 

“Don’t tell Till about this,” Isaac teased, though Ivan could tell he was serious. 

He bought the cigarette between his lips. Isaac leaned forward, the flame catching the end until it glowed faintly. He pulled back, inhaling abruptly, hacking almost immediately, the smoke overwhelming. It tasted bitter, and earthy, though arsenic in the way it burnt, yet beneath the initial sting, there was a heat that spread through his chest, warmer than the night air that whispered of late spring despite it being the dead of summer.

Isaac laughed, thumping his back as he coughed out ragged clouds. “Easy there.”

Ivan recovered and tried again; this time he pulled in the tobacco slower, and the burn was softer, better than the first hit. He exhaled a shaky stream into the air, eyes narrowing as he tested this newfound sensation.

“I have something to confess,” Ivan muttered, watching the smoke curl from the end of his cigarette until it vanished into thin air. Isaac frowned at him then, but he didn’t say anything, listening to him. “I… have known for a while that this place isn’t under the PDA’s control.”

Ivan was afraid to look at him, twisting his neck toward the bar entrance, pulling in another puff of smoke just to give himself something to do. He’d been disappointing so many people lately; giving them false hopes and a sense of security, only to crush it between his fist, watching it fall through the spaces like sand. Perhaps it was a form of self-destruction, but it was comforting, in a way, to watch it all collapse like dominoes. Nothing left to ruin. Nothing left to hide.

“The role of leader comes with so many responsibilities,” Isaac said suddenly. “So many people, hounding me about this and that. Having to take the hits, and all the blame. Hell, I even have to keep them alive. It’s so tiring–yet it makes you so aware, especially of the littlest shifts. If I don’t see them first, well…”

“Well?” Ivan asked quietly.

Isaac flashed him a sluggish grin. “Then we’d all be doomed.”

“When did you start to realize?” Ivan knew what he was getting at. 

“Hm,” Isaac tilted his head in thought. “I think maybe the third letter? When you said you were starting to listen to your heart. Yeah,” Isaac nodded his head in certainty. “But the last one you sent pretty much solidified it.”

Ivan stared down at his fingers, the butt of the cigarette getting shorter as time passed.

“How interesting. I felt so sure of myself then,” Ivan mumbled, shoving the cigarette back into his mouth. “But now I don’t know.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I hurt Vivienne. And Luka,” Ivan breathed out. “And I keep giving Till mixed signals. Though none of it is intentional, I just can’t seem to shake–my protocols. I want to, but maybe  I’m not fit to be human.”

Isaac stayed silent, the air thick between them. “Ivan, I don’t know if you remember,” he began, slightly hesitant, “but we’ve met before.”

Ivan snapped his head up, stunned by the revelation. His childhood was quite hazy, just a blur of mundane, and sometimes, traumatic days he locked away in the corner of his mind. Most of his memories made no sense, heavily influenced by being reset, all emotion drained from every passing picture. But they remained, undefined.

 Slowly, he shook his head. “I don’t recall. When was this?”

“I figured that you wouldn’t,” Isaac shrugged. “It was a long, long time ago. Back when you were still living in the slums, and I was passing through with Dewey on my back.”

Ivan frowned, trying his best to remember. He could hardly recall the slums in of itself. He knew he was lonely, surrounded by sickly children, adults a few and in between, much too consumed with themselves to care about them. He was always starving, smelly, and his feet constantly hurt from walking barefoot. He usually kept to the alleyway, digging through trash cans, stacking things that looked inflammable enough to keep him warm. Sometimes he found it ironic; how many lives he’d lived since being born.

“I noticed you because you were sitting in front of a small fire, and you let us sit down for a bit to keep warm,” Isaac smiled fondly at a memory Ivan couldn’t grasp. “I gave you a piece of bread, and told you to come with us. And you said if I gave you one more, you’d think about it. But if I gave you two more, you’d come with us,” Isaac's eyes grew slightly narrow, solemn. “I only gave you one more, and the coordinates to find us.”

Ivan’s eyes widened, the memory washing over him. He was wary of Isaac, only letting his guard down when he waved food in his face. Isaac called him useful, simply because he made a fire with sticks and trash. Though he declined to leave with them, he kept those coordinates close to his chest, and he tried to go where they led a few years later. With Till.

“When I saw you up on that stage, I knew who you were instantly,” Isaac lightly shook his head. “When you lost… all I could think about was how I should’ve just given you another piece of bread. That it wouldn’t have killed me.”

Ivan’s lips parted, but nothing came out. His throat was dry, like the words caught before they could form. He wanted to tell Isaac it wasn’t his fault. Maybe one more piece of bread could've rewritten his whole life but, strangely, he felt resolute in all of their decisions back then. 

“I remember,” Ivan muttered eventually. “Not long after that, I was captured, adopted, and sent to Anakt Garden.”

Isaac nodded somberly, as if the outcome spoke for itself. For a kid in the slums, there were only ever two endings: get caught by the Segyein, or die.

“I guess,” Isaac breathed out, swishing away the intensity that settled thick in the air, “that’s all to say that I don’t agree with you.”

Ivan squinted, confused. A group of people wobbled out of the bar, calling their farewells to Isaac, who waved them goodbye. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve always wanted to survive,” Isaac said, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. “Most kids in your situation would’ve given up. But you found a way to keep warm. You kept your guard up around strangers. You knew how to bargain. Those aren’t flaws, Ivan. They’re human instincts; signs of someone who’s been holding onto their humanity since the very beginning. You are as human as we come.”

Ivan found himself smiling, a thought dawning on him as he let Isaac’s word settle. His insecurities weren’t just flaws; they were the remnants of a self he’d never been allowed to fully have, thrashing for control after years of being nothing more than the PDA’s puppet.

His reset wasn’t a failure because he couldn’t forget, it was a failure because he wouldn’t. Because from the very beginning, some part of him had been fighting back; stubborn, defiant, and unwilling to let go of who he truly was.

“Even if going with you meant I wouldn’t have gone through what I had. Become what I am,” Ivan said, realising in that moment, “I still would’ve stayed.”

Isaac stared at him stunned, though it quickly settled into something understanding, knowing what came next before Ivan even uttered the words.

“I wouldn’t have met Till, ” Ivan tilted his head toward the sky, and the stars were so bright above them. “I wouldn’t have come to love him as much as I do. And I think…” He paused, his chest tightening with the weight of the truth he’s been trying to discover for so long. “I think that’s a worse outcome than anything.”

Isaac blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before leaning back with a low chuckle. He sucked his teeth, a lopsided grin spreading across his face. “That’s something only a human can feel,” he said, amusement in his voice as he settled the cigarette between his lips. “Incredibly sappy, yeah, but definitely human.”

“I just wish,” Ivan frowned, sighing out, “I wasn’t so terrible at expressing that to him.”

“You know,” Isaac said, turning serious then, “Till really struggled back then.”

Ivan stayed quiet, pressing the cigarette to his lips.

“And I admit, sometimes I was hard on him. It was just,” Isaac blew out a breath, “hard. For all of us. All of a sudden, I was given this huge responsibility. It was difficult looking parents in the eye, telling them that their children died during the mission. So incredibly difficult to be the person they needed me to be, while I was also mourning someone I…” His voice cracked, and he quickly looked away, as if finishing the sentence would shatter him completely. “But I couldn’t expect Till to care about any of that. He was hurting, too, drowning in his own grief. Fighting battles no one could see, for the longest time.”

“What do you mean?” Ivan asked, narrowing his eyes at him. 

Isaac seemed stunned by his question, eyes flicking away in uncertainty. “Has he not told you?”

“I know about the origin of the scars on his neck,” Ivan admitted in a murmur. “He said he inflicted them upon himself.”

“That much is true,” Isaac nodded cautiously. “But it’s more complicated than that. “After that night, Isaac said, voice dropping lower, “he struggled with hallucinations. And because of it, he refused to speak at all, so I couldn’t really gauge how badly his vocal cords were damaged. Weeks went by, and he wouldn’t say a word. He just sat in bed, terrified, staring at… him,” Isaac’s voice wavered as old memories clawed to the surface. “He kept saying he wouldn’t leave him alone. He kept touching him, insulting him, and getting into his head. Till was convinced ‘he’ was always there, watching, talking to him.”

Isaac shook his head, snapping himself back to the present as he flicked the ash from his cigarette, watching it scatter into the night air. “I mean, I've seen a lot, but never a case of psychosis that severe.  It went from happening everyday, to a few times a month, until it stopped. But I think he had another episode a few months ago. Not as bad as before, thankfully, he bounced back pretty quickly.”

“What were these hallucinations of?” Ivan asked, his voice suddenly hardened. 

Isaac froze. It was subtle, just a twitch at the corner of his mouth, as he sucked in a breath. But to Ivan, the contrast was glaring. Slowly, Isaac turned his head, his eyes dragging toward Ivan with a look of guilt, like this wasn’t really his information to give. But he did so anyway. “Of you.” 

And just like that, those two words dragged Ivan straight back to the costume shop. The memory slammed into him with such force that it nearly stole his breath. One moment, Till had been right there, present, staring at him with desperation, his face pale and twisted with pain as he clutched his stomach after Ivan had shoved him into the counter.

Then the next, something shifted. Even in his conditioned state, Ivan could sense it.

It was from the way Till’s pupils blew wide, swallowing the murky teal of his irises, his gaze unfocusing. Recognition settled in, then came the horror, something other creeping in between them. His eyes slid past Ivan, just a fraction, as if suddenly there was someone else in the room. Someone only Till could see. Then came the yelling, pleads that dripped into frustration. His words were spilling out of him too fast, too jumbled, until they suddenly stopped, giving Ivan the last word. Back then, Ivan felt like it wasn’t meant for him at all. Till wasn’t talking to him. He’d been reaching through him; using Ivan as a stand-in, a way to confront the ghost that had haunted him ever since Ivan’s supposed death. A ghost that had worn Ivan’s face, spoken with his voice, and terrorized Till–to the point it wasn’t Ivan at all. And when the real Ivan finally emerged after all those years, he was no longer the one Till knew, and that made it worse. 

And before he left…

Ivan rose to his feet, flinching when the cigarette singed his fingertips. He’d smoked it down so short there was nothing left to hold. He dropped it, and Isaac stretched out his leg to stamp it out, glancing up at him in confusion.

“What does it look like?” Ivan asked suddenly. “When he gets like that. What do you see?”

Isaac tilted his head, thinking. “He dissociates. Sometimes he can still talk through it, other times he just shuts down. Stops moving, and speaking. When he’s in that state, though…”

“I have to go,” Ivan backed away, Isaac narrowing his eyes at him quizzically. 

“Um, everything alright?” Isaac asked. 

“Yes,” Ivan replied quickly. “I feel a lot less stressed now.”

“See?” Isaac teased, completely unaware of the storm starting to unfurl inside his head. “I told you cigarettes have their perks.”

Ivan paused on the last step. “Oh, not because of the cigarette. Because I talked to you. Thanks for listening.”

Isaac’s gaze softened on him, and he smiled at him warmly, stomping out his own cigarette as he readied to head back into the bar. “Yeah, no problem. I hope I cleared some things up for you.”

“You did,” Ivan called, his walk quickening down the path before breaking into a run back toward the apartment. “You cleared up everything.”

“Ivan” was never fruitless in his attempts to get inside Till’s head. When Till first woke to find him there, smirking mischievously, he became a constant torment. He was relentless, sliding cold, damp hands under his shirt until they hooked around his waist. He’d rest his head on Till’s shoulder, his breath warm against his neck, while whispering words meant to diminish him. 

But as time went on, he became docile. Till learned that by hurting himself, Ivan would leave him alone for the most part–like he hated seeing Till in pain if it weren’t his own doing. At those times, he’d turn into a child: wide-eyed, immature, begging Till to draw him whenever he saw pen and paper in his hands. And Till would oblige, if only to quiet him. That was the Ivan he understood, the only version that made sense. The night Till left him beneath the falling stars, Ivan became incomprehensible. His feelings, his words, his motives; all tangled beyond Till’s reach.

The teenage Ivan was clever like his older self, never short of something to say. But what stood out most was his constant self-deprecation. He told Till, again and again, that he must have treated Ivan this way or that because he deserved it. Because he wasn’t worthy of his kindness, his embrace, or of his friendship. Till had always assumed the older Ivan’s cruelty was just projection. But with the teenager, he saw it for what it really was. He realized, then, that he had always known these truths about Ivan: how much of Till’s insecurity he observed, how desperately he wanted to be drawn, and how deeply he disliked himself.

And there they were. All three of them. 

They stood side by side, watching him with lingering gazes. He hardly noticed when Ivan–the real Ivan–left.The adult Ivan grinned, smug, as if to say I told you so. The teenage Ivan only shook his head, resigned. This was always inevitable. He had never been worthy of Till’s love. But the child Ivan looked at him with wide, lost eyes. Eyes Till had long since begun to associate with Vivi. He took a step forward, and Till couldn’t bring himself to back away. He just stood there, frozen, as the boy clung to his pants leg with desperate earnestness.

“Till,” he said, voice small. “You have to choose.”

“Not right now,” he whispered, hardly there.

He only tugged harder, and Till drew his eyes away from the other two, honing in on him. “You have to.”

“Till knows what he wants,” said adult Ivan, smirking through his words. “If he wanted you, he would've left with you that night.”

“He’s just trying to get into your head. Like always!” Yelled child Ivan. “I don’t care about that anymore. Choose me.”

“He’s lying,” teenage Ivan muttered, hand over his mouth for a moment. Then he shrugged, half-defeated. “He still cares. But me? I’ll put up with your indifference. That’s how we’ve always been.”

Adult Ivan stepped forward, hand clenching onto his shirt, hurt. “I sacrificed myself for you,” he said, voice hard with accusation. “I am the reason you’re here. And yet you actually need to think about this?”

Till looked from one to the other: the smugness, the pleading, the weary compromise.

Till tentatively shook his head. “You didn’t sacrifice yourself for me,” it came out nervously, like he was frightened by the backlash. He turned to teenage Ivan. “And we never spent time together.”

The three stood before him, three fragments of a past he couldn’t leave behind. Adult Ivan wore that familiar smirk, arms crossed with certainty, like he knew everything about him. Teenage Ivan folded his arms behind his back, eyes low, ready to settle for his answer. And the child clung to his leg, wide-eyed, his presence so heavy. For so long, these voices had gnawed at him, all these pieces of Ivan, refracted through his own guilt. His fears twisted into shapes he could almost believe, because once broken and depressed, he had no choice but to. But they weren’t real. They weren’t him. They never were.

“I choose none of you,” Till shut his eyes, lowering his head, willing them away. “I choose my Ivan.”

The child’s hand slipped from his pants, his quiet footsteps retreating. He felt their anger, confusion, and disappointment. But for once, Till didn’t shrink under its weight. He stood there, eyes shut tight, until the air felt lighter around him. His heart, still pounding, began to slow, so he forced himself to open his eyes. They were gone, leaving him alone in the solitude of his apartment. This was the quietest this place had been in months, and it made him uneasy. Before they had the chance to appear again, Till quickly shoved on his boots. He didn’t even bother to lace them properly before yanking his helmet off its hook, rushing out, slamming the door hard behind him.

Mister Itto’s rooftop was the closest place to the stars. Till had discovered it while working late shifts, working on stubborn vans engines into the night. By midnight his hands were sore and his mind too restless to quit, so he followed the narrow metal ladder that clung to the side of the building in hopes to find a place to take a break. Up there, Miss Ayano had coaxed life out of the concrete; herbs and greens growing in neat rows, pots overflowing with leaves. At the far end she’d arranged a few chairs, a quiet corner for whoever needed it. 

Till claimed the bench for himself, lying flat on the cool surface, chilled from the night air, with his eyes tipped to the sky. Some nights the stars never came, lost behind a veil of clouds. Other nights, though, like tonight, they burned clear, so vast, scattered across the sky. He let the sight engulf him, clutching to the thought that maybe the universe knew he needed this. Till became so enthralled within their glow–some brighter than others–that he didn’t become aware of the footsteps climbing the ladder. He fluttered his eyelashes, his heart dipping when Ivan towered over him, mouth pressed in a thin line. 

His hair was long, stopping just at his neck. His features were older, worn by the concept of time. The deep red in his iris sparkled as he stared down at him, a contrast to the dimness he saw in all the others. Till exhaled, letting that small, undoubtable detail be proof: this wasn’t another hallucination.

Ivan crouched down beside him, catching him by surprise as he cradled his face in his calloused palms, eyes searching him, but Till didn’t know what for. All that he knew was that Ivan’s fingers smelled faintly of smoke. 

“I’ve been looking for you. I saw your motorcycle out front,” Ivan told him, tilting Till’s head, examining his eyes. “Are you alright?”.

“Yeah,” Till whispered, hating how shaky the word sounded. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’m sorry,” Ivan ran his thumb underneath his eye, a tender gesture he wasn’t used to. But it felt familiar, as if he happened in some baseless dream, years ago. “I did not know you suffer from hallucinations. I would not have left you, otherwise.”

Till’s eyes widened, drifting them elsewhere, almost in shame. He caught Ivan’s wrist, pulling it away from where he grazed his thumb in steady motions along his cheek. “Who told you that?”

Ivan shifted tentatively, lowering his head until it rested against Till’s chest, as if searching for comfort in his warmth. Till couldn’t remember them ever being this close–closer than a kiss, closer than a hug. The Ivan he used to know surfaced only in fragments, slipping out in quiet moments like this, when he no longer seemed afraid to show remnants of himself. He knew Till wouldn’t judge him, and that certainty was met with Till’s fingers gently threading through his dark hair.

Till exhaled, knowing he probably wouldn’t get an answer. It didn’t matter. Till couldn’t keep it hidden forever, and he would’ve been a fool to think he could.

A fool.

When Ivan said he was a fool to trust him, Till didn’t know what came over him. It was cold, but he couldn’t shiver from its chill. It triggered all his doubts, fears, and insecurities about them. It was like Ivan was giving up on himself, and that scared him. Deeply.

“My death,” Ivan whispered, and Till had to tilt his head in order to hear him. “I never knew it would affect you so deeply. That I would become a nightmare. I always thought…”

“Thought what?” Till trailed his gaze back up to the sky, and somehow the stars were brighter. 

“That if I died, it wouldn't have mattered to you,” Ivan’s words reverberated through his chest, causing Till’s breath to hitch. “That you’d forget all about me.”

Till stayed silent for a moment, then he placed his palm underneath Ivan’s chin. His eyes half-lidded, downcasted as he worried his bottom lip, the words trembling as they fumbled out of him.  

“How could I ever forget you?” Till whispered, his gaze tracing over every line of him like a painter desperate to memorize their muse, unwilling to lose what once inspired them. “I felt so… undeserving of your sacrifice. For the longest time, I couldn’t understand why you did what you did.”

His brows furrowed as memories pressed in. The last nine years unravelled in his mind, shattering like porcelain. Every what-if, every could-have-been had manifested in different forms of Ivan. Every question Till would never have answered lived inside of himself. Yet here Ivan was, not gone at all; his head resting against Till’s chest, staring up at him as if there was no one else in the world worth looking at. The weight of it tugged at Till’s heart, in the way only the true Ivan ever could.

“I did it,” Ivan muttered, almost shy, “in an final act of love.”

Till bit his lip, his eyes suddenly watering, but he swallowed it all down. He dragged the hand not cradling Ivan’s chin through his hair, and the man sighed in content against him.

 “Ivan?”

“Yes?”

“What…” Till paused, uncertain. “What were your last moments like?”

Ivan froze, the question catching him off guard. Till knew he could never lie to him, and he’d once promised he’d answer any question, so long as Till asked. Slowly, Ivan nudged his head free from Till’s relaxed grip and pushed himself up from his crouch. He claimed the narrow space left on the bench, as though unwilling to inconvenience Till by asking him to abandon his sprawl across the bench. Till’s leg drew upward, so his hand came to rest on Till’s knee, leaning over him.

“I remember being terrified,” Ivan admitted at last, and it pulled a small breath from Till’s throat. “I didn’t want to die.” Ivan kept eye-contact, considering his words through pauses. “It hurt a lot. Like this ever burning feeling, growing more and more persistent the more I bled. And when I tried to breathe it was like,” he tilted his head, grasping for the word, “gasping in sand. The longer I stood there, the more realization settled in. That I was dying.”

Till gazed at him with shaky eyes. Though his words were brutal and honest, his face betrayed the direness of the situation. Ivan looked like he was telling a bedtime story with a happy ending. Not one where he gave a retelling of his last moments–or what they assumed to be–reliving a time that changed their lives forever. 

“But,” Ivan tilted his head, lips parted. “As long as I stared at your face, and felt you in my grasp, I was okay.” He nodded at something only he knew, until it settled around them. “My feelings for you overpowered the fear, and the pain. In the end, I was more terrified of living in a world without you than of dying. If you were to have died that day, there’d be nothing left for me in this life.”

Till couldn’t contain the tears prickling in his eyes from that point on. They streamed down his face, and he made no move to fight them off. Till could never forget the way Ivan looked at him that night; the rain pouring down all around them, his grip unraveling, until he failed to hold on at all. When Ivan’s hands had been around his neck, there’d been no pain, only the tremor of fear running through them. The Segyein had misread it, mistaking Ivan’s shaking for cruelty, when in truth he had been terrified. So terrified, and clinging to a life he was already in the act of giving up for him. Ivan had smiled at him then; weak, trembling, but somehow resolute. It had stayed on his lips until he hit the ground, Till hovering over him as the lights went out. He had only been able to hold Ivan for a single, fleeting moment, sobbing over his body with incorrigible pleas, begging him not to leave him too. Then the Guards took him away, keeping him subdued until the final round. 

But to hear it from Ivan, that what he had suspected all along was true, settled a different kind of pain within him. 

“I’m so sorry that you had to go through that,” Till mumbled, pressing his hands against his face. “You were scared, too, and I didn’t realize until you were gone.”

He felt Ivan press against him, gingerly pulling his arms away from his face. He gazed upon Till warmly, unaffected by his own nimble confessions. Perhaps he made peace with it within those trickling seconds, and though the emotions drained away, he never regretted what he had done for him. 

“You’ve done great for yourself, Till,” Ivan said. “You have dedicated your life to saving others, your support system is strong, and you have a close-knit family. You’ve lived a great life, and my sacrifice hadn’t been in vain.” Ivan caught himself, and in an after thought, “Any way you chose to live would’ve been worth it, in the end.”

“Ivan,” Till breathed, attempting a smile through the onslaught of emotion. “I don’t expect you to be perfect. You’re going to make mistakes. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that change doesn’t happen overnight.”

Ivan nodded, the words settling over him. “I think I understand that now. Humans are flawed creatures, after all. It’s only natural that I am, too. I just want to make things right. Especially with Vivi.”

Till reached up and cupped his face, Ivan leaned into his touch, almost instinctively. “She’ll come around,” Till murmured. “She didn’t mean what she said. She’s a sweet girl–just… going through a lot.”

“I want…” Ivan faltered, searching for the words. “I want to be someone she can rely on. Someone they can all rely on. I only hope that, when the time comes, I’ll know how to tell her what she needs to hear.”

Till’s gaze softened on Ivan. He hadn’t realized how deeply Ivan felt about the children, how much weight he placed on the example he set. It struck him that through trial and error, Ivan could become a great parental figure. Luka had managed it, and looking at him now, you’d never guess how much he once struggled. Till tried his best, but between the two of them, Luka was always the better parent. Till didn’t know what he’d do without him.

A thought came to Till, and it made him laugh. “Hey, about what you said.” He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Does that mean you can’t live without me?”

Ivan blinked at him, humming, and Till immediately recognized the sound as Ivan buying time. “Well, it was more a figure of speech. Like most humans, I rely heavily on nutrients and hydration to survive. So, technically speaking–”

“Okay, okay,” Till interrupted with a click of his teeth, pushing him lightly. “You know how to suck the romance right out of things.”

Ivan’s eyes widened, stunned. Then, almost shyly, a flicker of mischief crossed his face. He leaned in a little closer, voice softer. “Though, I suppose I wouldn’t mind if you were my only life supply.”

Till’s face grew warm, the sudden shift leaving him spell bound. Ivan’s hand slid slowly through his hair, and the way he looked at him; soft, yearning–was achingly familiar. It was the same expression Till had seen on Luka’s back porch, the one that had made him act first because he knew Ivan wouldn’t surrender to his own desires. But now, for some reason, Till couldn’t move. He stayed frozen in place, heart thudding, unable to bridge the distance.

“Till,” Ivan murmured at last, his voice low, delicate in the way it carried his name. A pause lingered between them before he asked, “Can we… Try again?”

He barely got to nod his head before Ivan closed the distance between them. It was electrifying, the way the action jolted through his heart. Till’s arms wound tight around his neck as Ivan steadied himself, braced on either side of his head against the bench. It was slow at first, then Ivan caught Till’s bottom lip between his teeth, asking for permission to go deeper–so he let him. The passion was unmatched, Till felt it in the way Ivan angled closer, deepening the kiss not out of impatience, but with the desperation of someone who’d finally extracted an irresistible emotion within them. Like he waited years for such an elicit feeling, and it wound around them heavily, undeniable the longer Ivan kept him there. Till’s eyes fluttered open, a dazed thought pulling him back through the heat. He tugged lightly at Ivan’s hair, breathless, forcing him to pull away.

“Wait,” Till gasped, licking his lips for confirmation. “Why do you taste like cigarettes–?”

Ivan didn’t let him finish. He kissed him again, swallowing the words, a smooth cover-up with the insistence of his lips. Till didn’t try to pull away anymore, because strangely, the taste wasn’t all too bad–almost like burnt coffee beans. 

Till knew then that it was the doing of Isaac’s his bad habits paired with his big ol’ mouth.

What broke them apart wasn’t willpower, it was Till’s phone buzzing in his pocket. He groaned into Ivan’s mouth, palm pressing weakly against his chest in protest. Ivan hesitated before pulling back, eyes still carrying the heat of the moment, though a flicker of shyness softened them. He slipped off Till entirely, movements quick as if afraid he’d linger too long, and offered Till his hand. Till took it, snorting under his breath as he hauled himself upright, phone already vibrating insistently against his leg. By the time he tugged it out of his pocket, Ivan had scooted to the far end of the bench, head ducked low, enduringly sheepish.

“Hello?” Till said, hoping he didn’t sound too winded.

“Till,” it was Dewey. His tone alone set him on alert, his heart already pounding from its urgency. “Luka’s in the infirmary. Lucas said he found him unconscious in the bathroom.”

“Luka?” Till’s voice grew loud, causing Ivan to whip his head in his direction. “Is he okay?”

“He hasn’t woken up, Isaac is on his way. But it’s not looking good,” Dewey’s tone shifted, and Till could hear its grit as he said, “When I went to get the kids, Vivi wasn’t there.”

Till heart dropped into his stomach acid, rapidly blinking as he hopped to his feet. But they felt like jello, and he immediately slumped back down. 

“What do you mean Vivi wasn’t there?” 

“What’s going on?” Ivan whispered softly, noticing the whimper that clawed up Till’s throat. Till couldn’t answer, he struggled to even breathe at that moment. 

“We searched everywhere in the house, but she wasn’t inside, or anywhere else on the base,” Dewey said, like Till didn’t understand that part. “I’m not sure how she left. I have someone looking through the cameras now to see where she went.”

Till dragged a hand down his face, dread coming over him like a storm cloud. She must’ve left through the hidden escape route they took to go to the Guard Station. They wouldn’t see her on the cameras past the barbeque shake near the bar, because there were no cameras once you slipped between the buildings. He exhaled through his nose, fumbling for words. 

“Okay, I-I’ll go look for her,” Till started to rise off of the bench again, and Ivan helped him to his feet this time around. He didn’t bother waiting for a goodbye, and simply hung up the phone. 

“What’s wrong with Luka? And where’s Vivienne?” Ivan prodded gently. Till pinched his nose in frustration, grabbing onto Ivan’s arm to keep steady.

“Luka passed out, he’s in the infirmary, and he hasn’t woken up. Vivi–she ran off during the commotion.” Till’s head throbbed, his grip on Ivan’s sleeve tightening as panic welled in his throat. “I–I need to go–”

“Calm down.” Ivan’s voice was soft as he kept him upright on the soles of his boots. “You should go be with Luka. I’ll find Vivienne. This could be the last time…” Ivan trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished. 

Till gazed at him with worried eyes, and they darted away from him once the implications of his words settled in. 

“I’ll bring her back. Okay? Don’t worry.”

“But what about you?” Till’s head snapped up. “The PDA is looking for you.”

“If they find me, all they’ll do is reset me and put me back to work,” Ivan explained slowly. “If they find her, there’ll be a much worse outcome.”

Till’s heart couldn’t take this–Luka unconscious, and Vivi missing. And then there was Ivan ready to throw himself into danger for all their sakes. What if Till lost all of them? What if he was left with no one? The thought tore through him, panicked and unrelenting.

“Hey,” Ivan shook him gently, pulling him back to the rooftop. “We’ll come back. I promise.”

Till shook his head, trembling, then dug into his hoodie pocket. He yanked his motorcycle keys free, slapping them into Ivan’s palm, curling his fingers over them as though it were his heart on the line, and all that he could offer. “Come back safely. Please.”

“We will.” Ivan’s nod was firm, Till’s last ounce of trust poured into him. 

Till gave one final nod, his throat too tight for words, before they climbed down the ladder. At the bottom, he watched Ivan tie his hair back into a quick ponytail, slide the helmet over his head, and lower the visor. Ivan gave one last look his way, unidentifiable under the tinted headgear, before he kicked the gear shifter, the engine roaring to life beneath him. Dirt spat from the wheels as he tore off toward the gate. Till stood rooted until Ivan was out of sight, then turned on his heel and ran to get to the infirmary.

Chapter Text

Apart from having a really great memory, Guards must also have keen geographical and local knowledge. That way, if they found themselves without their headgear, they could find their way back to headquarters. Ivan had tried to put those skills to use when he first arrived at the base, but it was nearly impossible when he didn’t know where he was, or even how he’d gotten there. The land beyond the compound stretched endlessly: desolate greenery, gravel, and red earth bleeding into the horizon. It wasn’t until their trip to the beach that Ivan finally gained his bearings. From the shoreline he could see the faint glow of the city’s skylights, blurred by mist and clouds, but unmistakably there. By his estimate, the drive would take no more than two hours. Which meant that if Dewey had informed them of Luka’s collapse within the hour it happened, there was no logical way Vivi could have reached the city on foot in that amount of time.

Logical or not, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try.

He swerved the motorcycle in the direction of the city’s lights, silhouettes of tall buildings seeming further away the longer he drove. The only thing ahead of him was land, land, and more land. It made him anxious, pressing his foot on the gas, speeding up down the dirt road. The base was heavily protected by high surveillance and security–the distance from the city was only secondary. It didn’t protect her from a wandering Segyein or Guards who just happened to come this way. The longer he went with no sight of Vivi caused him to worry that either someone got to her before him, or that he was going in the wrong direction entirely. But he promised Till he’d bring her back, and his brain was telling him that Vivi’s destination was aimless, just going where the pipe spat her out at. 

Just when he began to doubt himself, about to twist the handles to do a u-turn, the blaring headlights caught the glimpse of pink-hair, white sneakers ruined from the red dirt, and a familiar purple backpack. Ivan jerked the bike out of her pathway, slowing down to ride up beside her. There wasn’t any way she didn’t hear the rumbling of the engine trekking behind her, so she had simply ignored it. He rode beside her for a moment, waiting to see if Vivi would acknowledge him, but she kept a straight face, chin high, continuing her walk towards the city. 

“Vivienne,” Ivan finally called out, and though it was faint, she flinched at the call of her name. 

Vivi didn’t respond, instead she picked up her pace, each stomp of her sneakers on the dirt was like a stubborn bout of protest,as long as she kept her pace, she could outwalk the sound of his voice.

“Where are you going?” Ivan asked. No response. Vivi clutched the strap of her backpack tighter. “You can’t reasonably make it to the city on foot.”

Ivan knew they weren’t on the best terms, the consequences of his own senseless actions. But he wasn’t used to her treating him, or anyone, like this. The Vivi he knew wasn’t one to ignore others, make her dad worried sick, or run away. He could tell by the hunch of her shoulders that even displaying such a cold demeanor was gnawing at her, but she remained stoic. He caught the faint huff that slipped from her, the roll of her eyes before she twisted her body away from him. She started toward the darkened road, putting space between them with every step. That simple act–her back turned to him–sent an unexpected chill down his spine.

“Vivienne,” Ivan whipped up the visor on the helmet, startling her. “I am telling you to stop right now.”

She bit her lip, then snapped her head in his direction. Ivan reeled back at how red her eyes were.

“No.” Her voice was hardly there, breaking towards the end.

At that single word, Ivan cut the engine and yanked the keys from the ignition. He swung his legs over the motorcycle, pivoting into her path, effectively stalling her stride.

“I said to stop,” Ivan repeated himself, louder. 

“Move.” She tried to shove past him, but he stood planted in place, extending his arms to block her exit. 

“No,” he echoed her stubbornness. 

Vivi backed up, her fist clenching as she glared at him with wide, frustrated eyes. She looked a lot like him, then, though when he was her age, he didn’t get to express his anger. He had to be well-behaved, and his complicitness rewarded him with never having to wear a collar.  

Her eyes narrowed, lips trembling with frustration. “Why do you care what I do?” She shouted at him. “Why aren’t you dead?” She strained, dropping her backpack before rushing at him. “You show up one day out of nowhere, make everything weird, and now you think you can tell me what to do?” She pressed her hands against his stomach, shoving hard. Her shoes planted into the dirt beneath them, but he didn’t–wouldn’t–move. “You’re not my dad!”

Her words pierced through him like a knife. He never thought something so effortless as words could penetrate him similarly to the burning sensation of bullet wounds. He was incredibly pitiful at showing his emotions, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have any at all. Till told him that she didn’t mean what she said, and that was the only thing keeping him from taking any of it to heart. Most of what she was spewing were just remnants from what people on the base said. But still, she sounded so pained, and hurt. A ball of rage bouncing around where it could because it had no direction or place to go. All it had was him. 

 “You share my biological DNA,” Ivan blurted, stumbling for words as he caught her shoulder, nearly tripping on her untied shoelaces. She flailed in his grip, but he scooped her up anyway, picked up her backpack, and carried her toward the motorcycle.

“Put me down!” she shrieked, pounding her fists weakly against him.

“And therefore,” Ivan pressed on stubbornly, “we are technically father and daughter. Which means that I, as half of your DNA contributor, command you to get on this motorcycle.”

He plopped her down onto the seat, and by that time she had already given up. All the fight in her vanished into thin air, sobs wretched up her throat in its vacancy, tears streaming down her face. Though she tried to scrub them away, they just kept pouring down, exhausted from things Ivan couldn’t fathom a seven-year-old could feel so immensely. He stared at her, unsure of what to do. So he did what he could in the moment. He pulled off the helmet and lowered it over her head, adjusting the strap as best he could, though it was too big for her. When he climbed onto the bike in front of her, Vivi clung to him immediately, pressing her face into his chest, fists balling up his shirt. Ivan slid one arm around her, using his other hand to put the key back in, gripping the handlebar, and started the engine.

He headed back toward the base… only to veer past the gates in a split-second decision.

Vivi’s sobs rose louder than the waves themselves, as though she was daring the ocean to decide which of them could drown out the night. She sat pressed against him in the cool sand, the two of them facing the endless dark horizon. The wind tugged at their hair and clothes, carrying salt and sprays of water, but neither of them moved. Neither seemed to care about the chill in the air.

“I’m so jealous of them!” Vivi cried, her voice cracking as she kept her face in her hands. “Lucas and Taehyun get liked by everyone just because they’re Miss Hyuna’s sons. And Ella? She’s so freaking shy but she still gets invited to everything! Louie may be clinging to Papa now, but I bet when he gets older, they’ll treat him better than me, too.”

Ivan listened to her with a solemn expression, allowing her to vent out her frustrations. 

“And–and Dad,” she sobbed, swiping at her eyes with her sleeves. She gasped like a fish out of water, fighting for breath between hiccups. Ivan busied his hands with her sneakers, rinsing them with ocean water and scrubbing at the red dirt with a towel from her backpack. “I’m sure he regrets having me for a child.”

Ivan snapped his head up at that, frowning. 

“No,” Ivan said firmly. “He doesn’t regret you at all.”

Vivi sniffled, watching him pull the shoelaces free from her shoes until her socked feet were in the sand. “He’d be better off without me, though.”

Ivan stilled, the towel limp in his hand. “Till would fall apart without you, Vivienne.”

“But I’m a monster,” Vivi whispered, lowering her head onto her knees. “I’ll just end up hurting him, Papa, and my siblings.”

Ivan fist tightened around the towel, biting his tongue. Instantly, he dropped the fabric into the sand, twisting towards the child. He cupped Vivi’s face in his palms, making her raise her head to meet his narrowed gaze.

“You are not a monster,” he stressed, catching Vivi by surprise. “Vivienne, what you saw in the kitchen that night was frightening. And I have no doubt that I did resemble a monster in that moment. But that’s because Guards are programmed to be just that–monsters,” his eyes flickered away, searching for words–realization crept over his features. “I acted on that programming, and it was wrong. I behaved recklessly. I am so sorry I scared you.”

“I forgive you,” she replied, tears still streaming down her cheeks. Ivan wiped them away with his thumb, offering her a small smile. 

“But,” Vivi muttered. “Their words get to you, too? Don’t they?”

Ivan hesitated, before he nodded his head. “You may have heard people call me a robot, or a PDA lackey, or… so many other things,” Vivi let out a giggle at that. “And especially, how they refer to your mother as a witch.” She stared at him seriously then, past hurt showing in her expression. “But Mister Itto told me that when we let those terms define us, we are giving the Segyein exactly what they want: for us to believe we can be nothing more than what they made us. Do you understand?”

Vivi tilted her head, confused.

Ivan hummed as he tried to find a kid-appropriate explanation. “I was made… or re-made–to forget everything. But I chose not to forget Till, and I choose to stay here with you.” Ivan tentatively pressed his hand to his chest. “My heart told me that you all meant more to me than any command, or rule I was given. And the moment I knew I felt that way, was the day I stopped being a Guard.”

“When was that?” Vivi asked, leaning in with curiosity, smiling cheekily at him. 

Ivan smiled warmly at her in return. “When we went to the Guard Station.” When she narrowed her eyes at him, he leaned away skeptically, adding, “or before that. I don't really know. Maybe it was when you shared your fruit snacks with me.”

Vivi barked out a laugh, and it made his heart fill full; complete.

“What I’m trying to say is…” Ivan stressed, darting his gaze from the shine in her eyes. She kept getting him off topic–but it was nice to have the old Vivi back. “Your future isn’t decided by what people on the base say. It isn’t decided by what Mizi did, or what I’ve done. It’s decided by you, Vivienne. Only you get to decide who you’ll be.”

“You’re the first person besides my dad to ever say her name,” Vivienne smiled at him, and it reached her eyes. “Mizi.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah,” Vivi nodded her head. “Mister Ivan? What did you think of my mom?”

Ivan bit his lip in thought, wondering what answer to give her. The Segyein-curated one, or the one he formed all by himself. 

“I liked Mizi,” Ivan said honestly. “She was kind. She seemed to really like me, as well. But… I’ve always felt there were layers to her. Ones much too difficult for people who didn’t know her to understand.”

The tension on Vivi’s face eased up, and she curled her legs to her chest. Ivan turned back to finish cleaning her shoes.

“I’m happy you liked her,” Vivi said after a while, her voice small, as if his opinion were one of the very few that mattered from this point on. “I wonder if she’d like me.”

Ivan hid his grimace. The truth was too complicated–Mizi’s whereabouts were unknown, and if she was still alive, he doubted she’d be sound enough to form an opinion of her ‘child’. But that was okay. Vivi had more than enough love from all those around her.

“I’m quite fond of you too, Vivienne,” Ivan said softly.

Her head lifted in surprise before a grin spread across her face. She tapped her finger against her lips in mock thought, humming. “Really? But there’s just one thing.”

Ivan arched a brow, carefully threading her shoelaces back through the holes. The stains of red dirt lingered stubbornly on the fabric, but he did what he could. “And what’s that?”

Vivi wrapped her arms around him, embracing him as an amusing yawn escaped her. All that crying must’ve made her tired. His head whipped toward her instinctively. “My family calls me Vivi.”

Ivan felt like butterflies found a home inside of his chest and were about to burst out for migration. He tentatively lifted one of his arms, returning the sentiment.

“Ah,” he breathed out a laugh. “Then I will call you Vivi from now on.” He kneeled in front of her to help her stuff her feet back into the sneakers. As he did so, he pointedly looked at her with a firm expression. “Also, don’t harbor any negative feelings for your siblings. You all need to stick together; especially now.”

Vivi furrowed her eyebrows at him, confused. “Huh?”

Ivan paused in tying her shoes, tilting his head. “Didn’t you leave after Luka fell unconscious?" 

Vivi slowly shook her head, her eyes widening in fear. “No. I felt when Papa was putting the baby to sleep–what are you talking about? Is Papa okay?”

Ivan felt guilty for even mentioning it, buying time by finishing tying her before helping her up. “We heard that Lucas found him passed out in the bathroom. He’s in the infirmary at the moment.”

Vivi frowned at him, slinging her backpack onto her shoulder, tears building up in her eyes. “You don’t think that happened because of me, right?”

“No,” Ivan shook his head. “Of course not. We’re not sure of what specifically caused it, but I’m sure it had something to do with his heart.”

Vivi began to sprint back up the beach, towards the motorcycle. “Let’s go back!”

Ivan started after her, pausing momentarily to shoot Till a text message. 

Till’s first thought upon seeing Luka was how fragile he looked beneath the fluorescent hospital lights. He laid flat on his back, head propped by a cluster of pillows that Till instinctively fluffed, hoping that tiny gesture might ease his discomfort. An oxygen mask was strapped to his face, each shallow puff of air leaving Luka’s through steady breaths. An IV drip threaded into the side of his neck, feeding intropes into veins that looked too thin, too weak. Luka had always been pale, no matter how long the sun kissed his skin. But now he seemed paler, almost ashen, his complexion sinking toward grey.

Till slouched in the chair by Luka’s bed with half-lidded eyes, deep in forlorn thoughts. Louie’s head on his lap, fists tucked beneath his chin, his breathing uneven from having cried himself to sleep. Till’s fingers absently combed through the boy’s hair, the repetitive motion keeping his own nerves from unraveling. The children had been terrified; even calm, rational Lucas had gone rigid at the sight of their father lying unconscious in the cot. It must’ve been so terrifying discovering Luka in such a state. Eventually, Dewey had taken the others, including the baby, down to the cafeteria, hoping some food might draw their thoughts elsewhere, if only for a little while. But Louie had refused to go with them, sobbing his protests until Till let him stay. Now it was just the two of them in the quiet with Luka’s heart monitor the only thing pulling him back to the presence with its spaced out beating–letting Till know that he was still with them.

Dewey did what he could in the van with the help of a few medical assistants, fighting to keep Luka stable until they reached the infirmary, where Isaac was already waiting to take over. The rest could do nothing but pace the hallway, waiting through what felt like endless, agonizing hours, every second stretched thin with worry. When Luka was steady enough for Isaac to examine him fully, they finally got their answer as to what happened. 

 Isaac explained that Luka’s heart hadn’t been pumping blood effectively enough, causing his blood pressure to plummet until his body simply gave out. He needed to be treated for cerebral hypoxia immediately, due to being passed out for who knew how long, his brain could’ve lost oxygen within minutes. It was a miracle that Lucas had found him when he did, any later, and Luka might not have the opportunity to wake up at all.

Isaac carefully stabilized Luka’s blood pressure with small doses of medication to strengthen his heartbeat because anything stronger would have overworked his already frail heart. He reassured them that Luka should regain consciousness soon, and that more extensive treatment would follow once he woke up. For now, all they could do was wait. 

Till lifted his head to check on him again, just wanting to make sure nothing went absurdly haywire. That’s when he realized Luka’s hair was completely out of his face. He could see the purple scarring on the left side of it, heavily bruised, marred and shrivelled from where the flames had hit them all those years ago. He had never seen it in its entirety since Luka’s stay in the infirmary, and as Luka grew his hair out, he proceeded to hide that side of his face with his bangs. He almost felt guilty for even staring at him, knowing Luka would hate for anyone to see like this: weak, defenseless, and one of the traumas from his past fully exposed. It made him think of Mizi, and if she were hiding her face just the same, and that's why he could never find her in all the crowds he swept through–if she were still out there.

His mind strayed to Vivi, and his heart began to pound. Just a few hours ago, everything had felt as though it was finally turning around: he and Ivan had actually talked, not just about the past, but about what a future between them might look like. When they kissed, Ivan had felt something, chased that sensation with such urgency it was as if the world itself had stilled, leaving only them and years of unspoken emotion finally colliding. Till had thought, foolishly, that the universe was finally giving back what it had stolen. Instead, it yanked more away. They had no real religion anymore, only tales of gods humans once prayed to centuries ago. But in his desperation, Till found himself calling out to something–anything–that might listen. He begged them to bring Vivi back to him, to give Luka more time. After everything, after the brutal life they had forced upon the blond, upon all of them, it wasn’t too much to ask. It shouldn’t be too much to ask. None of them asked to be here, trying to lead normal lives in a dystopia, so it was the least they could do, if they cared for humanity in any capacity. 

Till had just closed his eyes, in the middle of sending one more lucid prayer into whatever stratosphere they found themselves in, when his phone beeped. 

I found Vivi. We are heading back now.

He audibly gasped, startling so harshly that Louie stirred against him. Till’s hand immediately went to the boy’s back, rubbing slow circles until he stilled again. With his free hand, he fumbled to type out a reply, fingers trembling. His chest felt so full it ached, so happy he could’ve cried right there–but he bit hard into his lip, forcing the tears back, holding it all inside.

“T–Till…?”

Till froze. For a second, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him; the voice was faint, hoarse, warped by the hiss of the mask. But when he turned toward the cot, Luka’s weary eyes were open, struggling to focus through the fog. Carefully, Till shifted Louie from his lap onto the chair, hurrying to Luka’s bedside. Relief escaped him in a shaky breath as he leaned over, drinking in the sight of him awake. Alive. His lips curved into a smile as the tears finally broke loose.

“Luka, it’s okay,” Till breathed, his voice barely holding together as he brushed the damp strands of blond hair away from his forehead. Luka’s eyelids fluttered shut at the touch, a trembling sigh escaping him as he sucked in the oxygen filling his lungs. Till’s throat tightened at the sight of his reprieve, the confusion on Luka’s face slipping away. “You’re okay.”

“Where…” Luka struggled, the words leaving him slowly. Till collected his hand on his own, and it was cold, so he squeezed it to warm him up even a small amount. “Where are the kids?”

“They’re here,” Till piped up. “Louie’s right there. The boys, Suella, and the baby went to the cafeteria.”

“What about,” Luka strained, his fingers weakly curling around Till’s hand, grasping onto him. “Vivi?”

Till faltered, smiling again–just a little weaker. “She’s fine. She’s with Ivan.”

Luka tried to open his eyes again, and Till’s heart throbbed from the sight of him. Even in this state, Luka was worried about the kids. Till didn’t think it was a good time to tell Luka that Vivi had run away, so he vetoed that information, especially now that he knew she was okay. 

“I’m… sorry,” Luka whispered, his head falling back against the pillow in defeat.

“It’s okay,” Till soothed, though he had no idea what Luka was apologizing for.

“It’s not okay,” Luka rasped, his breath catching as he pressed a trembling hand over his scars, as though to hide them. “How could you… ever forgive me?”

Till frowned, shifting where he crouched over Luka’s body. He blinked, fumbling with Luka’s hand, pressing it against his chest, as if trying to strengthen him. He wondered what mental turmoil Luka had been going through these past few days, and even then, trapped in his mind for hours, dreaming about things he couldn’t begin to think of–he had dreamt at all.

“I’ll call Isaac,” Till replied instead, changing the topic. Luka’s hand fell from his head, falling onto his bedsheets. The motion felt almost frustrated, but Luka’s body was far too exhausted to hold an argument. Till wasn’t even sure he understood what it was for.

Till kept Luka’s grasp, leaning over to reach the call button behind his head. But before he could press it, the door creaked open. The kids stood in the threshold with Dewey, a brief silence hanging in the air. Then, all at once, they barreled inside, clambering onto Luka’s cot.

“Papa!” Suella cried, loud enough to startle Louie awake. She scrambled up toward the head of the bed, and Luka immediately caught her against his side, letting her bury her face into him.

At the foot of the cot, Taehyun wiped his eyes with the hem of his shirt. “I’m so glad you’re awake,” he whispered, his voice shaky

.

With Till’s help, Louie crawled onto the other side of Luka, curling close to him. Lucas remained standing by the bed, his fist clenched tight as he tried to hold himself together, ever the example for the others. But when Luka reached out, fingers combing gently through the nine-year-old’s hair, the boy bit his lip, sniffling as tears broke free. He quickly hid his face in the crook of his arm, shoulders trembling despite his efforts to be strong.

Till watched them with a content smile, silently thanking whichever god that decided his family was worth it. Then came the soft coo of the infant in Dewey’s arms, small at first, then rising, louder and sharper with every breath. She squirmed restlessly, twisting and reaching toward the bed where all the others had gathered around Luka. The coos turned to whines, and soon to cries that carried her desperation through the room. Dewey hurried over, placing her carefully against Luka’s chest. Luka’s arms came up at once, cradling her as securely as he could manage. The moment she felt him, her fussing softened, tiny fists grasping at his shirt as if she’d finally reached the place she’d been fighting for.

“There,” Dewey sighed, dusting off his hands. “Now you’re with your papa.”

Till waited for Luka to correct him, to reject the notion outright. But instead, Luka drew her close, cradling her as tightly as his weakened arms allowed. He pressed a frail kiss to her head, murmuring in a raspy lull until her fussing quieted completely. His gaze lingered on her bright, twinkling eyes, and in that silence, the truth was undeniable: all of his children loved him, and he loved them just as deeply. His capability to love no longer lingered like a question in their air. Till straightened, his eyes flicking to Dewey, who already held the door open for them. Luka didn’t need immediate help, so Isaac and the endless treatments could wait a little longer. For the moment, Till would let Luka bask in being surrounded by his children, their voices tumbling over each other in persistent chatter, and Luka, looking as though he couldn’t be happier to listen.

“Tonight,” Till sighed, leaning his head against the closed door, “has been stressful.”

“Tell me about it,” Dewey chuckled. “Good thing all that medical training Isaac drilled into me finally paid off.”

Till let out a small smile. “Maybe I should let him actually teach me something, too. Think it’ll go to his head?”

“Careful,” Dewey teased. “His head’s already big enough. Any bigger and he might just float away.”

“Is that so?”

Both men jumped, whipping around to find Isaac standing behind them, hands planted on his hips, his face set in an exaggerated look of offense.

“Isaac!” Dewey stretched out his arms, pulling Isaac into a hug. “Buddy! I was just telling Till how he should really try and learn a thing or two from you.”

Till wanted to be offended for being thrown under the bus, but he was frankly too tired to. Instead, he simply shrugged, grinning as Isaac tried to get out of Dewey’s embrace, eventually giving up, staring at Till over the man’s shoulder. 

“I came to tell you Ivan and Vivi are outside,” Isaac said, rolling his eyes. 

“They are?” Till spun on his heel, running towards the infirmary entrance. 

He pushed one of the double doors open, letting the cool, antiseptic air spill outside. On the stoop, Ivan and Vivi twisted at the sound. Vivi’s eyes darted up, then quickly away, her shoulders curling as though the very thought of entering the infirmary carried shame. He frowned before he could stop himself, and she seemed to take it as disapproval, shrinking further into herself. Ivan rose, brushing his palms down his pants as though to fix himself, and climbed the steps.

“Thank you so much, Ivan,” Till said, reaching for his hand, Ivan glanced down as their fingers interlaced.

“No need to thank me,” Ivan murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Luka’s awake, you should go see him.” Till tilted his head toward the doors.

Ivan’s expression shifted with uncertainty, his eyes drifted past Till, weighing his choice. “Maybe later.” He hesitated, then added, carefully, “I don’t know if it’s my place but…”

Till tipped his head, urging him on. “What is it?”

Ivan’s grip tightened around his hand, staring him straight in the eyes. “I think,” he began slowly, “it’s time to stop treating Mizi’s name like a forbidden word. I know she’s infamous here. But maybe it’s time they learned to live with it.”

Till paused, lowering his head. Ivan had always been observant, and rational. But he had never been so emotionally intelligent. To see what Till had been afraid to since he got here, having to let his friend’s name be tarnished and her legacy buried. It was selfish, Till knew, but it was so easy for him to just let it be. To let their words about her role off of his shoulders, to pretend not to care whenever anyone bought up the witch. If it weren’t for the witch, they wouldn’t have their scars. If it weren’t for the witch, their child would still be here. But for Till, if it weren’t for Mizi–he wouldn’t be here, either–but he couldn’t say it, because it’ll just get drowned out in all of the negativity. 

Then Vivi came along, and it became harder to keep those feelings suppressed. He couldn’t look her in the eye–her, of all people–and tell her she had to deal with it. To live under the same silence he had chosen. That would be admitting they were right–and perhaps, in his silence, he already had. 

Ivan was right. Protecting Vivi meant more than keeping her safe. It meant allowing her to live her truth, not having to carry a near-decade old weight. 

Till nodded faintly at first, but it became more solid–more resolute. Ivan squeezed his hand, giving him those warm, dark eyes before he let him go, turning to enter the infirmary. Giving them space. Till exhaled, before turning to face his daughter. He swung his arms loosely at his sides as he descended the steps, then dropped onto the stoop beside her. Vivi kept her head turned away, shoulders hunched up to her ears, her face hidden in her palm. When she didn’t acknowledge him, Till leaned back on his hands, letting the silence hang between. His gaze drifted upward to the sky, and something began to dawn on him.

“Was I Lucas age?” Till asked the air, his voice distant. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vivi slowly turn toward him, listening. “Maybe I was a little older. But I was around his age when I started crushing on Mizi.”

“…You had a crush on my mom?” Vivi squeaked, her face lighting with curiosity as she swiveled to look at him fully.

“Mm,” Till hummed, meeting her wide-eyed stare with a small smile. “I did. Back then, I just found her so… admirable. She was always so bright, so kind, so happy. But…”

Vivi leaned in, completely entranced by the story now, her earlier worries forgotten.

“We weren’t close,” Till admitted at last, his eyes softening, narrowing with the weight of the memory. “Even though I felt that way… or thought I felt that way, I didn’t really know her.”

“Mister Ivan said he thought she had a lot of layers,” Vivi said with exasperation, her tone so earnest that Till couldn’t help but laugh.

“She did,” he agreed softly. “And maybe if I’d tried harder to be her friend, instead of obsessing over the version of her I made up in my head, I would’ve understood her more.” His gaze dropped to his hands, fingers clasped together. “I would’ve understood why she cried for me, or why she saved me that night. I would’ve understood just how deeply she cared for all of us… and how much we broke her, in the end.”

Till realized that he started mumbling, stringing things together as he said them. Things he was never allowed to cope with, or express out loud. He realized, then, that he never got to actually mourn his friends. Mourn the good times, and the bad ones. Mourn the happiest moments under that artificial sky, playing music together to feel the silence they were always enveloped in. Mourn the laughing, talking, screaming, crying. How much really, really missed them all. 

“Dad. Are you okay?” Vivi asked, and he blinked. 

“Yes,” Till nodded his head. “Maybe I’m not making any sense.” 

Vivi giggled, nuzzling her head into his shoulder, holding onto his arm. “You and Mister Ivan are alike.”

Till grinned, pulling her closer, warming her up in his arms. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that Mizi was an amazing person. Her heart was big. So big, that her actions that night were made out of despair, yes, but also love. She wasn’t a witch, far from it. She was more like an Angel, if anything. And I see her so much in you.”

“You do?” Vivi tilted her head. 

“Of course,” Till leaned back to get a good look at her features. “Let’s see… you have her hair, and her nose… ah! You even have her ears! Wait-maybe you get those from me.”

“Dad!” Vivi squealed through laughter as Till’s fingers found her sides. “Stop being silly!”

Till grinned, his heart softening at the sound of her joy. “Those are all good things, Vivi. And if someone ever tells you they’re not, I want you to tell them, clearly, why they are. Because they were given to you by an Angel.”

He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “And when they call her a witch, I want you to say that she wasn’t. Her name was Mizi. She had more love to give than anyone I’ve ever known. And when they say you’ll be just like her, I want you to say…”

“That I decide who I am?” Vivi asked softly, her big eyes flicking up at him.

Till blinked, a silent thanks to Ivan for planting those words in her mind. “Yes,” he said. “Exactly. But I want you to know that being like Mizi isn’t a bad thing at all. Being like Mizi means you have a heart too big to measure, and you care for others even when it’s hard.”

Vivi’s expression faltered. “But if I do all those things,” she asked, voice cautious, “won’t that make things harder for you?”

“No,” Till answered immediately, his voice firm. “Not at all. Vivi, I will always, always protect you. Nothing is too much, or too hard, when it comes to you. If anyone has something to say about it, tell them to take it up with me or Mister Ivan. And we’ll tell them the exact same thing.”

Vivi grinned at him, the light returning to her gaze. She threw her arms around his neck, and he held her just as tightly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. When she pulled back, Till fixed her with his best parental glare.

“What you did tonight was extremely dangerous, Vivienne,” he scolded, and she ducked her head, as if she’d already known it was coming. “You made me worried sick. Are you trying to kill me?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, fingers fidgeting with the buttons on his jacket. “I won’t ever do it again. I just… I was really sad, and thought maybe you’d be happier without me.”

“Vivi.” Till tilted her chin up so she couldn’t look away. “You and your siblings are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. If something had happened to you tonight, or if we couldn’t find you, I’d never be able to live with myself. I love you more than anything.”

“I love you too,” Vivi whispered, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

“Speaking of your siblings,” Till’s expression softened as he tipped his head toward the double doors, “they’re with Luka. He’s not feeling well, but he’d be so happy to see you.”

“I want to see him,” Vivi said urgently, already pushing to her feet. “And my siblings.”

“Go ahead,” Till gestured toward the doors. “Room fourteen.”

“Okay.” She hesitated, then suddenly spun back, throwing herself against him in another hug. Till blinked but quickly wrapped her up again, heart squeezing as he held her. When she let go, she ran up the steps, disappearing through the door.

Watching her go, Till smiled faintly and exhaled a long, tired sigh. Maybe this parenting thing wasn’t easy, but it was starting to feel a little less impossible the more time went by. He’d barely been alone for a moment before the door creaked open again. He turned his head, surprised to see Ivan standing at the top of the stairs, his expression unreadable, uncertain.

“Everything okay?” Till asked, pushing himself up straighter.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell,” Ivan muttered, hesitant. “But I could never find the right moment. Not until now, when Vivi reminded me of Mizi.”

Till frowned at the vagueness, rising from the stoop and climbing the steps slowly, hand sliding along the railing, bracing himself.

 “Is it… something bad?” he tried to tease, though the stiffness in his voice betrayed his worry.

“No,” Ivan reassured quickly. “Nothing like that. It’s about Sua.” He paused, eyes flickering away before returning to Till’s. “I know where her remains are. Where… all of their remains are.”

Till froze on the last step, his breath catching as his gaze locked with Ivan’s.

“What?”

Chapter Text

“The cemetery,” Ivan said, twisting a flimsy fry in between his fingers. “It’s in Anakt Garden.”

Till lightly shook his head, resting his chin in his palm as he listened to Ivan speak. They’d gone back inside the infirmary and decided to order something from the cafeteria. Hospital food was exactly as one would expect; seasonless, plasticky, and cold. Back when Luka practically lived here, Till would go out of his way to sneak him something better from on the base. He knew firsthand how awful the meals were, and judging by the way Ivan’s nose crinkled after his first bite of the cheeseburger, he wasn’t impressed either. Not that either of their minds were really on the food, anyway. More pressing things lingered quietly between them.

“I never knew that,” Till muttered, laughing dryly. “I didn’t think they’d bury us at all.”

Ivan bit his lip, tilting his head with uncertainty, a thought crossing his mind. “Do you remember when it would snow?”

Till paused, slowly lifting his head, attention drawn from his sad-looking chicken noodle soup. “Yeah. Why?”

Ivan sighed out, shifting in his seat. It seemed like the topic was making him uncomfortable, but he fought for words, anyhow. “Did it ever occur to how cold it was, yet it never melted?” 

Till blinked slowly, bowing his head in thought. He couldn’t quite remember how it felt anymore, only that they had always been so excited. The kids would look up at the “sky,” eyes wide with wonder, watching as the roof split open and the first flakes began to fall. The snow would drift down in delicate sprinkles, catching in their hair, their laughter echoing through the dome as they reached up to touch it.

But then something clicked.

Till’s eyes widened. The memory–so warm and innocent a second ago–snapped into something colder. He began to tremble, though he couldn’t say why. The longer he sat there, the colder it felt, a creeping frost seeping beneath his skin. Ivan said nothing, letting him piece it together on his own.

Till’s hand flew to his face, dragging down his features with a ragged exhale. “The snow,” he began slowly, voice breaking, “was the ashes of the kids who died.”

Ivan’s eyes fell. “Not just the kids,” he said quietly, almost reluctantly. “Also the contestants on Alien Stage.”

Till thought he might throw up, and the food wasn’t helping.

Ivan pushed his chair closer, sitting beside him now. His hand moved gently across Till’s back in smooth circles. Then he nudged the glass of water toward him. Till grabbed it with trembling fingers, drinking it down in one go before setting it aside, shoulders sagging under the weight of what he now understood.

“The remains that they don’t use,” Ivan continued tentatively, “are buried in a garden we were prohibited access to. I’ve been there a few times, mostly to dig up some of the graves for Segyein experiments.”

Till swallowed hard. The knowledge sat heavy in his chest, impossible to process the longer he thought about it. It was mind-numbing, and yet, somehow, not surprising. The Segyein were vile creatures. They had violated them while they were alive, and even in death, still found ways to desecrate what little dignity they had left. But still. His thoughts wandered to Mizi, he pictured her walking a path of endless loneliness, burdened with grief she was never allowed to process. If he ever found her again–if she was still out there–Till promised himself he’d help her grieve properly. Maybe stealing Sua’s ashes and then setting them free would be a good place to start. He couldn’t voice these thoughts aloud; not yet. He couldn’t say any of it aloud. Not yet. But by the way Ivan watched him, thick brows drawn together, Till knew he didn’t have to.

“I don’t wish to keep anything from you,” Ivan mumbled, threading, “especially of such great importance.”

Till offered him a soft smile. “That’s alright. It’s… sort of comforting to know she got to rest, somehow.”

“Till,” Ivan leaned in, his eyes steady. “Whatever you decide to do with that information, I will support you on it. I don’t doubt your judgment.”

Till had to look away–the earnestness in Ivan’s tone, and the depth of black in his eyes, with red pooling at their edges, overwhelmed him. Their… endeavours were cut short, but Till kept going back to the moment, which made him feel guilty due to the million other things that should’ve occupied his mind. He wasn’t sure when they’d get a moment like that again, which disappointed him, but he couldn’t really ponder on that with the long road ahead of him.

Till jolted, bought back to the present when Ivan’s thumb brushed his lower lip.

“Your lip is a little swollen,” Ivan observed. “Did you trouble it?”

Till reeled back, face no doubt reddening. “No. You did that.”

Ivan's eyes widened, genuinely confused. “I did? I apologize, I must’ve… gotten carried away.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Till waved away his apology quickly, instead, his brows furrowed playfully. “Ivan, since when did you smoke?”

Ivan’s eyes trailed away from his, towards the ceiling in feigned thought. Ivan may not be able to lie, but he sure knew how to dodge questions.

“Ivan.”

“I just remembered,” Ivan interrupted, standing and adjusting his jacket. “I left your motorcycle keys in the helmet outside.”

“Ivan, that's not important,” Till laughed, reaching out for him. “Sit back down.”

“But someone might steal it. It’ll only take a moment,” Ivan murmured, already speed-walking toward the exit.

Till tried calling out for him one more time, but Ivan was already gone. He let out a quiet huff, shaking his head before turning back to his bowl of chicken noodle soup. The steam had long since faded, and he wasn’t sure he could stomach another bite anyway–Till decided he’d treat everyone to pizza later that night instead.

Luka spent a week in the infirmary, leaving Ivan and Till to care for the kids. Till’s apartment had never felt so crowded, but he didn’t mind. If it meant Luka could finally rest, he’d take the noise and chaos any day. They visited Luka often, and he always greeted them with that tired but genuine smile of his. One afternoon, Till took the children out for lunch, and when they returned, he spotted Ivan and Luka talking through the small window in the infirmary door. It was the first real conversation they’d had in nearly two weeks, completely by chance; Ivan had arrived after work, unaware Till had taken the kids out.

From what Till could see, their exchange seemed calm, though it was hard to tell if tension was there. Neither of them were the type to raise their voice, but something about their body language felt heavy. Eventually, the kids’ impatience forced Till to step inside and interrupt them. Luka smiled, Ivan stepped back, and the moment passed as if nothing unusual had happened. Later, Ivan said nothing about it, and Till didn’t ask. Some things, he decided, were better left unspoken.

Once Luka was finally deemed healthy enough to go home, Isaac and Dewey decided it’d be a wonderful idea to take all the kids out on a fishing trip. It gave Luka a chance to reacquaint himself with home life without diving straight back into parenting mode–a break he definitely needed, even if he’d never admit it. That left Till with something rare: a day without Vivi. Which meant he and Ivan could finally go out on a date. Not a date-not-date; a real, actual date.

He was on cloud nine about it. So much so that he didn’t even mind being left in charge of the bar while the others were away. The customers could scream, shout, or cry all they wanted–nothing could touch his mood that night. The only thing that would keep him going through the chaos was the thought of spending time with just Ivan. He just had to make it through the morning, and what better way to pass the time than by bothering Luka?

Till made his way up the hill toward Luka’s house, a bag swinging at his side with a container of food inside. He’d packed a meal filled with everything supposedly good for the heart: salmon cooked in olive oil, a side of steamed greens, and some brown rice. Luka had to still be tired, so he likely wasn’t cooking as much as he usually did, especially with just him and the baby at home. Still, Till knew Luka’s appetite hadn’t faded, so the food would be appreciated.

He knocked on the door once he reached the porch. After waiting a while with no answer, he hummed thoughtfully and stepped back, glancing toward the windows. The day was bright, the sun spilling over everything, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. On a day like this, even with it being his first one back home, Luka wouldn’t be spending it indoors.

He’d be at the cemetery behind the house.

The cemetery had been there long before Till ever came to live on the base. It was where both civilians and rebellion members were laid to rest–a peaceful place, full of bright greenery and graves tended with the utmost care by everyone in the community. Luka visited often, bringing new flowers, clearing overgrowth, or simply keeping the souls there company. Till didn’t have to wonder why he’d chosen today of all days to visit; the answer was obvious. Luka had gone to sit by Hyuna’s memorial.

That was where Till found him, sitting on a laid-out blanket, the baby asleep beside him, as he trimmed the stems off a handful of roses.

“A doctor tells you to rest, and suddenly the word isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?” Till teased. 

Luka startled at first, twisting around to look at him before smiling softly at his joke. The treatments and new medication seemed to be working; Luka looked more refreshed than he had in weeks. The lingering lethargic pull of his eyelids would probably never fade entirely, but there was a new brightness there–one that told Till he was getting better. 

“I’m not used to the lack of little voices going, ‘Papa! Papa!’ at least a gazillion times a day,” Luka said with a soft laugh. He patted the space beside him, and Till slipped off his shoes before sitting down next to him. “Who knew I could miss them this much?”

“Tell me about it,” Till sighed out, settling the bag in front of them. “But they’ve been wanting to go someplace with Dewey and Isaac since forever.”

“Right?” Luka chirped. “I hope they’re having fun.”

“Oh, they better be,” Till said playfully, unsealing the container. Steam rose into the air, carrying the delicious scent of cooked salmon and herbs. By the look in Luka’s eyes, he was already intrigued. “I offered to run the bar tonight. I could die just thinking about it–if I mess up, I’ll die anyway.”

Luka snorted, eyes glued to the container in his lap. “Isaac and Dewey are trusting you with their baby.”

“And we’re trusting them with ours,” Till countered,  taking out a fork he’d neatly wrapped in a napkin. “Let’s just hope all our babies make it out of this in one piece. Specifically theirs.” Finally, after shoving the utensil into the rice, Till placed the warm meal on Luka’s lap with a proud smile. “I cooked for you. I figured you’d probably not be cooking right now, but eating out isn’t good for you.”

Luka beamed, giving Till the now stemless roses so that he could pick up his fork. “Awe, you thought about me?”

Till rolled his eyes, shoving him lightly with his shoulder. “Only a little.”

As Luka dug into his food, Till leaned forward and placed the bouquet of roses into the clear vase set before Hyuna’s grave. Her body had been lost to the flames, so the base buried some of her favorite things instead; her sunglasses, one of her prosthetic legs, and a carton of cigarettes. A few framed photos rested against the tombstone, each one capturing her wide, irreverent smile. Though her time on the base had lasted less than a decade, she’d left an impression that would never fade. It had taken Luka a long time to bring himself to visit her memorial, but once he’d faced that fear, he came almost every week. Till’s eyes softened as he glanced at him, a frown forming. Maybe his recent health scare was what brought him back so soon.

“Excited for your date?” Luka drew him away from his thoughts with the question. Till immediately perked up, nodding enthusiastically. 

“I am! But I don’t know what we’re doing,” Till rubbed the back of his neck. “Ivan only told me he’d pick me up from the bar after my shift. He planned it all.”

Luka wiggled his eyebrows at him, chewing idly on a mouthful of fish and rice. “What a gentleman. Though I’m impressed he took the initiative. There’s barely much to do on the base in the romantic sense, I wonder what he’s got up his sleeve.”

“I’m just happy to watch TV with him,” Till mused, dusting dirt off of Hyuna’s tombstone. “Or do house chores. It’s hard to get used to, but we've been so domestic lately–like an old, married couple.”

“Well, you do check one of those boxes,” Luka mumbled around his fork.

Till whipped his head up, brows furrowed. “Which one of us is turning forty next year?”

“Hey, I never said which box,” Luka shot back, pretending to look offended. “And for the record, even if I do turn into an old man, at least I won’t look like one.”

Till huffed out a laugh, leaning back on his hands as they grew quiet, that one word hanging between them.

If.

That one little word stuck with him. Luka said it so easily, but it carried an uneasiness. One of the cruelties that came with Luka’s diagnosis was that while his mind and organs would continue to age, his body never would. He’d always look exactly as he did at twenty-four; the same way he looked when he first appeared on Alien Stage. It was haunting, in a way. Like he’d been granted a twisted version of immortality–forever young on the outside, while slowly fading from within. He wondered if that contributed to the Luka he knew back then, so fearful of death, because it always cut so close to him, that he’d do anything to stay forever.

“In the infirmary,” Till murmured, staring up at the sky. It resembled the vastless, blue ceiling of Anakt Garden. Only, now, it was authentic, and he could feel the heat of the sun on his skin. “When you apologised to me… what were you apologising for?”

He felt Luka pause beside him, then place the container onto the blanket between them. He let out a soft chuckle, but it sounded uneasy.

“Where do I even start?” 

Till twisted towards Luka, startled to find him staring right at him, expression mournful. A kind of sadness he never saw from him–as if remorse, shame, and guilt all collided within him, and he didn’t know which one to feel, so he simply felt them all.

“I’m mostly sorry for being here,” Luka said quietly, his gaze tilting towards Hyuna’s grave. “When I don’t deserve to be. Sorry for the fact that I just… keep holding on, despite my best efforts to let go over the years. To atone for all of the lives I’ve taken.”

Till leaned forward, searching his face though he tried to hide it with a curtain of his mute blond hair. “I know Alien Stage ways on you heavily. But… the ones who really take the blame are the Segyein–”

“The deaths on Alien Stage,” Luka cut him off, gasping through tears he wouldn’t let pour down. “Are the only ones you know of.”

Till froze, hand just inches away from Luka’s shoulder.

“I just–I just wanted to free them,” Luka mumbled, opening the palms of his hands. “I didn’t want to be lonely anymore–so I tried to get them out.”

“Who?” Till asked gently, reaching out, anyhow. He wrapped an arm around Luka’s shoulder, and he immediately leaned against him, as if he desperately needed someone to hold him. 

“My siblings–clones, I still don’t know,” Luka gasped, voice breaking. “Heperu knew how sickly I was, so he started making healthier versions of me. I never really understood his end goal; maybe he just wanted to extend my genes, or maybe he was going to harvest their organs for me. But every day, I’d see them. Just… there. Confined, and unmoving.

“I got lonelier and lonelier, and I thought maybe they felt the same. So I cut through the pods they were in.” His hands trembled as he spoke, like he could still feel the slick tear of the material. “For a moment, they were alive–breathing, and their eyes opened. And then…” Luka sobbed, terror darting through his eyes as he relieved the memory. “Then they just went still. Dead. I kept going, cutting more and more, thinking maybe I’d eventually get a different outcome. But I just kept killing them all, and I didn’t realize until I turned on the light.”

A chill went down Till’s spine at the confession. He didn’t know what to say, or even how to react. All he knew was that Luka was crying into his shoulder, reliving a very traumatic experience. But even knowing this, Till didn’t feel betrayal or anger, he just felt this immense form of sorrow. He couldn’t imagine how Heperu reacted to Luka costing him thousands of dollars, and only because the boy was so lonely he resorted to craving out his doll-like company. What did Heperu say to make the guilt hang so steadily all these years later, and how much of the blame Luka carried, that it shifted his perception of death entirely. 

“You didn’t know, Luka,” Till murmured softly, brushing hair from Luka’s eyes. “It seems to me they were just too weak to survive outside the pods. You were a child. That wasn’t your fault.”

“But I was a child when I killed Hyunwoo too,” Luka cried out, folding in on himself, his arms wrapped tight like he was trying to keep his insides from spilling out. “And I knew. I knew because of what I did to the clones. I knew that rock I–I smashed over his head would make him go still just like them. And I did it anyway.”

Till’s throat went tight, his stomach sinking at Luka’s words. “Hyunwoo?” he asked carefully, tilting his head. One wrong move–one hint of judgment–and Luka might shut down on him. “Who is Hyunwoo?”

Luka slowly met his eyes, as if he knew identifying this person might change Till’s perception of him. “Hyuna’s twin brother.”

Till’s heart nearly stopped. Beside them, the baby stirred, her tiny fingers curling into the air, reaching for something to hold. Luka moved immediately, crawling over to her and gathering her into his arms. It was second nature by now–pushing everything he felt onto a shelf somewhere deep inside, the way he’d been doing ever since the kids came into his life. But Till wasn’t going to let him hide behind that anymore. He leaned forward and carefully, almost defiantly, took the baby from Luka’s arms. Luka’s expression faltered, caught somewhere between confusion and loss. Till held his gaze, refusing to look away. He wouldn’t let Luka drown in his guilt, wouldn’t let him keep wrapping himself in pain until he believed he deserved to die because of it. 

“As far as I know, Hyuna never mentioned anything about a sibling,” Till said, adjusting the baby in his arms. Luka fidgeted with his fingers, unsure what to do with himself now that this particular can of worms had been opened. “But Isaac and Dewey said she was a pretty guarded person. Secretive, even.”

Luka bit his lip, the weight of disappointment pressing down on him. “The memory must’ve been too painful… she probably preferred to block it out completely.”

“She was there?” Till asked, stunned.

Tentatively, Luka nodded, then bowed his head, shame radiating from him. “I didn’t know how to deal with my emotions back then. Anger came so easily. And by that point… I’d already learned the easiest way to take out the competition was to get rid of it entirely.”

Till’s mouth fell open, though he didn’t say anything, Luka’s hands tightened into fists.

“I know how vain and–evil that sounds now,” Luka rushed to add, his voice cracking around the edges. “I know killing him wasn’t the answer. It was wrong. And after that… Hyuna never looked at me the same way again. She still smiled, still spoke to me, but it was like she was fighting herself every time she did. A part of her hated me. A part of her pitied me. And a part of her…” Luka exhaled shakily, “a part of her loved me. But do you want to know the funniest part of that?”

Till didn’t know one could find humor in such a grave story, but he nodded anyhow. 

Luka clutched at his sweater, balling the fabric tight over where his frail heart thudded. “I was oblivious to it all!” he choked out. “So–so blinded by my immaturity, by this childish envy, that I couldn’t see how much she was hurting… how much she struggled just because she cared about me.” His breath hitched, fingers trembling against the fabric. “I never respected her sadness, her anger, or her boundaries. I crossed them all, over and over again, wrapped up in my own selfishness! And at the end of it, I–” his voice faltered with a bitter laugh, “I actually had the gall to wonder why she wasn’t happy to see me that day like I was happy to see her.”

Till had never seen Luka so distressed. Battling unimaginable amounts of grief and despair, words that probably circled in his head from the day Hyuna died in his arms. Guilt birthed the realization of just how much of a broken, apathetic human being he once was. He had so much time to think, to understand the weight of his actions, and his only conclusion to it all was suicidal ideation. But Heperu hadn’t allowed him even that, putting him back together just to show him off again. For eight long years, he was kept tethered to this world against his will, until Till unknowingly picked up where Heperu had left off.

“Sometimes,” Luka muttered, his voice filled with a bitterness he couldn’t control. Probably didn’t know it was there. “Isaac sits here with me and tells me stories about her. And then he gets this look in his eyes, and I’d be an idiot not to understand what it means. He loved her. And despite all that–despite everything–she still chose me. And I can’t for the life of me understand why. Why did she choose me, of all people.”

“Luka,” Till reached out for his hand, and Luka gave it to him. “Maybe Hyuna knew just how broken you really were, and while there were things she wanted to fault you for, she simply… couldn’t. Because she knew, deep down, that you just didn’t understand. Maybe she knew one day that you would, and hoped you’d become a better person from then on. That’s why she chose you, Luka.”

At that, Luka’s eyes widened, gasping as he whipped his head up to Till. He gripped Till’s hand tighter, as if tethering himself there. “How could I forget?” Luka muttered, more to himself than to Till. “After all this time… how could I forget what she said?”

“What… What did she say?” Till asked awkwardly the longer Luka stared into space.

“That I should embrace the pain, and then forgive myself. That I should live with love. I guess I shoved it all out because Mizi…”

“Mizi?”

“Nothing,” Luka said, shaking his head. Whatever there was to be said seemed to not matter anymore, but Till had a feeling he was sparing his feelings–or maybe whatever she said at the time was true.

“Luka,” Till said, making him raise his head. “I think you’ve done right by Hyuna’s last wishes. Though it took some time, you have been living with love.”

Luka nodded, as if just realizing this, how subconsciously his heart had followed her request of him. “Back in the infirmity, Ivan told me that he understood how much I cared about you.”

“Is that what you two were talking about?” Till asked curiously. 

“We talked about,” Luka sighed, “a lot. Mainly, he apologized for that night. But he also made it clear that he knew that I would never hurt you, and by hurting him, it would be like hurting you. If he could see just how much I do care for you, the kids–maybe I have been living with love, like she asked me to.”

“Wait,” Till interjected. “Say that again.”

“Say what?” Luka asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Something about loving me?” Till grinned, causing Luka to suck his teeth. “I mean, I just want to be sure I’m hearing things correctly.”

Luka’s confused expression softened into a smile. Till amusement quickly dissipated when Luka let go of his hand, planting them onto the blanket, kneeling in front of him. Luka bowed his head, so low that Till could see the top of his head. 

“Luka,” Till hissed. “What are you doing–?”

“I am so, so, incredibly sorry,” Luka cut in, voice clear and unwavering. “I never apologized for the things I did to you. How much I hurt you, and the people you care about. But despite my stubbornness, and selfishness, you’ve fought for me. You’ve helped me grow as a person in order to know what love truly is–and how selfless and unconditional it should be. I wouldn’t be here without you, and I will never take your efforts for granted. 

Thank you for saving me, and for believing in me. I love you, Till, no one has a better best friend than me.” Then, with a crooked tilt of his head, he added weakly, “Well… unless you’re also their best friend. But that’d be kind of weird, since I’m your best friend. Right?”

“Yes, Luka,” Till rolled his eyes playfully. “I think it’s safe to say I’m only your best friend.”

Till pulled Luka up by the arm and wrapped him in a tight embrace. The baby stirred between them with a tiny yawn, squinting her eyes open just enough to take in the light before nestling closer, content in the shared warmth.

“From now on,” Till said firmly when they pulled apart, “forgive yourself. Like we have forgiven you.”

“It might take some time, but I will try from now on,” Luka promised, nodding through the tears still clinging to his lashes, rubbing them away. “Gosh, I hope I do get to stay here until I'm a weirdly attractive old man.”

Till let out a laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll make sure you do. You’re not leaving me here with five kids.”

“Six.”

“Six?” Till echoed, brow raised. Luka tipped his head toward the baby now curled against his chest.

Till sat back on his heels, a wide, relieved smile tugging at his mouth. “That’s great–not that you’d be leaving me with six kids… but that you’d be leaving me with six kids.”

Luka blinked, then snorted. “That actually sounds like a nightmare the more I think about it.”

“Yeah. So don’t leave me,” Till warned, serious now.

Luka lifted his hands in mock surrender, the faintest smile breaking through. “I’m not planning on it anytime soon.”

“Good,” Till huffed, rocking the baby in his arms, but she seemed wide awake now. “Have you named her?”

“Youngwoo,” Luka certainly gave, though he fidgeted with his fingers nervously. 

“I like it,” Till encouraged. “It fits her. Welcome to the family, Youngwoo.”

Luka leaned over, caressing her with his finger fondly. “I don’t think she needs an introduction.”

“I agree,” Till hummed. “We’re the only family she knows. Well, with exception to Ivan–he’s kind of new.”

Luka hummed, but Till could tell that his mind was elsewhere. 

“What’s wrong?”

Luka hesitated, leaning back before finally relenting. “My memory’s kind of warped when it comes to this, especially since I was dealing with my own stuff. But… I remember Heperu mentioning Ivan once.”

Till sat up, a little too abruptly. “What did he say?”

“Something about… a comeback?” Luka said slowly, eyes flickering upward as he tried to recall. “Because of Ivan’s popularity at the time–and my survival during the tragedy–I think, once I recovered, we were supposed to collaborate somehow. But I’m not sure how because he was dead as far as I knew.”

“A comeback,” Till muttered, the word tugging at something half buried in his memory.

“Yes,” Luka nodded. “But it took me forever to go back into the spotlight, and eventually I stopped hearing about him. That’s why I went to visit him when he woke up, to be sure it was actually him. So maybe the rumours weren’t just rumours after all.”

“You know,” Till said, remembering. “Ivan only became a Guard five years ago. From the age of twenty-two to twenty-six, he was just… sleeping.” Slowly, they turned towards one another, processing that information. “Waiting for you.”

“Then they gave up,” Luka added. “And turned him into a Guard instead. Even though he wasn’t popular anymore, they probably didn’t want the resources they put into him to go to waste.”

“I think you’re right,” Till brightened, bouncing Youngwoo on his knee until she giggled. “Maybe you were both supposed to participate in another season of Alien Stage?”

Luka frowned, shrugging. “I wish I knew. But at least we know he was supposed to release new music. But I don’t see how that’s possible if he just slept for four years or so. I don’t think Ivan released any music before Alien Stage–didn’t he just model?”

Till nodded, something dawning on him. “That doesn’t mean he didn’t have songs recorded…”

“Maybe if you asked,” Luka said, returning to his food, though it was most likely cold by then, “he’d tell you.”

Till didn’t respond. He already knew Ivan had songs; he just hadn’t heard them… yet. He’d been torn on whether to bring it up, afraid it would dredge up painful memories. He’d feel it out tonight; if the moment felt right, he’d tell Ivan the truth. For now, he laid back on the blanket and tossed Youngwoo into the air, the baby’s laughter bubbling over the grass. The sun warmed his face, Luka’s presence eased his thoughts, and yet the same jittery energy lingered in his chest every time he thought about their date.

Chapter Text

Ivan didn’t know anything about romance, dates, or the things couples did to enjoy one another’s company. Not that his life had ever given him the chance to learn. Growing up in Anakt Garden, you only learned three things: general studies, how to sing, and how to rise above your competitors to pass. No one ever taught them the more intricate parts of humanity; how to build, or keep, a relationship. They all fumbled through it blindly, hoping their clumsy attempts at affection were good enough. Often, they weren’t. It was primitive, sometimes even predatory–at least, that’s how Ivan would describe his feelings for Till back then. They were just a collection of uninformed beings, stumbling toward a light at the end of a tunnel that didn’t exist.

But it wasn’t the same anymore. Or at least, Ivan wanted–desperately–to believe it didn’t have to be.

He thought about searching for ideas online, but after some consideration, he doubted “date ideas when you live in the middle of nowhere” would yield anything remotely inspiring. Instead, his thoughts drifted back to the caretakers in Anakt Garden, and their hushed conversations about old human customs; how kissing was a display of affection, or that a hug could be something shared even between strangers. He wished he remembered more. But deep down, he doubted the caretakers themselves truly understood what love was; after all, he had never felt loved by them. So, as with most things in his life, Ivan would have to figure it out on his own. He didn’t want Till to plan their date. He wanted to surprise him, to express his affection in a way that felt genuine and thoughtful. After all, he had been the one to suggest they do something together the next time they were without the children. And plus, the last time they went on a ‘date’, Ivan ruined it by getting intoxicated, even if it was because he wanted to defend Till’s honour. 

He spent all week thinking about it since Dewey and Isaac said that they’d take the kids on a fishing trip. Disappointedly, he couldn’t muster up much of anything. For a brief moment, he thought about taking Till back to where they saw the falling stars–but there were two issues: they most likely wouldn’t be any meteorites as for those were quite rare, and Ivan was wanted by the PDA, so it wouldn’t be wise for him to leave the base for something so uncertain and risky. The next course of action when he kept drawing a blank was to just ask. 

“That’s an interesting question,” Mister Itto teased, glancing at him while inspecting under the van’s hood. “Oddly enough, I can’t recall us having many dates. I was so busy with the shop and raising twins–it didn’t leave much room for alone time, let alone dates.”

“Then what did you and Miss Ayano do?” Ivan asked, holding out a wrench for him to take.

“You know, a nice dinner at home can be a date. We’ve had plenty of those. And as we got older, those became the best kind. I love talking to my wife–hearing about her day, her troubles, and what her book club’s gossiping about.” He smiled faintly at the thought. “Even when life got hectic, we always made sure to stop at some point during the day and just… talk. That mattered most.”

“A date centered around conversation?” Ivan said, tilting his head in thought. 

“Not exactly,” Mister Itto chuckled. “I’m probably not the best person to ask about that. My idea of love’s a bit old-fashioned. The young folks around here are more with the times, you might have better luck asking them.”

Ivan tentatively nodded, twisting around and dropping the topic. 

“If…” Mister Itto spoke, and Ivan could hear the smile within his voice. “Till is the person you wish to impress, I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

Ivan turned back around, catching the warm expression on the old man’s face. Mister Itto wiped the dirty wrench with a rag, then pointed it at him. 

“Till is a very sentimental person,” Mister Itto advised. “He doesn’t need anything flashy, or extravagant–and I know you’re not the type, so don’t pretend to be. In whatever you do, just be yourself, and it’ll get you a long way. No matter what it is you're doing.”

Ivan dipped his head with a small bow. “I’ll remember that.”

He wanted to take Mister Itto’s advice about asking other people, but he found himself faltering. He wasn’t exactly friendly with many of the base’s residents, certainly not enough to butt into their love lives for his own bout of inspiration. So the task proved difficult, even as the days kept ticking by–until he saw two people he couldn’t seem to stop watching.

Two young women had rolled in on a motorcycle to get a new set of tires. The driver was the first to remove her helmet, releasing a tumble of curly pink hair that spilled down her back. A moment later, her passenger followed suit, shaking out a sleek black bob that framed her face in perfect contrast. His heart panged at the sight of them–a quiet ache that settled into something mournful the longer he looked. Maybe it was just longing, or the cruel trick of resemblance; the only thing they shared with Mizi and Sua was their hair, yet that alone was enough to make his chest tighten. Still, he couldn’t help but think that, in some other universe, those two could have been his friends. Before he realized it, his feet were already carrying him toward them. The women didn’t seem startled that the mechanic was approaching. At least, not until he opened his mouth.

“Excuse me,” Ivan mumbled, causing them to turn around fully. Now that he was up close, the resemblance dissolved completely. The pink-haired woman’s features were sharper, her cheekbones more angular, and her eyes a bright, icy blue instead of that familiar yellow-green he remembered. The black-haired girl, too, was different–her expression soft where Sua’s had been doe-like yet guarded. Still, the words left his mouth before he could stop them.

“Are you two a couple?”

The women looked between them with confusion, until the taller one eventually answered. “We are. Why?”

“Oh.” Ivan rubbed at his arm, eyes darting toward the ground. The air between them felt uncomfortably tense, and he knew his nervousness wasn’t helping. They probably thought he was sulking because neither of them were single, so, in a rush to correct the misunderstanding, he blurted out the rest.

“I want to take my… boyfriend out on a date,” he said quickly. “I was hoping you could tell me what you two do for dates. For ideas.”

There was a momentary pause. Then, as if the last fifteen seconds never occurred, the black-haired woman lit up, immediately hanging off of her partner's arm, smiling behind her hand. 

“He wants to take his boyfriend out,” the shorter girl mused, shaking her. “Isn’t that cute?”

The pink-haired girl simply crossed her arms, closing her eyes briefly. “I don’t blame you for asking around. I swear, the base is so goddamn boring I’m surprised anyone can get hitched at all.”

“We’re hitched, Anise,” the black-haired woman huffed out, causing the other to shoot her eyes open, guilt already settling into her features.

“Penny,” Anise sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You’re married?” Ivan asked, perking up slightly.

Penny grinned and held up her hand, the diamond on her finger catching the light of the sun. “Two years and counting! And let me tell you, it never gets old.”

“She says that now,” Anise muttered, rolling her eyes. “Just wait until I do something to piss her off.”

“The question is why you’re doing anything to piss me off,” Penny shot back, one brow arched. Anise groaned in defeat, earning a smug, knowing smile from her wife. “Exactly,” Penny said, punctuating it with a playful hand on her hip.

Ivan stood awkwardly between them, unsure if he should interrupt or back away slowly. But before he could retreat, Penny turned her attention back to him, her teasing smile softening.

“Don’t mind her,” she said with an airy wave. “She’s just cranky because we had to buy new tires. I keep telling her this thing’s not a dirt bike, but does she ever listen? No.”

“Ever since Till’s been on break,” Anise shot back, “I’ve been taking most of his missions. Try running from the Segyein and Guards at a leisurely pace and tell me how that goes.”

Penny rolled her eyes and jabbed a thumb at her wife. “Always got a comeback on her tongue, this one.”

Anise laughed, looping Penny’s arm through hers and pulling her close until the other giggled and settled against her. “Anyway, dates,” she said, tilting her head as if weighing what kind of advice he wanted. “You said it’s your boyfriend’s first date with you?”

“Well,” Ivan admitted, scrunching his face as he remembered their night at the bar, “our first… real date.”

Anise’s expression softened. “You don’t need the whole nine yards,” she said, glancing at their motorcycle. “Sometimes we go to the underground arcade. The beach. Sometimes we just stay home and enjoy each other’s company. As long as it’s just the two of you, and he can forget everything for a while, I don’t think he’ll care.”

Penny nudged her with her elbow. “Says the woman who fell for me in the club."

Anise smirked. “It was a very romantic club.”

Ivan blinked between them, confused but oddly inspired. “Just us,” he repeated under his breath. “Okay.”

“No offense, or anything,” Penny said with a grin. “But who got the heart of the ex-PDA Guard of all people? And so quickly?”

Ivan shifted on his feet, a little taken by the question. 

“Is it not obvious?” Anise blurted. “That guy has been giving me all his jobs, just so he can spend time with his really adorable children and–apparently–his new, incredibly handsome boyfriend! I’m gonna pay Till a visit one of these days.”

“Till?” Penny gasps, genuinely surprised. “‘I-can’t-right-now-I’m-too-busy-fighting-segyein-kind’ Till? No wonder he’s been giving you all his jobs!”

“Keep up, babe,” Anise said, exasperated at the idea of Till giving her all his work in favor of working at the bar and spending time with his family. But Ivan could tell it was all quite light hearted from the way Anise’s eyes lit up at the prospect of Till having a life outside of rebellion work. Ivan wondered what kind of person Till had been throughout the years, perhaps he became a workaholic, focused on tearing down the Segyein caste system this whole entire time.

“Well, I think he deserves a break,” Penny said proudly. “He works so hard. I’m happy to know he has someone so thoughtful in his life. For someone so independent, being taken care of might be strange for him, but it’s certainly a nice change. Right, Anise?”

Anise nodded, a fond-like expression on her face. “Rebellion members like to act all tough and bad–”

“Like you,” Penny said through a faux caught into her fist.

“But,” Anise stressed, ignoring her, “I can say Till never acted like that. He’s always been kind, and selfless. I agree. He’s spent so long taking care of everyone else, maybe it’s his turn.” She muttered under her breath, belatedly, “Even if it means taking all his missions.”

Ivan found himself smiling watching the women begin to bicker about Anise’s job and Penny’s much calmer occupation at the cafe. For the longest time, Ivan felt ashamed of his love for Till, because his love wasn’t like the others. He felt disgusted with himself for even considering calling his emotions exactly that-love. So he didn’t. Because it was wrong. But looking at them proudly intertwining their hands and announcing their marriage as if it were their most treasured memory eased Ivan’s adolescent fears. How normalized it was to love someone without prejudice, or a social construct taught to you hanging over your head. Perhaps they all would’ve flourished in a place like this, though with its own glaring flaws, at least they were able to be themselves. 

“Thank you for the advice,” Ivan said, cutting gently into their playful squabble as he tugged on his work gloves. “I’ll get started on your motorcycle right away–and I’ll discount the new set of tires.”

That might’ve been the best thing Anise had heard all week; her grin spread wide enough to rival the Cheshire Cat. “Till sure knows how to choose ‘em, huh?”

“Please invite us to the wedding!” Penny added with an exaggerated bow, her voice sugary sweet. Ivan sputtered, caught completely off guard, which only made them both burst into laughter.

“Geez, let them get through the first date first, Pen!” Anise chided, elbowing her wife.

As Ivan turned away toward the garage, he couldn’t help but huff out a small, amused laugh; wondering what their reaction might’ve been if they knew just how deep his and Till’s history truly ran.

Ivan had to work the day of their date, so he was on a time crunch. Mister Itto suggested that Ivan take the day off, but they were backed up on appointments and Ivan couldn’t possibly leave the old man to handle so many customers on his own. So instead, he worked diligently yet fast, thinking of all the things he needed to gather and prepare for that night. Till would most likely spend his day hanging out with Luka, so he’d be able to make a quick stop without being found out. As soon as clock-out time approached him, Ivan threw in the towel and bid Mister Itto a goodbye, greeting a co-worker just starting her shift on the way out. 

He was sweaty, overheated, and his hands still ached from hours of pushing and twisting metal against worn, janky auto parts–but there was no time to rest. He needed to beat Till to the bar. So he kept walking, long strides carrying him through the base until the familiar building came into view. The place wouldn’t start serving alcohol until Till’s shift began; he needed to keep an eye on things and make sure no one caused trouble. For now, the only sign of life came from the back kitchen, where the bald chef worked over the stove, the scent of frying oil and spices drifting out into the empty room, saved for a couple of parents taking advantage of the quiet atmosphere to spend time with their kids before things got hectic.

Ivan had learned his name was Monty–a man who’d picked up cooking from his Segyein owner before its death left him wandering the streets as a teenager. The Rebellion had found him, and brought him here. He’d been cooking ever since, eventually finding his spot in Isaac and Dewey’s bar as their chef. Ivan stood near the kitchen entrance, waiting patiently until the cook was done with plating some fries into a basket.

“Oh, it’s you,” Monty said, finally acknowledging him.

Ivan stepped a little close, not wanting to enter the kitchen completely. He was admittedly a mess, and didn’t want to contaminate the place with any leftover oil on his body. “I came for the recipe.”

Monty stared at him for a moment before he set down prongs. With a disgruntled sigh, he shifted through his apron pockets, and whipped out a folded piece of paper. 

“I almost forgot to write it down this morning,” Monty said, extending his towards Ivan. “Remember: Watch your burners, don’t do too much but don’t do too little. Should come out perfect.”

“Thank you, Monty,” Ivan said, taking the folded piece of paper containing the cook’s prized cheeseburger recipe. He’d promised Till that one day he’d make them at home, and now the opportunity had finally presented itself. The night before, he’d come by to beg for the ingredients, but Monty had given in without much of a fight; clearly, he didn’t hold his cheeseburgers in the same sacred regard that Ivan did.

His first meal on the base had been a bowl of stale, clumpy oatmeal. Funny enough, it resembled the kind of food he used to eat as a Guard. But when Till brought him that bar cheeseburger, everything changed. One bite, and his taste buds had come alive, craving flavors he hadn’t known in years. Maybe to anyone else it was just a greasy sandwich, but to Ivan, it had been his first real taste of freedom, unbeknownst to him at the time, and he was thrilled to finally have his hands on the recipe. 

Ivan gave the man one last nod of gratitude before slipping out of the bar. Fortunately, Till hadn’t arrived yet, so he managed to leave without drawing any suspicion. Once back at the apartment, he took a quick shower and headed straight for the kitchen. Luka had gifted him an apron a while back–something Ivan hadn’t understood the point of at first–but now, tying it around his waist, he found it oddly motivating. 

He unfolded Monty’s recipe on the counter and followed each step as carefully as he could, though he had to squint every so often to decipher the cook’s near-illegible scrawl. Still, things were going smoothly. After forming the browned beef into patties, he dropped the in the pan, listening to the sizzle as the oil spat up. He measured the spices to Monty’s precise proportions, but when pulled a piece off of one of the burgers, his expression twisted–it was bland. Frowning in thought, Ivan added a little more salt, another pinch of pepper, and a few dashes of cayenne for good measure. By the time he’d finished preparing the toppings, fries, and Monty’s special sauce, the sun had already disappeared. He hadn’t realized how meticulous he’d been until he caught himself eating a few slices of tomato simply because he decided they weren’t round enough. Upon noticing this, Ivan whipped his head towards the clock on the wall.

“I’m running late,” Ivan muttered under his breath. 

Quickly, he wrapped up his cooking and packed the meal neatly into the picnic basket he’d bought earlier that week. Pulling off his apron revealed the crisp blue button-down he’d chosen for the occasion, paired with black pants; simple, but presentable. He hastily threw on a jacket, grabbed the basket and a few other essentials, and headed out the door.

When Ivan arrived at the bar, he found Till sitting on the steps, idly watching the road. Ivan paused, letting out a shaky breath; he hadn’t realized how nervous he was until that moment. His tardiness already left him feeling guilty, but he still took a second to run his fingers through his hair and straighten his collar before stepping into Till’s line of sight. The moment Till spotted him, his face brightened, his gaze immediately drifting to all the things Ivan carried in his arms.

“I apologise for being late,” Ivan mumbled as Till climbed down the steps. “Time got away from me.”

Till smiled warmly at him, waving away his sentiments. “It’s alright. I just got the last couple of people out five minutes ago. I was worried you’d come while I was still shutting the place down.”

“Was it busy?” Ivan asked, tilting his head.

Till rocked on the balls of his feet, humming out a reply. “Mhm. It’s like everyone knew it was just me today and made a pact to make my shift hell. But I survived, and the bar’s not on fire.”

“Consider that mission accomplished,” Ivan said, his chest fluttering when Till laughed. Those teal eyes drifted toward the bundle in his arms again, curious.

“Need help with any of that?” Till asked, blinking at him in mild amusement.

Ivan probably did look ridiculous juggling all the items, but he didn’t want Till lifting a finger tonight. His only job was to exist–to relax–so Ivan shook his head fervently. Till huffed a laugh, letting him be, and fell into step beside him as they walked toward Ivan’s chosen destination.

“Whatever’s in that picnic basket smells incredible,” Till mused, making Ivan’s heart swell with pride. “I’m starving.”

“You’ll see what it is soon enough,” Ivan replied curtly, giving nothing away.

Till pouted, but the bounce in his step said otherwise. The closer they got to the hill, the quieter the world around them seemed to grow. The stretch of green near Luka’s house was one of the few places untouched by dirt and concrete, the grass soft,  the sky vastly endless above them. Ivan couldn’t have imagined a better place for a picnic.Once he found a good spot, Till gently tugged the blanket draped over Ivan’s arm, earning a puzzled look.

“How are you going to lay it down with all that stuff in your hands?” Till countered, grinning at Ivan’s silent protest.

Ivan couldn’t exactly argue, so he let Till spread the blanket across the grass, quietly promising himself that this would be the extent of Till’s “help” tonight.

“Go ahead. Sit down,” Ivan urged, gesturing toward the blanket.

Till rolled his eyes playfully but complied, toeing off his boots before settling on his knees. He looked up at Ivan expectantly, a small smile tugging at his lips. Ivan followed suit a moment later, setting the picnic basket between them. Till rubbed his hands together, staring at the basket in anticipation. Ivan decided that the poor guy waited long enough, and finally opened it, taking out the container with the cheeseburgers along with the fries in a separate tupperware. Till’s eyes lit up immediately, clapping his hands at the reveal.

“You made the cheeseburgers!” Till cheered happily. “I knew it smelled familiar. I was wondering when you’d finally make them.”

Ivan tried to suppress his smile, though it was a vain attempt. “I got the recipe from Monty this morning. He showed me how to make it a few days ago, so I hope they are on par with his.”

“They don’t have to be,” Till watched as he opened the container with the burgers, sighing contently at the aroma as it finally set free, drifting around them much stronger than before. “I’ve been dying for your cooking, Ivan. You don’t know how happy this makes me.”

“I… didn’t know you liked my cooking that much,” Ivan confessed sheepishly, his face growing warm, setting a burger onto a plate with a side of fries before sliding it over to Till. “I know my meal of choice isn’t exactly-romantic. But I recall promising I’d make these for you someday. And this occasion felt like an appropriate time.”

“I don’t know what’s more romantic than remembering the littlest things about your partner,” Till nudged him lightly, taking the plate with a small thanks. “I couldn’t imagine eating anything else right now.” 

Ivan rubbed his hands on his pants in nervous anticipation. Till seemed to pick up on his jitters, similar to the first time Ivan cooked for him and Vivi. Till admittedly handled most of the cooking in their household, he was just so much better at it-he knew more intriguing recipes, and the results were always consistent; a burst of savory flavors no matter what he cooked. , while Ivan relied on the tattered old cookbook he’d found in a kitchen drawer. There was a lot of trial and error, and Vivi’s face as she ate let him know instantly if he had dropped the ball or not. In all, Till’s cooking was the safer, much more delicious option. Till, the more Ivan thought about it, was great at so many things, that it wasn’t a surprise that whatever skill he decided to learn gave better results than Ivan could yield. Ivan couldn't tell if Till was just complimenting him to be nice, but his joy about the eating food he prepared certainly wasn’t a ploy. 

Till made a show of taking a big bite, sauce dripping down the side of his mouth that he lapped up with his tongue, munching with a silly little dance that made Ivan snort. Then suddenly, Till froze, eyes widening slightly. He let out a haggard cough, mouth still full of food. Short sputters followed soon afterwards, Till’s fist clamping over his mouth as he coughed harder. 

Ivan perked up worriedly, inching over towards him. “What’s the matter?” 

Till swallowed the food in one big gulp, gasping through pants. “It’s-it’s really spicy.” Till wheezed, turning to cough into his elbow. Ivan eyes darted from Till to the burger, picking up the sandwich to take a bite of it himself. It burnt his tongue slightly, but nothing too serious.

“When I was making them,” Ivan muttered, “I thought they were somewhat bland. So I put in more cayenne pepper.”

Till’s eyes watered as he fanned his mouth with his hand. “Yeah, I can tell,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “The fact you didn’t react explains it all. You have a high spice tolerance. I can’t handle spicy food too well.”

Ivan blinked, cursing himself in his head. How could he not consider that? Ivan had a high tolerance to anything that wasn’t alcohol-his body hadn’t built up resistance to that substance, oddly enough. Yet he should’ve been more careful. He twisted back to the basket, going through it for the two wine glasses he packed along with the… shoot. He forgot the champagne. He was in such a rush he left it behind on the counter. When Ivan dejectedly turned back around, Till was in the middle of chomping down into the burger for another bite. Ivan reached out, teeth clenched. 

“What are you doing?” Ivan hissed, worried. “It’s too spicy for you.” 

Till’s lashes fluttered, eyes brimming with tears, but he kept chewing. “It’s so good,” he managed between breaths. “I love spicy things. I just can’t handle them. But that’s never stopped me before!”

Ivan could only stare, caught somewhere between horror and disbelief, lowering his arm as Till soldiered on through the pain. Then, helplessly, he smiled, shaking his head at the sight of the man sniffling, coughing, and still humming in satisfaction with every burning bite.

“I forgot the drink,” Ivan sighed, already starting to rise. “You need water.”

“I’m okay,” Till rasped, holding up a hand. “The cheese sauce helps–it’s creamy.”

Ivan arched a brow, settling back beside him. “So you like it,” he said, giving Till’s back a few firm pats as another small cough escaped him. “Despite the fact your stomach is on fire.”

Till grinned between breaths, cheeks still flushed from the heat. “Love it,” he corrected, sincere. “Vivi would too. That kid loves spicy stuff.”

“I’ll forgo that extra cayenne next time,” Ivan decided, finally digging into his own cheese burger. Despite the excessive spiciness that he could not detect, he really did do a great job. Till shovelled fries into his mouth to help combat the discomfort, and soon they were happily eating in silence. Luckily, Ivan also packed a small box of strawberries, so Till used those to wash away the burn of two whole burgers, debating on a third before Ivan ate it so Till couldn’t cause himself even more strife. 

After they finished eating, the two of them laid back on the blanket, gazing up at the sky. Till pressed close against Ivan’s side, his head eventually drooping onto his shoulder. His hair smelled faintly of mist and lavender; a softness that somehow suited him perfectly. Though Till seemed content just to be there, Ivan couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. The sky was empty tonight–no stars, only the moon and a wide, dull expanse of dark blue. Since coming to the base, he’d never seen the night so bare. It felt almost cruel, like some humorless prank from the universe. He’d hoped to show Till the constellations he’d memorized, the ones he used to trace with his finger during downtime on missions.

He’d studied the stars back when he was a Guard, drawn to the unreachable light above him. Maybe it was the first real curiosity he’d ever allowed himself; wanting to know what the sun truly felt on his skin, and how bright the moon could be when it wasn’t artificial, like at Anakt Garden. Even through his conditioning, Ivan had always sensed there was something greater beyond the circumstances that confined him. He just wasn’t allowed to understand it back then. Now, though… Now he did. He’d found meaning beyond orders and functionality. And it struck him, as he looked at Till beside him, that even those silly stars he once charted during missions might’ve been meant for something. If only they could see them tonight.

“Ivan,” Till murmured, his voice soft against the quiet night. One of his hands reached for Ivan’s face, fingertips grazing the line of his jaw before settling against his chest. “I’ve been wondering… what was your life like as a Guard?”

Ivan froze at the question, his breath catching for just a moment. “It was… mundane, I suppose.”

“You always say that,” Till pressed gently. “Mundane, boring, but never what that really means. What made it that way?”

For a long time, Ivan said nothing. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his exhale shaky in its release. “To be honest,” he murmured at last, “I don’t like remembering those days.”

“Oh.” Till’s voice shrank to a whisper, guilt seeping into it. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t like recalling them because,” Ivan kept on, “I have to confront all the terrible things I did. All the people I turned over to the PDA. The lives I’ve given up for a cause that only ever manipulated and used me, and feeling nothing towards my actions. Yes, it was mundane. The same routine, the same orders, the same task members. But every day I did my job, it must've been the most horrific experience of someone else’s life.”

When Till didn’t respond right away, a flicker of worry crossed Ivan’s face. He glanced down, finding those bright teal eyes already fixed on him, unwavering and gentle.

“We’ve all done things we regret,” Till said softly. “Things that were beyond our control, even if our hearts still insist on claiming the blame. It’s a cruel sort of conflict, but you’re not at fault for surviving within the system they built. The Segyein took so much from you… but you’ve been taking it back piece by piece.” Till tangled their legs together. “What you do now that you’re free–that’s what defines you. Not what they forced you to be.”

Ivan’s expression softened, not knowing how much that old part of him needed to hear that. This whole time he thought the residents on the base were vindicated in how they felt about him. It was true, after all; he was a ruthless Segyein weapon who’d captured dozens of ‘pets’, leading them to their demise. He wouldn’t have trusted himself either. But he desired to change, and worked hard to do so. He hoped one day they could see that–though some who were wary of him had been coming around since the meeting in the gymnasium. 

“It’s weird,” Ivan murmured.

Till tilted his head slightly. “What is?”

“That you always know what to say.”

Till’s eyes crinkled, his smile clear even in his voice. “I’ve had a lot of time to think over the years. I’ve had my own shelf of guilt, regrets, resentment. But I’ve learned to let it go.”

“How long does it take to reach that point?” Ivan asked quietly. “To feel like the past is… a universe behind you.”

“It took me years,” Till admitted. “It’s not easy. But once you start pointing at the true culprit–the Segyein–and stop turning that hatred towards yourself, you start to hate yourself a little less each day.”

Ivan’s breath hitched faintly. His hand found Till’s chin, cradling it in his palm. “Until I can do that,” he murmured timidly, “can you love me in the meantime? Until I hate myself by a reasonably lesser margin than I do now?”

Till’s mouth parted slightly, his eyes narrowing as they lingered on Ivan. Though he’d said it first, he probably hadn’t expected Ivan to agree. It hurt him, just knowing Ivan saw himself that way, but even so, he nodded. Once–then again, visible this time, like a promise.

“I’ve loved you before I even knew I did,” Till confessed, teeth catching his lip as he thought. A small, shy smile tugged at his mouth. “What’s a few more years?”

“Just a few?” Ivan asked teasingly.

The lightheartedness of it seemed to catch Till off guard, drawing him closer. “What’s forever?” he quipped, before nuzzling into the crook of Ivan’s shoulder.

Ivan’s breath caught in his throat. His mind flashed back to that conversation with Anise and Penny: Forever… It didn’t sound too bad at all. Maybe, somewhere down the line, he’d finally learn to love himself–to let it all go.

“Do you feel that?”

Ivan blinked, confused at first. Then came a soft patter–a droplet splashing onto his cheek, another cool bead landing on his forehead. More followed, consistent enough that he couldn’t mistake it for illusion.

“It’s raining,” Ivan murmured, sitting up, and Till followed.

“It was supposed to rain?” he asked.

Ivan started to shake his head, but hesitated. He hadn’t thought to check the forecast. It had been sunny all day, no one would’ve expected such a sudden turn, especially on a night this clear and cool.

“I didn’t check,” Ivan admitted quietly.

The rain thickened, each drop heavier than the last, already soaking through their clothes and blanket. Till scrambled to gather their things, hurriedly tucking them back into the picnic basket.

“It’s gonna be bad,” he muttered, crawling off the blanket as the drizzle swelled into a downpour.

Ivan plucked the cloth off the grass–and the sky seemed to take that as its cue. The drizzle broke open into a torrent, the downpour unleashing itself in heavy, unrelenting waves. Within seconds, they were drenched, the chill soaking through his shirt and down his skin. Ivan tucked the blanket under his arm, clutching their shoes to his chest with one hand while his other found Till’s. The man’s fingers were already slippery with rain, but he held on tight, their palms locked together as they jogged down the hill. The grass had turned slick beneath them, the soil giving way to thick mud that pulled at their steps. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, and the world blurred into streaks of silver and shadow. They had a fifteen-minute walk home, and as the storm battered against them, Ivan knew it would be the longest fifteen minutes of his life.

By the time they reached the apartment, they were drenched from head to toe. Water dripped from their hair and clothes, pooling faintly on the tile. Ivan was lucky, his lighter clothes clung less–but Till wasn’t so fortunate. Till peeled off his socks, the fabric heavy with mud, each step he took was slow and weighted. 

After shrugging off his outer jacket in the narrow foyer, Till trudged down the hall toward the bedroom, shoulders slumped with fatigue. His cargo pants dragged along the floor, leaving faint smudges in his wake as he tugged his grey hoodie over his head, the soaked fabric catching against his hair. Ivan stood there for a moment, catching his breath. He exhaled a long, weary sigh, raking his fingers through his wet hair. The curls had fallen flat, loose waves brushing the tips of his collarbones as droplets rolled down his neck. 

He couldn’t help but feel a bout of frustration with himself as he followed Till into the bedroom. They changed out of their soaked clothes and into something warm. Till, ever the optimist, teased him lightly, saying how lucky they were to have beaten the worst of it. Ivan forced a small nod in response, wondering grimly how much worse it could’ve gotten but deciding not to dwell on it. Till must have caught on to the tension in his shoulders, because his teasing faded, leaving only the soft rustle of fabric and rain against the window panes. When they were done, Till left the room first, and Ivan lingered for a moment before heading to the bathroom to dump their wet clothes into the washer. He decided to start a load, letting the sound of tumbling fabric attempt to clear his head, but it didnt’t really work.

 When he passed by the living room, Ivan caught sight of Till kneeling by the foyer, rummaging through the picnic basket. He seemed to be debating between two items in his hands, head tilted in mild concentration. He gathered the nerve to step into the kitchen, he was met with the mess he’d left behind earlier; pans stacked in the sink, utensils scattered across the counter, grease on the stove. Ivan sighed quietly, rolling up the sleeves of his long-sleeve shirt. He tied his damp hair back into a small ponytail, then turned on the tap and began washing the dishes, letting the running water drown out the restless churn of his thoughts.

By the time Ivan finished scrubbing the first half of the dishes and setting them to dry, he heard soft footsteps behind him. Till reached forward, setting down a glass with a clink, catching Ivan’s attention. It was one of the wine glasses he packed, now filled halfway with the champagne he left on the counter. Till smiled softly at him, raising his own glass before scooting himself onto his counter, legs crossed, watching him finish up the dishes. 

Ivan bit his lip, letting out a tired sigh with a tilt of his head. “I apologize.”

Till looked at him confused, drawing the glass away from his lips. “For what?”

“For how terrible tonight was,” Ivan said, his frustration seeping through. “I was late to pick you up, and the food was so spicy you had to eat it through tears.”

Till laughed, before shooting him an apologetic look.

“There were no stars in the sky. And the rain…” Ivan drew on, lightly shaking his head. 

“I had fun,” Till shrugged in disagreement. “When we were running through the rain, it kinda felt like we were in a movie. It was the most free I felt in a very long time.”

Ivan gazed at him, uncertain. “It kind of did, yes.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Till murmured, his voice carrying that familiar haze that always seemed to pull Ivan back from his own thoughts. Ivan lifted his own glass, taking a slow sip. The champagne had long lost its chill, but it still went down smooth, settling warm in his chest.

“I appreciated everything you did today,” Till continued softly. “Really. Just being with you makes everything ten times better. Sun, snow, hail, or rain–none of it could ever ruin my day if you’re there.”

“I wanted it to be special.” Ivan blushed, twisting his head back towards the sink. “I just want to show you how much I… love you. But I have a feeling I wasn’t always too keen in displaying my emotions, anyway.”

Till didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched, and Ivan glanced over to find him deep in thought, lips parted as if weighing something in his head. Whatever the conflict was, it passed just as quickly as it came. Till tipped back his glass and finished the champagne in one go, making Ivan blink in surprise. Then, hopping off the counter, he reached for Ivan’s hand, his fingers threading through Ivan’s still-damp ones with an easy certainty that made Ivan’s heart skip.

“I have something I need to show you.”

Till led them back toward the bedroom. They settled on the floor after he pushed open his closet door. Ivan had never had much reason to go inside before; his own clothes were neatly folded in the dresser or hanging from the rack on his side of the room. Till’s closet looked ordinary enough: his shirts and hoodies lined up with practiced order, and tucked between them were a few smaller, brighter pieces that clearly belonged to Vivi and her siblings. Ivan had grown fond of those remnants scattered throughout the apartment–the toys forgotten beneath the TV stand, the mismatched cups in the kitchen cabinets, the little trinkets that turned up in unexpected corners. He felt Vivi’s absence, but he wanted to make the most of this rare day alone with Till. Still, despite the warmth of being together, they somehow ended up falling into the same quiet rhythm they always did. Till could tell him a hundred times that he didn’t mind, that he liked it this way, but Ivan couldn’t shake the faint dissatisfaction that lingered in his chest.

His attention shifted when Till reached into the far corner of the closet for a brown, tattered box, half-hidden behind his shoes. Dragging it out with both hands, Till set it in front of them and pulled his motorcycle key from his pocket, slicing through the tape in one smooth motion before tossing the key onto his desk.

“Is that…?” Ivan began, his question trailing off as Till lifted a familiar shape from the box.

The old record player.

Till placed it carefully on the floor between them with a soft thud, releasing a quiet sigh as he brushed the dust from its surface. Ivan remembered how he’d carried it out with him when they left the Guard Station–how protective he’d been of it–but since then, Till had never spoken of it again, and Ivan had never seen it anywhere in the apartment. But something told Ivan this wasn’t the thing he wanted to show him, his suspicions confirmed when Till hesitantly dipped his hands back into the box. 

When Till finally revealed what he’d been holding, Ivan’s breath caught. The familiar vinyl sleeve stared back at him, the red ink curling across the front to spell his name.

“That’s my vinyl,” Ivan muttered, then louder, “Where on Earth did you get that?”

Till reeled away shyly, biting his lip, staring off to the side. “I got it from an auction house,” he admitted softly. “They were selling off the things they cleared out of our rooms. This one was sitting in the lost and found for some reason.”

“Our things?” Ivan murmured, and Till nodded. Ivan pulled the box towards him, digging into its contents. His hand clasped around something cool and fragile and he pulled it out. He shifted the glasses in his hands, thumbing the glass, leaving finger prints. His heart stopped once he connected the dots of who these belonged to. 

“Mizi’s glasses,” Ivan whispered.

His hand trembled as he reached back inside, finding a piece of soft mesh fabric. He drew it out carefully; the dress unfolded across his lap, pure white and ghostlike in the faint light. The fabric looked impossibly clean, untouched by time. He held it between his fingers delicately, afraid it might crumble if he wasn’t gentle. Tentatively, he pressed the sleeve against his nose. His heart lurched when a faint trace of Sua’s scent still lingered there; impossibly familiar, impossibly distant. His throat tightened; he swallowed hard, but the ache didn’t move. Ivan didn’t know that it was possible to mourn so late in his life–to mourn a life that had been stripped away from him in all ways but physical. That he could feel such grief so intensely, even now, as he slowly learned to define all these blurring, heightened emotions. He turned away from the dress, not wanting to stain it with the tears that found themselves tracking down his face. 

Talking with Vivi about Mizi had unearthed more memories than Ivan expected. Things that had once felt distant and almost clinical now throbbed with a deep, raw tenderness that spread through his chest like a bruise. He missed them–he realized that now, achingly so. It felt cruel, almost, to be surrounded by their remnants, by people who remembered their legacies, and yet know they were gone. Anise and Penny awakened that feeling, pulling to the surface a flood of battered what-ifs and survivor’s guilt through their similarities. By all accounts, he should’ve been dead alongside Sua, or wandering through life like Mizi after the plane crash. But instead, he was here, with Till, grieving old friends he never truly had the chance to mourn, after years of drifting through slumber and even more years spent under the Segyein’s command.

“Isaac,” Till started carefully, his hands soothingly sliding up and down Ivan’s arm as he fought against the onslaught of emotions he hadn’t realized were buried so deep. “He helped me with your vinyl–it was so expensive. But I couldn’t leave without it. Not after everything else I had to part with.” His breath hitched. “I grabbed what I could, but I wish I could’ve gotten more. Especially Mizi’s stuff, but they…” Till’s voice cracked. “They burned almost all of it. There’s hardly anything left of her. Just her glasses and a hair tie I found in Sua’s clothes.”

Ivan breathed out, trying to get himself under control. “You…”

“Hm?” Till hummed, leaning in.

“‘The last piece of a soul that only wished to be understood’,” Ivan recited from memory, a sentence that followed him since he read it on that vague website. Till’s eyes widened, and a gasp escaped him, his shoulders slacking. “You wrote that. Didn’t you?”

Till nodded through a wet laugh. “How did you even find that website?”

“I accidentally pressed it in the work cited on my idol profile,” Ivan confessed, slipping the now-uncovered vinyl from Till’s grasp. “I’ve wondered ever since–how could someone know me so well? But of course,” his voice softened, “only you could.”

Till smiled fondly, leaning his shoulder against Ivan’s. “I made websites like that for Mizi and Sua too. It was a shot in the dark, I know, but I hoped that any of your fans who happened across it would see those things and have a change of heart. We actually recruited a few people from it, so… I’m glad I made them.”

“Thank you,” Ivan whispered. “For never forgetting about us. After the life you lived, none of us would’ve blamed you for moving on completely.”

“How could I?” Till stressed, eyes brimming with tears he quickly scrubbed away. “Forgetting my family would be like forgetting a part of myself. If anything, I always held out hope that I’d see Mizi again. I never thought, not in a million years, that I’d get to make things right with you. That I’d get to see you again, and hold you, or–or really kiss you.” His voice trembled. “For the longest time, I wanted to understand you. Even when you were gone, I kept trying. Even when my guilt and shame told me I didn’t deserve to mourn you. Or love you.”

Ivan bit his lip, his heart aching from the longing dripping through Till’s tone. Till balled his fist in his lap, leaning his head onto Ivan’s shoulder, both quietly embracing the sadness clutching onto them. Letting it flow over them, ambushed by countless memories from their years apart, silently wishing for all that time back. Ivan flipped the vinyl onto its other side; one side of it held his insecurities, and this side held a version of his heart saved through the passage of time. Ivan settled it onto the stylus, he heard Till draw in a breath at his sudden actions. 

Ivan was terrible at expressing his emotions. His well-meaning always seemed so clumsy and clustered. With time, he knew he’d get better. But that disk carried the only time he ever understood himself; all his pain, desperation, and self-percieved twisted, frail afflictions of desire and love. If Till truly wished to understand him–the vinyl was the key to unlocking the answer to questions he’d never thought he’d receive. 

The instrumental was hollower than he remembered. At the time, that empty echo had felt like the only thing that truly understood him. It matched his anguish perfectly; lonely, raw, and grasping for something just out of reach. Listening to it now after so many years felt strange, like holding a mirror up to a version of himself he’d buried. He had written the song feverishly, desperate to wrestle his feelings into something he could control. Back then, his emotions had been relentless, wearing him down day by day, but he could at least trap them here; in melodies, in hollow chords, in figurative lyricism he could explain away. The song had been his way of making sense of himself, of finding some twisted comfort in the pain of loving someone he believed he could never have.

Being near Till had always felt like both a gift and a punishment. It was enough just to be beside him… even as Ivan hated himself for wanting more. For wanting too much, even. Every time he pushed Till away, every time he did something to make him turn cold, Ivan convinced himself he deserved it. The moment Till left him during the meteor shower, everything fractured. Their developing friendship, his sense of self, his tampering justifications for why it was. What had been guilt became a cavernous weight. And beneath it all, the disgust he carried for the way he felt about Till only grew, festering the closer Alien Stage drew near.

 Ivan wanted Till’s attention. He wanted his company, and his conversation. And eventually that childlike wish turned obsessive before he knew it. It turned into harbored resentment towards everyone around him. Resentment towards Sua for having Mizi’s mutual love. Resentment toward Till, for making him feel things he didn’t understand and couldn’t control. Resentment toward himself most of all, for wearing a mask so long he no longer knew who he was underneath.  For being someone who didn’t know how to deal with his emotions, only how to bury them–leaving confusion in his wake.

Yet… as they listened now, Till’s gaze unsteady while the song carried on, Ivan was forced to stand in the shadow of that version of himself. Forced to feel the ache of a time he’d spent convincing himself that love was a sickness he’d inflicted on the world around him. Back then, he’d called his love for Till parasitic; invasive, festering, consuming. He had carved that belief into every held note, each one straining under the weight of his conviction. It felt primal then, a verdict he thought he understood completely. But as the melody wrapped around them, he understood how wrong he’d been. Because if he’d truly understood love, he would have known it wasn’t a curse. He wouldn’t have thought he had to force it into Till, or push and pull until Till loved him back. If he had understood, he would have known that love is something that either finds a home, or it doesn’t. That when it’s real, it’s returned as effortlessly as it’s given.

That poor, broken twenty-two-year-old version of himself still lingered somewhere inside him, breathing through the cracks of his self-loathing. But Ivan couldn’t call his love parasitic anymore. Not as he looked at Till.

Till pressed a trembling hand against his chest, his fingers curling slowly into a fist each time Ivan sang the word “paratise.” The sound struck something in him, and his eyes flickered with pain, shame, and guilt tangled together in every shaky breath he drew. And in that moment, it became clear: Ivan had held Till’s heart all along, carrying it with him through all those lamenting years.

“Ivan,” Till exhaled shakily, the sound rough, like he was releasing something that had sat in his chest for years. “I spent all of my twenties trying to understand you–who you were back then. Piecing you together from scraps.”

Ivan’s heart sank. He knew where this was going, the cracks in Till’s voice, the gentleness laced with hurt. Still, he let Till guide his chin into his palm, their touch trembling but steady. 

“I never knew how much pain you carried,” Till murmured, eyes searching his face. “I never knew how scared you were. Of living the life we did, of dying… of loving me. If I had–if I had known, I would’ve done everything differently.”

Ivan’s fingers slipped around Till’s wrist, holding it in place. “I should’ve gone with you,” Till said suddenly, voice breaking as he sat back on his knees. “That night. I should’ve trusted what I felt, and I should’ve gone.”

“It would’ve been more likely we’d both gotten caught,” Ivan reasoned softly.

“Even still,” Till whispered. “You didn’t hesitate when you gave your life for me. That’s what love is, isn’t it? It’s about sacrifice. Things could’ve been different. Maybe we could’ve come back for Mizi and Sua. Maybe we could’ve saved them, too.”

“That may be true,” Ivan said. “But there’s no use in lamenting over the past. As a Guard, the first thing they take from you is your past–your ability to dwell on it. All you can do is move forward. And that’s what I choose to do–with you, with the kids, with Luka. If we hadn’t taken every step we did to get here… none of this would exist.”

Till nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders loosening as Ivan’s words settled in. He felt the truth in them; painful, yet real. Ivan reached out, brushing his thumb under Till’s eyes to wipe away the tears clinging there. 

 “I love you, Ivan,” Till breathed out airly. “I don’t think I’ve said it. But I love you. Don’t doubt for a second that I don’t, and even when you learn to love yourself the way I do–I still will.”

“I know,” Ivan replied without hesitation. “You have loved me for many years, after all. How could I question that?”

Till smiled through his tears, leaning down to connect their lips. They were soft against his, and Ivan relished in them. It was like after their kiss on Luka’s porch, a flame sparked to life in his stomach every moment the lips met since. His feelings were defined, enhanced, and definite. Love had never been something he fully understood, not until now. It wasn’t an idea or a distant ache; it was mutual, tangible, and alive, and he couldn’t imagine ever letting it go. He refused to go back to that unfeeling, mechanical person holding onto memories he had no idea were so precious. He wanted to give Till everything and more, though he knew he had a lot more growing to do. But as long as Till could feel his love, he was right on track to leaving his soldered past behind him.

Ivan's hands crawled up Till’s back, wrapping around him. He drew Till into his chest, then laid him gently on the floor beneath him after kissing him once more. Till’s cheeks were flushed, his half-lidded eyes hazy in the lamp light. He was incredibly beautiful inside and out, eliciting a desire that festered in Ivan similar to when they were on the bench–Till staring up at him with those murky teal eyes. Till’s hand braced against Ivan’s chest, faltering the more Ivan came closer.

“I’ve never seen you so…” Till trailed off, the word slipping just out of reach on his tongue.

“Unrestrained?” Ivan supplied, his voice low as his lips brushed against the curve of Till’s neck. The touch must’ve sent a shiver through him, his arms instinctively looping around Ivan’s neck.

“I’m finding it difficult to be otherwise right now,” Ivan admitted. “The nine years I lived without you were the bleakest years of my life.” He drew back just enough to meet Till’s eyes. “And in the four where I did remember how I felt for you…”

Till tilted his head, curiosity glinting in his eyes, urging him to continue.

“I’ve never longed so deeply,” Ivan confessed, his tone teetering between restraint and honesty. “Even in dreams, I could never escape it. And now that you’re here, I find it almost impossible to wait any longer.”

Till’s eyes widened, heat rushing to his cheeks in a visible blossom of red. “That’s–kind of an insane thing to say,” he managed to get out.

“Is it?” Ivan murmured, pressing his face into the dip of Till’s collarbone, his breath warm against his skin. “Then maybe I’ll say it again–just to see how insane I truly sound.”

Till laughed softly, the sound light and breathless, fluttering between them like wings.

“No,” Till breathed, feeling Ivan’s fingers slide beneath his shirt. “I think once is enough.”

“You’ve been so busy taking care of everyone else,” Ivan said as he slowly drew the fabric up, his voice soft. “Please. Let me take care of you.”

Till stared, stunned at first, his eyes dancing along Ivan’s face. Then he sat up just enough for Ivan to pull his shirt off completely. Ivan smiled faintly against his lips as Till drew him closer, eyes closed–with no intention of refuting his request.

Chapter Text

When Ivan woke up first in the morning, he was disoriented at first due to being on the opposite side of the room. The record player’s soft clacking filled the quiet, its needle still circling the vinyl on the turntable. He focused on the sound for a moment before shifting to the weight resting against his chest. Till’s arms were wrapped loosely around Ivan’s torso, their legs slotted together; as if they belonged like this. He was still sound asleep, undisturbed by Ivan’s fingers gliding over his crewcut in subconscious motions. 

They’d fallen asleep after showering together, Till having settled across him before slipping into sleep almost instantly. Ivan had been looking forward to their day off from parenting, happy at a chance to go out, and do something together; but in the end, what they both seemed to need wasn’t a date or a list of postponed tasks. They needed sleep. Especially Till, who’d worked late the night before, only for Ivan to keep him up past midnight. Ivan carefully untangled their limbs, gingerly transferring Till’s head onto the pillow he vacated. For a moment, he watched the peaceful rise and fall of Till’s chest before easing himself out of bed. Ivan sat on the edge of it, staring at the emptiness of his own; he supposes they wouldn’t need two beds anymore. It was convenient to have when all the children slept over, so putting it in Vivi’s room didn’t seem like a bad idea. Ivan stretched his arms over his head, finally rising from the mattress and towards the closet.

He crouched in front of the wardrobe, where they abandoned the cardboard box and all the items they took out of it. He picked up Sua’s dress first, smoothing the fabric before folding it and putting it back with the rest of her clothes. He grabbed Mizi’s glasses, shifting them around in his hands thoughtfully, propping them on the dresser instead of putting them back. Ivan decided to keep the record player out, as well, hauling it over to Till’s desk–well, their desk. His fingers grazed black wheeled chair beside Till’s old wooden one, placed there so Ivan could tinker with the projects he took home from work. It was still hard to call things his–or theirs–but it filled him with relief to know it would continue to be like this, where he’d accumulate possessions that were either for himself or shared amongst them all. In the corner of his eye, off to the side of the desk, Ivan caught sight of his phone–coming to life with a text message. 

Does Till know?

Ivan checked over his shoulder, Till remained where he positioned him, then picked up his phone, unlocking it. 

Not yet. 

His phone vibrated almost instantly. 

Don’t tell him yet–it’ll only rile him up. I’ll see what I can do first. 

Alright. Thank you.

Just as Ivan was about to go back to cleaning up their room, thinking about what to cook for breakfast, his phone lit up again. He didn’t have that many friends to begin with, so he was uncertain who else would have business with him so early in the morning. It wasn’t a text message, though, just a… location. But quickly, something else followed:

Me. You. Diva Karaoke At 12. Be there or be square!

Ivan dragged down the notification to properly read who sent the message, unsurprised to find the deliverer was Luka–his only friend of four people, but curious as to what could bring this on. He’d expected Luka to be resting well into the afternoon, enjoying a rare break from the children. Yet, if Till’s words were anything to go by, rest was the last thing Luka knew how to do when told.

Perhaps he was bored, unaccustomed to being without chores and tasks–wanting some form of company to help pass the time. Though Ivan didn’t understand why he would ask him instead of Till, especially for Diva Karaoke of all things. There had been plenty of moments where it was just the two of them, and while Ivan wasn’t the most expressive person, he actually liked talking to Luka. Especially because the blond could hold up the conversation, and Ivan just had to add in a remark here or there. But he never knew if the feeling was mutual, though Luka’s constant efforts to pull him into plans suggested it might be. Still… This particular invitation felt oddly suspicious.

Arms snaked around Ivan’s waist, pulling him in into the familiar smell of lavender and what he’s come to known as a part of home. Till sleepily laid his head on his back, Ivan’s free hand strayed to interlock their fingers against his stomach.

“Who’s that?” Till asked groggily, the words muffled against his t-shirt. 

“Luka,” Ivan replied, opening the text message completely. “He wants to sing Karaoke with me?”

Till laughed at how the sentence left him like a question. “Really? Luka’s never played Diva Karaoke before. But I can’t say this is surprising, considering what he told me yesterday.”

“What did he say?” Ivan sent Luka back an ‘Okay’, followed by a salute emoji. He’s been trying to use them more often, as they made his messages more friendly and approachable. Whilst Till thought it was endearing, Luka called his newfound habit hilarious. 

“It had to do with your past. Before you became a Guard,” Till said. Ivan twisted around, Till now hugging him closely by his torso. “It’s only a theory, but Luka thinks you two were meant to collaborate artistically in some sort of way. I don’t really get it, but it makes sense due to how you were asleep for a while, and it took Luka a long time to get back into the entertainment industry.”

Ivan had noticed how much Till liked embracing him–especially the night before. The thought made warmth creep up his neck, flustered at the memory. Till had clung to him with such intensity, drawing him in until their breaths mingled, and Ivan could feel the soft tickle of air between them before he closed the gap. Having Till pressed against him like that had once felt like a selfish dream, something he wasn’t meant to have, but his thoughts were so mingled he could hardly process any of it.

He couldn’t pity his past self any longer, because he had what he wanted all along–Till, so he only focused on the feeling, immensely so. The intimacy that he craved for almost a decade, then at his fingertips, struggling to let go of it now that it was within his grasp. The sounds that escaped from Till’s lips sounded like something akin to Heaven, if ever a place were to exist. So mesmerised in all the ways Till could look so enamoring, vulnerable, and yet so… perfect. And after all this time–fianlly his.  

Ivan lightly shook his head, forcing the thoughts away. To compensate for such ideations, he slipped his phone into the pocket of his sweats, and wrapped his arms around Till’s waist, hugging him close to the point he almost lifted the man off his feet–earning a startled string of giggles.

“The thought that Luka and I’s past could be connected,” Ivan mumbled into Till’s hair as his chin rested there. “Is a very interesting concept. But honestly, I don’t think I care.”

Till leaned back just enough to meet his gaze, curiosity flickering across his face before a soft smile broke through at Ivan’s calm expression. “Wouldn’t it ease your mind to know, though?”

Ivan shrugged. “My mind is already at ease. I’m just content to be alive, and the circumstances that led to me being here doesn’t matter to me. It would be nice to know, sure, but I won’t waste time on it.”

Till hummed, nodding, respecting his opinion. “Alright. So I guess Luka’s silly idea–”

“Oh, no,” Ivan cut in, raising a brow. “I’m absolutely going to sing karaoke with him. I’m Diva Karaoke’s undefeated champion–I can’t just let my title slip away.”

Till burst into laughter, tossing his head back before giving Ivan a playful shove. Ivan grinned, savoring the sound. He loved making Till laugh; it filled him with the same warmth as when he made the children laugh–a strong indication of his growing humanity. Till might not have realized it, but when they first met, he hardly ever smiled. He carried his stress on his face, the tension only easing when he was with the children, before inevitably settling back in. Knowing he’d been part of that weight used to gnaw at Ivan, but now, every laugh he drew from Till felt like redemption, a promise to himself that he’d keep making him smile, no matter what.

“The kids are going to be so upset they missed this,” Till teased, going back to the bed, stripping the mattress of its comforter and sheet.

“Don’t worry,” Ivan replied as he continued sorting through the clutter on their desk. “I’ll make sure to brag about my victory when they get back tonight.”

“Ooh, confident, are we?” Till chuckled, dumping the blankets into the laundry basket, readying to finish the load Ivan had started the night before.

“Children need displays of exemplary self-esteem,” Ivan said, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. “Anything you want for breakfast?”

“Hmm–surprise me!” Till called over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hall, slipping easily back into their comfortable routine, tidying the apartment for Vivi’s return. Ivan watched him go, biting back a smile as he reached for the drapes. When he pulled them open, sunlight poured through the windows, warm and bright, washing away every trace of last night’s storm.

Youngwoo looked absolutely adorable in her little sound-protection earmuffs–a much-needed accessory down in the Underground Arcade. The place was always bursting with life, no matter the day: a blend of chatter, pounding music, and the endless chorus of arcade machines competing for attention. But none of it fazed them as Luka guided Till and Ivan toward the rail car.

He stood waiting at the top of the stairs, hands on his hips as if they were the ones making him late for something important, but with Youngwoo strapped snugly to his chest, the effect was far more endearing than intimidating. The baby gawked wide-eyed at everything on their way, earning a trail of coos and greetings from passersby who couldn’t resist stopping to admire her. By the time they reached the rail car, Till caught Luka glancing up at the mural of Hyuna painted along its side. His expression flickered, adorned with a small fragility, brief in its appearance, before he quickly looked away and stepped inside.

Diva Karaoke was partially empty apart from workers and patrons who came more-so for the bar and to watch people sing rather than to compete themselves. The game didn’t get much traction until the evenings and the weekend, when people were inclined to participate due to the audience. Till was insecure about his voice, so he never participated in Diva Karaoke, so it came as a surprise to no one when he decided to sit this one out. 

“What can I get started for y’all today?” asked Ameena, the employee manning the karaoke stand. Till recognized her instantly, it was the same girl who’d refereed Ivan’s karaoke battle against Aeri. She covered her mouth for a moment, then waved at them shyly. “Oh my gods–Hi, Till! Hi, Luka! Hi, Ivan!”

“Hey, Ameena,” Till replied, Ivan and Luka sharing an amusing look. “These two want to compete against each other.”

Ameena was a die-hard Alien Stage fan, and though Till never quite understood what people saw in that show, he was always polite when she approached him. Every time they met, she’d start with staring him down before launching into an excited, mile-a-minute ramble he could barely follow. Without fail, she’d end it by begging him to sing just one teeny-tiny song for her. He always declined–politely, of course–and she always respected his answer… right up until the next time she saw him. 

Ameena’s eyes immediately widened, fumbling with the tablet in her hand. “They wanna compete against each other? I must be dreaming.”

Luka leaned in, hiding his mouth before his hand. “Is she okay?”

“She’s always like this,” Till whispered back. “She’s a big fan of Alien Stage. Just–be nice.”

Ameena cleared her throat, as if trying to calm herself down. It did not work. “Luka, I am such a huge fan of your music! I’ve been dying to meet you, but I never see you around the base. Is that your baby? She’s so cute! It is truly an honor to meet you!”

Luka gave her a lopsided smile, though obviously overwhelmed, he extended his hand. He tilted his head,causing a curl to fall into his uncovered eye. Till’s sure if Ameena could find it in herself to swoon, she absolutely would’ve. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope you’ll use your discernment to crown the rightful winner today.”

Ameena quickly shook his hand, her excitement barely contained. Youngwoo watched curiously, babbling when the girl offered her a gentle handshake as well.

“Oh, I don’t determine the winner,” Ameena explained, glancing at her tablet. “The meter works just like the one on Alien Stage–the people here decide.”

Till noticed immediately how both Ivan and Luka stiffened at that. When Ivan had competed against Aeri, neither of them had been told how the judging worked. It was easy to assume someone behind the counter decided the results. But now, knowing it was the audience who held that power, something in both of them seemed to shift. Till decided to let it go… for now. Ivan twisted around, silently counting all the people currently in the vicinity, and there weren’t that many–only about ten or so.

“Is there enough people here to do that?” Ivan asked.

“Sure,” Ameena shrugged, holding the tablet against her chest. “But if you wanna wait until more people–”

“No,” Till cut in, startling them all. “Let’s do it now. I think ten is more than enough people.”

Having more of an audience could give a better absolute result, but Till’s gut was telling him that somehow, that would be worse.

Ameena let out a nervous laugh, tapping away on the control panel for a moment. “Okay! What mode are y’all playin?”

“Competion mode: Hard,” Ivan quickly responded, Luka nodding enthusiastically along.

“There’s only three songs for hard mode,” Ameena recited manually. “It’s called Project: Alien Stage.” She turned the tablet over to them, Ivan taking it. It displayed three songs, Luka leaned over his shoulder to read which ones there were.

“Is there a particular reason why it’s only songs from the forty-ninth and fiftieth season?” Luka mumbled, eyebrows perked up. 

“Oh,” Ameena ran a hand down one of her pigtails, sheepish. “Those are my favorite seasons, because you were in them, Luka.”

“Ameena,” Luka smiled at her, “I’m wounded–my biggest fan and none of my songs are worthy of hard mode?”

Ameena pressed her glasses up her nose, bowing apologetically. “I’m sorry! It–it’s a rotation, so it changes everyday! It seems today none of your songs are in the top three!”

“Stop teasing her,” Till chided, the poor girl looked like she might pass out.

Luka patted her shoulder, chuckling. “I’m sorry, I was just kidding.”

“Let’s do All-in,” Ivan said abruptly–and locked in the selection before Luka could agree or protest. He handed the tablet back to Ameena.

Luka turned toward him slowly, and Till caught that look again; something pained yet indescribable behind Luka’s eyes. Ivan stared back, unflinching, until Luka finally broke their gaze. The whole exchange made Till’s stomach tighten, though he hid it behind a smile.

“Um–alright,” Ameena said hesitantly, probably sensing the chill in the air. “Everything’s all set up. Whenever y’all are ready!”

Ivan didn’t waste a second heading toward the karaoke stage. Luka watched him go, his mouth slightly ajar. Then, without taking his eyes off Ivan, he plucked Youngwoo out of the carrier.

“Hold my baby,” Luka said curtly, thrusting the child toward Till, a fire in his eyes.

Till held his baby.

“Luka, remember,” he stammered, Luka setting the carrier on the bar counter rather harshly, “this is supposed to be…”

But Luka was already marching toward the stage.

“... Fun,” Till finished weakly, exhaling as he sank onto one of the bar stools.

Once Luka stepped onto the stage, he yanked the microphone off its stand, running a hand down the wire that snaked toward the amp. Ivan was already in position across from him, his own mic poised near his lips. Ameena stood beside Till, looking like she might combust before the song even began. When both men gave a nod of readiness, she pressed play on the tablet. The thrum of drums came first, low yet pulsing–followed by a subtle guitar riff that lingered just long enough, then the instrumental surged. All around the railcar, heads turned toward the karaoke stage. The shift in energy was immediate; voting had begun.

Ivan drew in a breath just as the countdown on the projector hit zero, but before he could even open his mouth, Luka’s voice rang out first. Till’s heart soared as his vocals filled the room, soft and luminous, airy in that familiar way that made something in him ache in a haunted form of nostalgia. It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard Luka sing in years, if anything, he sang the most out of the three of them. He sang lullabies to the children, sang as he did chores, or sang for the heck of it. Till admired that about Luka–the way he was able to use his voice for fun, not dissuaded by his obvious talent due to their past. But somehow, his typical singing tone was different–rough as he picked up along with the beat. Though Luka always had this playfulness about him, making everything so easy, there was an underlying tension in his tone. 

Ivan entered just as Luka shouted an enthusiastic “Okay!” into the microphone. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, eyes narrowing as he tried to overpower Luka’s voice–but Luka refused to back down. Till glanced toward the projector, where the lyrics glowed in alternating blue and yellow to mark who should be singing which parts, yet both of them ignored the cues entirely. The crowd erupted in cheers, feeding the electric energy in the room, and more people squeezed into the rail car, drawn by the unspoken contest unfolding inside.

 Ivan’s voice was rougher, and lower in contrast to Luka’s unrestrained high vocal tone, overshadowing each other in parts of the song. They clashed in the song, each trying to overtake the other, their harmonies turning into reckless collisions. To most, it looked like a fun karaoke battle, but Till saw something else. It showed in the subtleties: Ivan’s tense expression, the kind he wore when forcing himself to detach when under pressure. Luka’s graceful movements, the precise placement of his free hand against his waist, the growing dimness behind his eyes the more he stepped forward. This wasn’t a friendly competition, it was as if they were being pulled backward, reliving the brutal, exhausting tension of Alien Stage right there in front of everyone. The crowd’s excitement only heightened it, and the voting meter on the side of the stage; yellow and blue bars racing for dominance–a reminiscence from all those years ago, feeding the moment.

Till turned to Ameena, expecting to see her enjoying the chaos, but she looked stricken. Her wide brown eyes met his, brimming with worry. She felt it too; the way the air had shifted, how the two of them were tearing at each other’s throats as if their lives were on the line. Mentally, they weren’t in the rail car anymore.

Till had to do something–anything. 

Quickly, he stood up, Youngwoo still in his arms, leaning over to Ameena. 

“Give me a mic,” he urged.

“What?” she blinked, startled.

“Just give me a mic,” Till hissed, urgency breaking through. “Please.”

Ameena hesitated only a second before ducking down to rummage through a crate. She came up with a wireless microphone and slapped it into his palm. Till fumbled with the switch, trying to power it on one-handed, while Ameena quickly took Youngwoo from him, steadying the child against her hip.

“Thanks,” he muttered. 

The mic came alive just as Luka’s final “All in!” echoed through the car defiantly. Till moved toward the stage as the song hit its pause, soft, rhythmic heartbeats pulsing through the speakers, followed by the strike of a guitar riff. He reached the front just as the last few beats faded, his sudden appearance startling both men and the crowd–and himself.

He lifted the mic to his lips, pulse racing. There was no time to think, or to hesitate, his decision made the moment he climbed the steps. The guitar surged back in, the tempo climbing, and the lyrics flashed once more across the screen, awaiting him.

He faltered at first, tripping over the words as he scrambled to catch the lyrics on the screen. His voice came out shaky, echoing thinly through the speakers as he sang the first line alone. The crowd remained quiet, still startled from his sudden intrusion into the performance. But Till pushed through, ignoring the awkwardness, focused on steadying his breathing, and eventually found the rhythm by the second line. The tremor in his voice leveled out, becoming stronger, more confident–enough to earn a few surprised whoops from the back of the car. That small burst of encouragement assured him that he didn’t sound terrible. His eyes lifted from the screen, flicking between Ivan and Luka, both still staring at him in disbelief. He raised his voice as the music picked up, tilting his head back as the high note approached. He pressed a finger to his ear to stay on pitch and let the sound pour out of him–not like it used to be before. It was a little strained, not the highest he could once go, but it was full of heart. Till smiled proudly, managing to startle himself as he shouted ‘Hey!’, throwing his hand into the air. And just like that, the awkwardness melted away, the crowd roaring back at him. 

When he started to sing the chorus again, he wasn’t alone, Luka and Ivan’s voices mingled with his. Luka looped an arm around his shoulder, and Ivan stood by his side, smiling at him softly. They finished out the song together, the tension that was once between the two of his friends dissipated. The scoreboard split in half, entering a new bar–green, this time, and it shot up instantly. Till blinked, confused by its appearance–was that meant to be… all of them? Till whipped his head towards Ameena. She sat on a stool, waving Youngwoo’s hands to and fro, the baby totally clueless as to what was happening around her but very delighted all the same. As soon as the last beat faded out, the audience clapped and cheered. 

“Till you were so amazing!” Ameena fawned after they came down the stage. “I feel so blessed to have witnessed this moment here today!”

“You were. And you hardly sound any different,” Luka agreed, taking Youngwoo back when she reached out for him.

Ivan gazed at him fondly, causing Till to blush. “You do have an amazing voice.”

Till began to stammer out a dismissal, cheeks warm from the praise. Still, beneath the embarrassment, pride welled up in his chest. For years, he’d refused to speak at all, and only within the last year had he started using his voice full-time again. Singing had felt impossible after his neck injury, the damage to his vocal cords too much of a concern to risk trying. Yet today, in the chaos of it all, he’d found his voice again. He only found the courage when he saw his friends reliving a traumatic experience–one they never truly got to heal from. The karaoke event had been meant as harmless fun, but to Ivan and Luka, it had been too similar to Alien Stage, closing in on old wounds. Till was just grateful he’d managed to pull them back, to remind them that they could share the stage without the fate of their lives looming over their heads. For Ivan, competing with Aeri was easy for him because it was easy to see it for what it was, but facing someone he saw his friends lose to, and the consequences that followed, must’ve made it difficult. 

Now, as the adrenaline from their performance began to fade, Till caught sight of Luka and Ivan standing side by side. Both looked sheepish, guilt shadowing their faces, but it softened when Luka bumped his shoulder lightly against Ivan’s. Ivan responded by offering his palm, and after a brief scoff, Luka relented with a quick high-five. Ameena had disappeared for a moment, only to return with a small basket brimming with trinkets, knick-knacks, and candy.

“In a unanimous decision,” she announced brightly, holding the basket out toward them, “you’re all winners! Please, choose your prize.”

Ivan blinked at her, brow furrowed. “But when I won last time, I didn’t get anything as a reward.”

Ameena shook the basket with exaggerated insistence. “Well, I’ll be sure to scold the worker who didn’t let you pick a prize, because that is completely unacceptable.”

“Wait,” Ivan said slowly, suspicion creeping into his tone, “I’m pretty sure that worker was you–”

“Just choose a prize, Ivan,” Luka cut in, smacking his shoulder.

Ivan jerked back slightly, offended by the gesture, before relenting and reaching into the basket. He pulled out a lollipop. Luka followed, selecting a rainbow-colored bracelet, while Till ended up with a small plastic figurine. Ameena tried to avoid Till’s gaze, dipping her head when Till mouthed ‘thank you’ at her, twisting her body bashfully at his gratitude. Till knew what she’d done; how she’d adjusted the scoreboard near the end, merging the votes and tipping the scale until that green bar appeared. And now here she was, handing out small prizes to solidify that it was all a game in the end. Till stared down at the painted plastic toy–on Alien Stage, the winner hadn’t earned trinkets or cheers–only survival. This was nice for a change.

Ivan and Luka turned to leave the rail car after the blonde strapped Youngwoo back into her carrier, chatting about taking her on one of the horse rides before they left. Till gathered their tickets and moved to follow.

“Um, Till,” Ameena called, hurrying after him. She wrung her hands, then dipped into a deep bow. “I’m so sorry.”

Till blinked, startled, and gently urged her upright. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’ve been babbling to you about Alien Stage since I met you,” Ameena said, voice trembling slightly. “And I never once stopped to think how painful that must be for you–for any of you. I’m ashamed that I ever found joy or entertainment in something that hurt you all.”

Till was quiet for a moment, considering her words. Then, softly, he said, “I always wondered if I had any fans. Like, genuine fans.”

Ameena looked up at him, confused. “Huh?”

“Then I met you,” Till said, smiling faintly. “And it made me happy to know I did, and that my friends’ voices are still remembered, and their songs are still being listened to by someone other than me. That they didn’t die forgotten.” His expression softened, “in a way, it means their efforts weren’t in vain.”

Ameena stared at him, stunned, before drawing in a shaky breath. “I love to sing,” she admitted softly. “It’s always been my dream since I was a little girl.” Her fingers laced together, eyes drifting toward the floor. “But living on the base makes that impossible. Watching others live that dream–even if it was just through a screen–felt like the next best thing. But I know now that they would’ve traded places with me in a heartbeat. And I should be grateful that I get to sing for fun, and not as a tool for survival.”

Till’s gaze softened on her, reaching out to ruffle her bangs. She was very sightful for her age, one of the more well-behaved teens on the base, though quite eccentric. 

“I’d love to hear you sing one day,” Till encouraged, watching her eyes brighten up, tethering herself or else she’d probably fall out right there at the prospect of one of her biggest idols wanting to hear her sing. 

“Of course!” She piped up, nodding enthusiastically. “Anytime!” 

Till waved her a farewell, chuckling to himself as she giddily sauntered off to help her next round of customers. 

“Dad!”

“Papa!”

“Mister Ivan!”

The group barely had a chance to step inside the bar before the five kids came barreling toward them, voices overlapping in a chorus of excitement. Seeing them again after just a day and a half apart somehow felt like it had been a month. He’d worried, of course, but the pictures and videos Dewey sent of their antics had helped ease his mind. Louie spread his arms wide, bouncing on his toes until Till scooped him up onto his hip, snorting as the child nuzzled into his neck like the time away from them was simply draining. Suella and Vivi stopped in front of Ivan, who crouched to meet them halfway. They both spoke at once, Suella’s shy mumbling tangled up with Vivi’s emphatic gestures, leaving Ivan blinking and smiling helplessly as he tried to piece together their stories. Meanwhile, Taehyun and Lucas crowded around Luka. Taehyun was practically vibrating, trying to recount every detail of their adventures, while Lucas added dramatic sound effects that made Luka laugh.

“It’s good to know you all had fun with your uncles,” Till managed once the chatter finally died down. “I hope you brought back some fish for us!”

“Oh, we’re gonna have fish soup as a bar staple for the next few days, that’s for sure,” Dewey said, planting his hands on his hips and humming in triumph over their successful fishing trip.

Isaac, on the other hand, looked utterly spent–an accurate picture of what corralling five energetic kids all day would do to a man. Still, there was a brightness to him, the kind that came from a day well spent, and the  relief that the bar was still standing when he got back. After a bit more conversation, the kids began to droop one by one, their earlier excitement fading into yawns. Begrudgingly, they accepted that it was time to head home, ready, or at least pretending to be–to return to school on Monday and slip back into their usual routine.

“Bye, Vivi!” the others called, waving as they followed Luka out of the bar. “See you at school!”

Vivi waved back, cheeks puffed as she finished the last bites of her snack, waiting patiently for Till and Ivan to get ready to leave. Ivan was off chatting with Dewey at a corner table, it was a hushed conversation, and it looked serious too. Till could’ve sworn Dewey looked his way more than once, though he couldn’t be sure.

“I’ll be right back, Vivi,” Till said, standing up. “I’m going to use the restroom.”

“Okay,” Vivi replied, wiping her hands on a napkin. 

Till had just gotten done washing his hands when the restroom door opened, causing him to snap his head up. The bar was pretty deserted today given the lack of booze–no one being around to properly serve it out–or cut it off. The bar would open again for business the next day, and Till would be there bright and early to pander to their every beck and call. So he was surprised when it was Cariah who entered the, heading towards a stall, brightening up when he spotted Till.

“Hey, Till!”

“Hi, Cariah.” He did not sound enthused, but of course, it did not deter the man. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for the meeting,” Cariah gave easily, delaying his bathroom break. “Aren’t you?”

“Huh?” Till frowned, turning off the faucet. 

“I gotta say,” Cariah clapped him on the shoulder–too hard, as always, making Till flinch. “What you’re doing is commendable. That’s why I like partnering with you.”

“...What?” Till asked slowly, his confusion deepening.

“You know,” Cariah drawled, rolling his eyes as if Till were playing coy. “Going back for your friend’s ashes. That takes some massive–and I mean massive–balls, dude. Considering we’ll be going up against the system directly? I’m all for it!”

Till was dead silent. All he could do was stare at him as his brain attempted to compute what he just heard. Cariah’s confident smile slowly started to disappear, as if something had just dawned on him. 

“Wait… you do know, right?”

The bathroom door slammed open, and Ivan and Anise stormed in, both looking murderous. Whatever bomb they were rushing here to stop had already detonated. 

“You have got to be kidding me, Cariah!” Anise shouted, dragging her hands down her face.

“My bad!” Cariah threw up his hands. “I thought Till was in on it!”

“He wasn’t,” Ivan hissed, his voice cold.

“You’re…” Till began softly, the room fell silent as his voice wavered. “You’re going back for Sua’s ashes?”

“Till…” Ivan’s shoulders slumped, but Till’s wounded expression cut him off before he could continue. He exhaled slowly, leaning against the door, admitting defeat. “Yes.”

Chapter Text

Till could see the guilt all over Ivan’s face as he leaned against the table, sighing out in resignation. Anise had taken Cariah to Dewey, and though he couldn’t hear their conversation from their spot at the back of the bar, Dewey’s very animated gestures were indication enough that the man was getting chewed out. Till almost felt bad for him, but he couldn’t help the bitterness that festered within his chest at the prospect of being left out of something so important. The idea had crossed his mind more than once since Ivan first told him where Sua’s remains were. But he’d never said anything aloud, never given shape to the desire gnawing at him. 

Maybe Ivan had seen it anyway–like he always did–and decided to act on it himself. Till didn’t want to jump to conclusions, not before hearing it from Ivan’s mouth. Still, it was hard to suppress the frown tugging at his lips as he folded his arms across his chest, his gaze fixed on the man across the table.

Isaac had taken Vivi upstairs to his and Dewey’s apartment, as it was quite clear they’d be busy down here for a while. Till wasn’t leaving not only until he got answers and became a part of this plan.

“You weren’t completely out of the narrative,” Ivan said finally, lifting his head up.

“So when was I going to be a part of it?” Till countered quickly.

Ivan bit his lip, tilting his head as his eyes slinked down towards the wooden table. “I don’t know. The plan isn’t completely rounded yet. This was meant to be our first meeting–just to discuss the technicalities and the initial groundwork.”

“I just don’t understand.” Till dragged a hand down his face, the sigh that followed ragged around the edges. “Were you going to line up all your ducks, and then tell me? Right before you set out?”

“No,” Ivan shot back, his voice rising despite himself. “Of course not. It’s just…”

“Just what?” Till pressed, patience unraveling.

Ivan hesitated, body stiffening with words unsaid.

“You’re reckless, Till.”

That didn’t come from Ivan.

Till’s head snapped up to find Anise standing a few feet away, hands braced on her hips, her expression firm, yet not unkind. 

“The moment he told you,” she went on, “it’d be all you thought about. You’d let it consume you. You’d charge straight ahead, and none of us could stop you before the plan was complete.” Ivan’s lips pressed into a thin line as he bowed his head, silent–relieved, maybe, that he didn’t have to say it himself.

He hadn’t seen her in a couple months, off taking on his missions that Dewey inadvertently dropped onto her. And here she was, dissecting his flaws–like always. It was why they rarely partnered up–they clashed too often, their tempers colliding because they could never find common ground. More than once, that friction had nearly cost them missions. He still remembered the look on her face when he asked her to join his team for the Luka rescue. She’d refused without hesitation, saying it was too risky, and that she had a wife waiting for her at home and wouldn’t march toward death beside someone so hotheaded, that acted as if he had nothing left to lose. And it was true–back then. Yet now…

“You know,” Till replied, gesturing toward himself, “this was my idea first, technically. If I had been the one to suggest it, would you even be standing here right now?”

Anise scoffed, leaning over Ivan’s chair and bracing a hand on his shoulder. “You know what? I actually would be.”

Till blinked, startled, his brows lifting. The smug little grin curling on her lips almost made him roll his eyes. “You have people you care about now,” Anise went on. “I can at least count on you not to walk us into certain death anymore,” she waved her hand lightly. “But I didn’t want you to get riled up if the plan wound up falling apart. Most missions take countless weeks of planning–espcially one of this scale. I just wanted to make sure we could actually do it.” Anise lightly shook Ivan, causing him to flick his eyes up nervously, unsure of how he felt about being drawn back into their little squabble. “We didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

Till’s gaze softened on Ivan, his heart fluttering at the thought of him taking his feelings into consideration. It wasn’t something Ivan was always good at; reading emotion came slowly to him, but when he tried, it was always so intentional, and earnest, that it hit Till square in the chest every time. He was flattered, really–grateful, even, for the fact that Ivan wanted to spare him the pain of false hope, to shield him from disappointment. But still, beneath all that, Till remained upset.

He’d stopped doing missions for Ivan–for them. To stay on base, to help him adapt to everyday life, helping him develop relationships with his family, all whilst being there for Ivan through his relapses of protocol as the rewiring from years of Segyein control slowly wore off. He wasn’t a Guard anymore, that much was certain–he’d finally learned how to live. But Till would be damned if Ivan risked his life for his pipeless dreams, especially on his very first mission, even more so with the Segyein looking for him. 

Till reached out and gently pried open Ivan’s fist, sliding his fingers between the gaps. Ivan looked up, tentative, and then tightened his grip, their hands locking together.

“Ivan,” Till said firmly. The sound of his voice startled both Ivan and Anise. “I don’t need you to protect me. I can protect myself–I have been, for the past nine years. I don’t need you to spare my feelings, or hide things from me because you think that’s best.”

Ivan nodded quickly, absorbing every word.

“What I need,” Till continued, giving his hand a firm squeeze, “is for you to have my back. To tell me the truth, even if it hurts. That’s important during missions–” his eyes flicked toward Anise, “--and in relationships. Right, Anise?”

Anise’s eyes widened before she quickly recovered, crossing her arms and lifting her chin. “Yeah, I guess. As the most experienced person here, I can attest to that sentiment.”

“In relationships or rebellion work?” Ivan asked, brows furrowing.

“Both, of course!” Anise sputtered, huffing when her eyes drifted to their joined hands. “But I have a feeling you’ll be fine in both departments.”

“Thank you, Anise,” Till said earnestly. “For helping us get our friend.”

Anise just stared at him for a beat–then pretended to gag dramatically, making Till roll his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, waving him off. “Save it for after the mission. We still gotta, you know–live.” She turned toward the front of the bar with a flick of her wrist. “I’m gonna go rescue Cariah so we can finally start the meeting. Now that you’re officially included, we probably don’t need to recruit anyone else.”

“Are you sure?” Till asked, concerned. “This mission could take weeks to plan. Don’t you think we’ll need more hands?”

Anise pressed her lips together, exhaling through her nose. “To be honest, no one’s exactly lining up for it. Infiltrating Anakt Garden isn’t a task people jump at, especially for something they see as… personal.” She rubbed the back of her neck, her voice softening. “Most of them think going after a ‘corpse’ isn’t worth the risk. Still, we could try to find one more person.”

Till’s expression softened, disappointment seeping in. But really, he couldn’t blame them–it was a personal matter. He could only feel grateful that Cariah, for all his airheadedness, had always shown up when it truly mattered. And as much as Anise had told him to pound sand in the past, she’d decided his cause was worth backing now, because, like her, he finally had something to live for. He was no longer a ticking timebomb waiting to blow. The only reason he’d managed to pull a team together for Luka’s rescue was because it gave everyone a chance to strike back at the Segyein. But this? There was no grand cause, no greater rebellion to rally behind–just a selfish wish to bring peace to two women long gone. And for most people, there was nothing in that for them. Nothing in it for the retrieval of a corpse.

“We don’t need them.”

Till’s head snapped toward Ivan. His dark eyes gleamed with a kind of determination Till had never seen before. Whatever thoughts churned behind them, Till couldn’t quite read, but he could feel their gravity in the air between them. Ivan’s grip tightened around his hand, his voice secure, and unflinching. “Dewey, Anise, Cariah, you, and I–that’s all we need,” he said, every word definite. “Anyone who isn’t truly for the cause could slow us down–or worse.”

“He has a point,” Anise gave with a shrug. “I think, with enough planning and training, five will be more than enough. Keep Cariah sober until the mission is over, and it’ll be like we have six people!”

That actually got Till to laugh, shaking his head. He appreciated her enthusiasm, and Anise grinned, clearly proud her joke had landed, before she turned to walk away. Then she paused, pivoting back around with an afterthought.

“Oh, yeah.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Welcome to the Rebellion, Ivan–hope you like never getting a moment's rest ever again.”

“Can’t say I’m particularly excited,” Ivan mumbled, watching her stride off to save Cariah from Dewey’s wrath. He exhaled softly. “I’ll miss working for Mister Itto. Do you think he’ll be disappointed in me?”

“Of course not,” Till said, shaking his head hard. “I think Mister Itto always knew you’d end up here eventually–he knew I would. Heck, it only took two weeks for me. Besides,” his lips curved faintly, “your first mission won’t be for a while. You have plenty of time before you have to say goodbye.”

Ivan smiled, Till’s words calming his worries. Till had long since stopped getting excited before missions, it became something a part of his life. He only focused on the objective, which was making sure he didn’t come back to the base empty handed. But now, his quiet dream of having Ivan as his partner made him feel a little giddy inside. 

Preparing for the mission proved to be a grueling task. Dewey spent nearly every waking hour whipping them into shape, and while Till, Anise, and Cariah were used to his punishing training regimen, Ivan wasn’t. Till had assumed Dewey would ease him in–give him time to adjust, but less than a month passed before Ivan was forced to resign from the mechanic shop and begin working for the Rebellion full time. Ivan had suggested he could manage both jobs until the mission, but Dewey only quipped that, by the end of training, Ivan wouldn’t want to do anything except stay home licking his wounds.

And, as it turned out, Dewey was right.

The man was kind enough to give him easier missions at the start; fetching cargo supplies from the base’s drop-off plant, helping rebuild Segyein-ruined buildings for repurposing, or escorting small children from an already established correspondence. Till would often wake in the early mornings, the other side of the bed empty still, the sheets cold. Ivan gone–off to complete another mission for the Rebellion. He’d return just before noon, stifling any hint of pain until he was alone, tending to himself with cooling patches and a long, hot shower. Through it all, Ivan never complained–not once. Till had noticed that about him from the very beginning: the way he didn’t cry out when Till shot him in the stomach, only exhaling sharply before slipping into unconsciousness. It was only when he was drunk that the facade ever cracked, when the pain–physical and otherwise, bled through, baring a kind of unguarded vulnerability Till had rarely seen.

Perhaps those lingering habits from his life as a Guard made adapting to Dewey’s relentless missions easier. He seemed to genuinely enjoy the work, finally using his five years of experience with the PDA for something good. Ivan always looked so accomplished, immensely proud of himself–even after pulling all-nighters and downing cup after cup of coffee just to stay awake long enough to help Vivi get ready for school. Till had grown rather busy himself after ending his break and returning to rebellion work at night, slowly falling back into the rhythm of things. It was a little bleak, though, not being able to work alongside Ivan–each of them paired off with different teams. Still, Till was needed on the night shift, which he apparently excelled at, while Ivan received all the training he needed with the overnight group. Their schedules made home life a bit complicated, but at least someone was always with Vivi, no matter the time of day. In its own way, it worked.

On one of those early mornings, Till awoke to a bang somewhere in the living room. Vivi stirred beside him, startled, and he instinctively ran his fingers through her hair until she stilled again. Once her breathing evened out, he slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her, and crept down the hall. Peeking into the foyer, he found Ivan standing over a toppled shoe rack, staring at it as though betrayed. The sight pulled a snort out of Till before he could stop himself. Ivan’s head whipped toward the sound, his expression caught somewhere between guilt and exhaustion.

“You heard that?” Ivan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before crouching to fix the mess.

“I’m a bit of a light sleeper,” Till justified, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms. “How was work?”

Ivan placed Vivi’s yellow rain boots back onto the rack. “It was okay. We bought back more supplies for replenishment. No Segyein sightings.”

Till stiffened, before exhaling with relief. “That’s good.”

Ivan nodded his head, raising after putting the last pair of shoes back onto the rack. “You should go back to bed. You have to leave by noon for your own shift. It’s the weekend, so I’ll let Vivi sleep in today.”

Till watched him for a moment, Ivan working off his finger gloves, then shrugging out of his black puffer jacket. Beneath it was a long-sleeve turtleneck, his neck wrapped in a thick scarf. The months had slipped past almost unnoticed; summer fading away, autumn wilting with the flowers. Winter was settling in now, and the chill in the air made sure they felt it. Till still found it hard to believe they’d come this far, settling into a comfortable–though hectic–form of life he never imagined possible for himself. Yet the closer their mission drew, the more unease crept into his chest, a constant worry that it would undo everything they’d built together. He wasn’t sure if Ivan felt the same, but every time Dewey mentioned they were nearly ready, Ivan’s expression grew distant–pensive enough to tell Till he did.

Unfolding his arms, Till stepped closer, making Ivan’s eyes widened slightly at the sudden closeness. Till reached up and slipped the hat from his head, and Ivan’s hair fell loose, brushing against his neck, some loose curls coming to frame his face.

“Why do you hide your pain?” The question came softly, Till’s thumb gliding along Ivan’s jaw, fingers slipping into his hair. “Do you think it’ll make you look weak?”

Ivan’s gaze flickered away, his head tilting with a small, hesitant shake. “No. I’ve just… never been allowed to express it. Even before my days as a Guard. It’s not something I’m used to doing.”

“You can tell me when you’re hurting,” Till murmured, his fingers brushing over Ivan’s cheek. “I want to know–so I can help. Whether it’s something that’s on your mind, or something that aches in your body.”

A faint smile tugged at Ivan’s lips as he clasped Till’s hand against his face. “Well,” he said quietly, a hint of playfulness peeking through his exhaustion, “right now, I’m a little upset that I can’t lie down with you guys.”

“Huh?” Till blinked, snorting softly as curiosity cut through his seriousness.

“When I get home,” Ivan continued, rubbing his thumb over Till’s wrist, “some nights, I see Vivi’s decided to sleep in our bed. And I get a little… sad, I guess. That I’m left out. By the time I’m all washed up, you’re both already up for the day. And I have to fall asleep all alone.”

Till drew back, Ivan came to interlock both their hands, and he was cold. He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, stifling it against Ivan’s shirt when he pulled him in, releasing his hands to wrap his arms around his waist. 

“Is that why sometimes you look like a kicked puppy?” Till asked, tilting his head once he managed to calm down. “Because you can’t sleep with us?”

“Well,” Ivan muttered, a pout on his face, “I never get to spend time with you guys because we’re both so busy. It would be nice just to have those couple of hours in the morning together–before you leave for work, or Vivi goes to school.”

Till lightly shook his head, his heart tightening at the revelation. He expected Ivan to say that his neck was hurting, or that he twisted his ankle on a mission and it’d been bothering him. He’d been delighted to give him a massage, to offer a little release to his physical qualms. He didn’t expect Ivan to tell him that he’d been distraught recently over the prospect of not being able to join in on their little family sleepover. Maybe it was because Ivan could handle his physical aches–those were familiar, with clear remedies. But when it came to the ache of missing them, of losing the small comforts he’d only just learned to cherish, he turned to his loved ones to soothe that pain in ways no bandage ever could.

“What time is it?” Till asked.

“Eight,” Ivan said, rolling up his sleeve to check his watch.

Till slipped free from Ivan’s arms, spinning him around by the shoulders. He nudged him out of the foyer, through the living room, and down the hall.

“I have two hours before I need to get ready for work,” Till announced. “Take a shower, and then join us.”

Ivan smiled in understanding and disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water soon filling the hall. Till set a clean change of clothes on the sink before padding back to bed. About thirty minutes later, the door creaked open. The mattress dipped under Ivan’s weight before Till even opened his eyes. He squinted them half open, catching sight of Ivan gently adjusting the blanket around Vivi’s sprawled-out body, pulling her close against his chest. As if recognizing him even in sleep, Vivi nuzzled closer. A lethargic smile tugged at Till’s lips upon seeing the small exchange, warmth unfurling through his chest. He turned onto his side and inched closer, nestling into their soft huddle. Ivan’s arm found its familiar place on his hip, while Vivi used Till’s arm as a makeshift pillow, Ketchup wrapped up in her arms.

Though the sun was already up, telling the world that day had begun, the three of them ignored it–relishing the few quiet hours of rest they could steal before duty came calling.

The children’s embraces were almost suffocating–all of them clinging to him like possums, their arms winding around his torso until he could hardly breathe. Still, he let them hold on for as long as they needed. They were finally setting out for Operation: Anakt, and their farewell hugs–no matter how crushing–always meant the world to him. They were at the gated entrance into the base, waiting on Cariah, Anise, and Dewey to arrive.

“Come back safely, Dad,” Lucas chided, being the first to let go. 

“We’ll be good!” Taehyun promised, as if that would make them return faster, causing Till to chuckle. 

Though the kids eventually let him go, Louie held on, pressing against his pants leg. He looked up at Till with his wide blond eyes, voice tiny as he said, “Do you guys really have to go?”

Till’s lips threatened to wobble as the words left his mouth, frail and shaky. It was already cold enough to make his bones tremble, but Louie’s question sent a different kind of chill down his spine–one the weather couldn’t rival. They’d only be gone a day at most, maybe two if plans took a turn, and would return as soon as they could. Yet Till knew this mission carried heavier implications than any before it; the whole base could feel it. Every pat on the back and every good luck sounded more solemn than usual, grounded in something closer to prayer than encouragement. They had tried to shield most of the details from the children, but the kids were sharp, too intuitive for their own good–but that wasn’t their fault. They understood, at least in part, what this particular mission could cost. The five of them knew what Anakt Garden was; how heavily guarded, how impossible it would be to get in and out unscathed. They understood more than they let on. But Till didn’t want them to worry, or to be afraid. That was the whole reason he joined the Rebellion in the first place–so that kids like them could grow up free, unburdened by the fears he’d carried since childhood.

Ivan came into Till’s peripheral vision, kneeling down in front of Louie. He took his mittened hands into his, giving the little boy a soft smile.

“When we get back,” Ivan said, “we’ll go to the beach to comb for crabs.”

 “But it’s so cold!” Louie grinned, jumping on the balls of his boots. “Will there be crabs?”

“We’ll only know if we try,” Ivan reasoned. “What do you think?”

Louie nodded, pleased with the suggestion. “Come back quickly, okay?”

Ivan smiled softly, pulling the boy into a hug that was immediately reciprocated. The rest of the children soon crowded around him, arms wrapping tightly around his middle until they were all tangled together. They stayed that way for a long moment before reluctantly breaking apart when Luka called them back. Youngwoo was fast asleep across his shoulder, blissfully unaware of the tension hanging over the group. Slowly, Luka stepped forward, shifting from Ivan to Till with his eyes, letting out a sigh that lifted a cloud of air into the sky.

“I know my request was a lot to ask, especially so late into the mission,” Luka said, immediately garnering headshakes from the both of them. 

“No,” Till said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Not at all.”

“I don’t deserve to be the one to lay Hyunwoo to rest,” Luka muttered, eyes downcast before lifting them again. “But someone has to. He deserves to be with his sister.”

“We’ll bring him back, too,” Ivan promised.

“Stay safe, you guys,” Luka's expression was grim as he said it. “Text me the moment you can.”

“We will,” Till replied, gasping out when someone collided with his body. He stared down, eyes meeting the top of pink hair.

“I know your friend is important to you guys,” Vivi’s voice was muffled in his clothes. “But you’re important to me, too.”

Till really wished these kids would stop trying to make him cry. He crouched down to her height and adjusted her earmuffs, his fingers lingering for a moment. Her eyes were earnest, filled with a sadness that ached straight through him. It was a little easier for her siblings to say goodbye; they didn’t spend every waking moment at his side like she did. But for Vivi, being without him–even for a short while–was always difficult. He hated leaving her, hated being the reason for the worry shadowing her face. Ever since he’d found the five of them, he’d made it his highest priority to always come back to them, no matter what it took.

“I love you,” Till said, giving her shoulders a firm squeeze.

“I love you, too,” Vivi gave back quickly, her eyes drifting up to Ivan. “I love you, Mister Ivan.”

Ivan froze, taken aback by Vivi’s revelation. She had never told him that before–perhaps because of what was at stake this time, she finally felt it was right to share it now.

“...I–”

“Are you guys ready to head out?” Anise piped up from behind them, causing them all to turn around to find her and Cariah headed towards them. “Dewey should be coming by with the van soon.”

“Readier than we’ll ever be,” Till assured, clenching his fist at his sides.

 Vivi had already run back to Luka, her hand clasped around Suella’s as the group watched from a distance. Till caught the faint downturn of Ivan’s lips–he hadn’t been able to return Vivi’s sentiment, and the regret festered in him. But their chance for goodbyes had passed. Dewey’s van rumbled down the path, headlights cutting through the night as Cariah and Anise moved to pull the gate doors apart. The vehicle rolled to a stop in front of them, the low hum of the engine filling the silence before Dewey pressed a button and the backseat doors slid open with a click.

“Bye!” the children and Luka shouted, their voices overlapping in a cheerful chorus as they waved wildly. 

Till returned the gesture with a soft smile before climbing into the car, Ivan right behind him. Anise claimed the passenger seat, while Cariah slid in beside them in the back. Till noticed how Ivan’s gaze stayed fixed on the window, even after the doors shut, even as the figures outside shrank into tiny, wavering dots. He didn’t look away–not when the gates swung closed, and not when the world beyond the glass became nothing but motion and distance. Slowly, Till reached over and took Ivan’s hand in his own. Only then did Ivan turn forward, his grip tightening against his, a sigh escaping his lips. They couldn’t look back anymore–but only hope they’d be able to make due of their promises.

They reached Anakt Garden close to midnight after a six-hour drive–past the city limits and deep into the government’s hidden strongholds, where the Segyein carried out their darkest work. The facility was tucked away from civilization, its isolation serving both security and secrecy, making escape impossible for anyone–but only nearly, given that Till and Ivan had found ways around their security when they attempted to escape together. During the first stretch of the journey, the group reviewed their plan in detail, mentally checking through every piece of gear, every potential contingency, and making certain they were fully prepared before crossing into enemy territory. 

Dewey parked the van about a mile from the facility, and they all climbed out into the frigid night. Till turned, his pulse quickening at the sight of a building he hadn’t laid eyes on in years. Even from this distance, he could make out the dome-like silhouette of Anakt Garden, the faint glow of lights spilling from the top floor–the Guard Station. Below it lay the dormitories, where they had once lived. Where no one ever saw the sun, or felt the wind, or noticed the changing of the seasons like he could now. The cold bit at his face, and he tugged his turtleneck higher over his chin, though it did little to stop the chill. Then Ivan’s hand found his arm, turning him gently before he pulled Till’s hood free from where it was caught beneath his backpack and drew it over his head. Till smiled faintly at the gesture, Ivan must’ve noticed him trembling–but even Till couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or the nerves twisting in his chest. Still, he appreciated the warmth of it, threading Ivan’s gloved fingers between his own. This would be their last peaceful moment before things got real. Till could only hope that by the time the sun rose, they’d have Sua’s and Hyunwoo’s ashes in tow, on their way back to the base. 

“So this is where you two grew up,” Cariah sighed, planting his hands on his hips. Behind him, Dewey and Anise were busy unloading gear from the van’s trunk. “Looks… depressing.”

Till laughed, shaking his head lightly. “Believe it or not, it’s bursting with color on the inside. But somehow, that just makes it worse the longer you live there.”

“We won’t be going anywhere near the residential areas,” Ivan said, quieting them both, his dark eyes wandering back to the building in the distance. “We’re headed for the top. That’s where the cemetery is.”

Till and Cariah exchanged a look, their expressions grim. The longer Ivan lived at the base, the more human he’d become–it was easy to forget he had once been a Guard. All the intelligence he could offer for this mission couldn’t compare to the depth of his firsthand knowledge, gathered from years they couldn’t account for. Even now, Ivan looked conflicted, his gaze fixed on Anakt Garden as if calculating something only he could see. There were so many places in that building Till knew nothing about–things Ivan would rather forget. 

“Right,” Cariah mumbled, winding his scarf tighter around his neck, his breath puffing into clouds. “Gods, I wish I had some hot cider right now–I’m freezing.”

“Lucky for you,” Anise called, reappearing from the trunk with Dewey, “we’re headed inside. It should be nice and warm in there.” She cocked her head at Ivan. “Do Guards even get cold?”

Dewey dragged an electric scooter over to them, handing Ivan the key. Ivan thumbed with it for a second, then brought the scooter to life. It lifted off the ground just a fraction, hovering where they stood. Ivan jumped on first, and when Till extended his arm, Ivan reached back and pulled him up behind him. Till wrapped an arm around his waist, finding comfort in the soft insulation of his puffer jacket. Dewey and Cariah shared the second scooter, while Anise claimed the last one for herself.

“Guards don’t feel anything.” Ivan said at last. The words reverberated, leaving them all silence in its confessions. The scooters moved forward, carrying them down the road, focused on the mission ahead as they closed in on Anakt Garden. 

They made it to the building, prepared for it to be surrounded by a barbed wire fence and Guards posted in front of the entrance where cargo, Seyein, and fellow Guards came and went. They quickly steered out of sight, avoiding the lighted security cameras as they came to a stop on the side of the barbed wire fence. Anise hopped down from her scooter, slinging her backpack off her shoulders and unzipped it.

 “Alright,” she whispered, crouching down. “This is the best blind spot we’ll get, and the cameras don’t seem to overlap here. Just–watch out for me.”

She pulled out a compact toolkit and began assembling a small cutting device. She had always been very crafty, especially when it came to making concerningly sharp objects. Cariah kneeled beside her, using gloved hands to hold the gate still so that she could clamp the makeshift cutters down into the wire. She snipped upward, the gate made a clinking sound the further she went, cutting in a circular shape big enough for them and their scooters. 

Dewey dipped his head, watching her. “No movement yet, but make it quick. They could rotate any second now.”

“Alright, alright,” Anise muttered, jerking her head, snipping faster.

Till shifted uneasily, glancing up at the looming structure of Anakt Garden. The closer they were to being inside, the more imposing it felt. The metallic dome glinting faintly under all the overhead lights, a relic of something inhumanly devoid and cold. Within seconds, Anise snipped through the last wire, Cariah pried the opening apart just enough for them to slip through. 

“Go,” she hissed, motioning them forward, climbing back onto her scooter.

Ivan zoomed through the forced entrance first, Till’s heart pounding as the metal brushed against his jacket. Once they were all on the other side, they hid their scooters and formed a huddle. Dewey tapped on his wristwatch, and a faint holographic map flickered to life before them–small, but clear enough to make out the routes he’d charted from Ivan’s recollections. The map displayed two highlighted paths: one leading to the control room, the other to the cemetery.

“Once we reach this floor, we’ll split,” Dewey instructed, pointing to each route in turn. “Cariah and I will handle the control room. Ivan, Till, and Anise–you guys head to the cemetery.”

Till gave a small nod, already familiar with the arrangement after countless revisions of the plan. Cariah was one of the Rebellion's best technical experts as he was very intelligent when it came to computer engineering and coding. He made hacked access keys when infiltrating Segyein operated buildings, such as the ones they used to get into Alien Stage. But Cariah’s combat skills were lacking, which was why Dewey would be accompanying him as protection. That left Till, Ivan, and Anise to reach the cemetery. Ivan would take the lead, his knowledge of patrol schedules and Guard behavior made him invaluable for keeping them out of sight.

Till’s hand strayed towards his ear, finger brushing up against the ear piece within it. He just had to press the button on its center to reach any of the four of them, and that reassured him greatly. Dewey would tell them when they’d reach the control room in order to open the cemetery door for them. They just had to get to their areas without complication or bringing unwarranted attention for themselves. They decided to infiltrate at midnight due to how security lessened by double the amount it was during the day. 

“Communicate if anything happens,” Dewey reminded them, tapping his own ear piece. Once he got nods in confirmation from all four of them, he twisted to look at Cariah. “Alright. Your call.”

Cariah stepped in front of the group, and they followed him towards one of the shadowed entrance doors off to the side of the building. Ivan said that those were the least used for general access at night due to lack of people going in and out. They grouped up around Cariah, watching him sift through one of the small pockets of his messenger bag, grumbling to himself slightly as he stared at the lit up key pad. 

“What’s wrong?” Anise asked when he kept fumbling.

Cariah groaned under his breath, pushing a twist from his face. “I only have two access keys. I must’ve forgotten the third when I was packing up.”

“Cariah,” Dewey said flatly, dragging a hand down his face. “You had one job.”

“I know,” Cariah hissed, exasperated.

“So what’s the problem?” Anise asked, her tone brisk. “We’ll just reuse one.”

He shook his head. “Not possible. Each key’s coded for a single entry. Reusing it would ping the system with the same ID twice–it’d flag us in seconds.”

Till lifted his hand slightly, frowning. “We have to get inside. So that leaves only one.”

Cariah stared at the ground, clearly avoiding Dewey’s glare.

“Use the second one on the control room,” Ivan said from behind them, making everyone turn. “We’ll get into the cemetery another way.”

Dewey’s brow furrowed. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

Ivan didn’t answer. His gaze lingered on the keypad, unreadable. Till recognized that look; it wasn’t uncertainty, but calculation. Whatever Ivan was thinking, it was risky.

Dewey blew out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. We can’t keep standing here.”

Cariah pulled an access key from his bag and pressed it against the keypad. The touchscreen blinked to life, a small loading circle spinning endlessly as the chip was verified. The seconds stretched thin, each one heavier than the last–then, finally, the light flashed green. With a click, the lock disengaged and the door began to rise. Cariah gave a smug smile and ducked inside first; Dewey followed, then Anise, Till slid through behind Ivan. 

Ivan took the lead, and Till could see his eyes sweeping the map etched into his memory. He pointed down the narrow, sterile-white hall, corridor branching off to the left.The group followed close behind, hugging the cold metallic walls, their footsteps unnervingly loud against the quiet.The hall ended abruptly at a dead end–save for an elevator, its panel softly glowing; their gateway upward. 

“Hide your faces,” Dewey instructed them, and they moved in sync–holding their heads down once Ivan reached forward. 

Ivan pressed the up arrow, the button lighting up, the camera above them flickering to life with a sequence of flashes. They kept their heads down as the camera snapped its photos, and after a few seconds, the doors slid open with a chime. They slipped inside, and Ivan pressed the floors 18 and 20. The doors sealed shut with a slow mechanical sigh, and the elevator began its ascent through Anakt Garden.

“Cariah and Dewey will get off on floor eighteen,” Ivan said. “We’ll get off at twenty. We’ll let you know when we need to get out of the cemetery."

Dewey nodded in agreement. “Alert us if anything happens, and we’ll do the same.”

Till opened his mouth to say something–to ask about Ivan’s plan for getting into the cemetery–but the elevator jolted to a stop before he could speak. The motion rocked them slightly, and Cariah brushed past him with a reassuring squeeze to his shoulder, flashing a thumbs-up before stepping out. Dewey followed close behind. Anise, Ivan, and him watched them walk away until the doors slid shut again, engulfing them in a stilled quiet. Till’s stomach felt heavy then, but he knew they could handle themselves. He had to focus on their prerogative now. Ivan slipped his hand into Till's, giving it a firm squeeze. Till looked up at him, but he wasn’t smiling, though his eyes were soft. It made his stomach feel weird, forcing his eyes down to his shoes as sweat began to bead at forehead. When he glanced at Anise, she was already readying herself, gun drawn from the waistband of her pants, tucked neatly beneath her sleeve, her focus fixed on the elevator doors. Till’s heart picked up once the door chimed open once more, forcing them to step out.

It was eerily quiet on the first floor–so silent they could hear the faint hum of the vents as air pushed through the metal pipes running along the walls. Ivan had since let go of Till’s hand, and Anise’s shoulder brushed lightly against his as they moved down the corridor.

“Do they not care to survey the higher floors?” Anise asked, though the question was light, it didn’t settle Till much.

“Because it’s late,” Ivan answered. “They’ll have Guards stationed at the priority levels–the residential wings, the control room, and the lowermost floor. The cemetery isn’t monitored heavily, especially not at this hour.”

Till stared up at him, but Ivan was unreadable. Till felt uneasy just being here, so many memories coming to his mind at once from their unfulfilled, painful childhood of living within the dome’s walls. But Till was able to leave this place behind once the Rebellion saved him. For Ivan, there was no telling how many times he had to return here to patrol, return runaways, or dig up graves. Ivan’s hurt must’ve ran deep, deep enough that the coldness in his demeanor emitted from him. He was worried about Ivan’s mental state, yet here the man was, trying to comfort him. 

“I guess that’s good for us,” Anise reasoned. 

Suddenly, Ivan threw an arm out, stopping Till and Anise in their tracks. They blinked at him in confusion until they followed his gaze. Two Guards stood stationed at the entrance to the cemetery. Of course they did.

“We need a distraction,” Anise murmured. They pressed flat against the wall, edging back until they slipped into the cover of a corner. Till swung his backpack off his shoulders and crouched, unzipping one of the compartments. He rummaged through it quickly before pulling out a smoke grenade.

“We’ll use this,” Till said, slinging the bag back on and rising to his feet.

Ivan and Anise stepped aside, giving him room as he leaned out just far enough to scan the corridor. His eyes darted over the sterile white hall before settling on the direction they’d come from. After a few tense seconds of thought, Till yanked the pin free. The metal clinked harshly as he dashed out, hurled the grenade toward the elevator, and ducked back behind the corner.

 For a beat nothing happened–then a pale, white cloud of smoke hissed out of the canister, unfurling down into the corridor, until it was a big puff of mist. 

“Smoke!” One of the Guards barked, getting the attention of the other Guard. They scrambled into position, and sprinted toward the source. Footsteps pounded suddenly down the hall, and pass their hiding spot. 

“Now,” Ivan snapped, but urgent. He pushed Anise forward, and the woman took off down the hall. Not a second later, Ivan and Till hauled after her, rushing towards the locked cemetery door. 

“Ivan,” Anise huffed out, the cloud from the grenade was so thick they couldn’t see through it, and it was steadily coming towards them. Till was sure he heard the elevator chime, which meant the Guards weren’t on this floor anymore, but that could mean they went to get reinforcements. “How are we going to get in?”

Ivan bit his lip, clenching his fist, Till studying him anxiously. Ivan stepped forward to the door and began tapping at the keypad, fingers moving so fast they were almost a blur. The terminal processed the input–the loading circle spun, then the screen washed green. The lock released just like that and the door opened, admitting them access. Quickly, they ran into the room, Ivan locking it behind them somehow. Till barely had time to catch his breath, and yet it still got knocked out of him from the sight before them.

If he’d thought the outside was cold, the inside of the cemetery was freezing. His shoes crunched softly against the grass, too green, and perfect to be artificial. When he lifted his gaze, a large picture window engulfed the roof, displaying the night sky stretched above them, along with twinkling white, speckled stars. He hadn’t really known what to expect from this place, but his first thought was that it was–

“Creepy,” Anise exhaled, and her eyes wide. Her skin grew pale, the rising temperature getting to her. 

Till nodded absently in agreement, just beginning to take in all of the graves. They were in rows, adorning the same oval shaped headstones–as if stripping their lost souls of identity until the very end. As the group shuffled closer, Till could see that names were engraved in the stone–the names of whom the graves belong to. Back on the base, everyone's grave was different, each one distinct, cared for with love, with their stories carved into stone so no one would forget. Till had never thought of cemeteries as frightening before; they’d always been places of memory, and peaceful. But here, surrounded by perfect symmetry and  unjust souls, he finally understood what Anise meant.

Ivan didn’t take the time to look around with them, and Till noticed how he was becoming more detached by the second.

“They're in alphabetical order,” Ivan advised, walking ahead of them and between the rows of graves. “I’ll go get Hyunwoo. You two look for Sua.”

“What if they share a name with someone else here?” Anise asked.

Ivan turned to look over his shoulder. “They won’t.” He left them at the room’s entrance.

Anise stared after him, confused, only relaxing when Till patted her shoulder, nodding his head for her to follow him. They went down the row of graves, searching for Sua’s name once they came across the ‘S’s’. He tried not to react when he passed Marty’s name etched into the stone–gaze jerking away before the recognition could settle.

“Hey,” Anise called behind him.

Till blinked, realizing he’d drifted off somewhere between thought and memory. He turned to see her standing before one of the stones, finger trembling slightly as she pointed down at the engraving; three simple letters that hit harder than he expected it to.

SUA.

“That’s her,” Till said, and it felt strange to say. 

They both dropped to their knees before the grave, pulling the small digging tools from their bags and began to work. The soil was hard to break through, packed tight by time. Till’s breaths came quicker, fighting against the cold, his gloves slick with dirt as he pushed further, desperate to break even. Then, he saw it. Something metallic gleamed beneath the earth, his breathing grew harder. He tossed his gloves, put the shovel aside, and started digging with his bare hands now–the fingers freezing with each clump of earth he threw behind him. The more he clawed through the soil, the clearer it became; flat, circular, and cold to the touch. When he finally pulled it free, Till sat back on his heels, cradling the small, disk-shaped capsule in his dirt-streaked palms.

This was it, the last remnant of Sua. 

“That’s,” Anise started carefully, “all of her?”

“Most of it,” Till replied, delicately sweeping off the leftover dirt from the capsule. Anise gave him a strange look, but didn’t indulge further. 

We’re in the control room.

Dewey’s voice crackled in Till’s ear, Anise pressing her finger against her own ear piece. 

“Okay,” Anise answered, tapping her own. “We should be leaving soon.”

“I got Hyunwoo’s capsule,” Ivan walked over to him. From his hands to his elbows were caked in dirt, as if he couldn’t be bothered with their pitiful digging tools. “Let’s get out of here.”

Till nodded, reaching up to relay the message back to Dewey and Cariah–but suddenly the cemetery door began to open. Slowly, the three of them turned towards it. Every atom in Till’s body screamed at him, but he could do nothing but watch the door shut behind the guard as he stared right at them. Till barely registered when Ivan thrust Hyunwoo’s capsule into his chest, running straight for the door. Anise whipped her gun out, following him. 

The Guard acted quickly, manoeuvring around the shots Anise rang into the air. Anise shot out more, distracting him–only just noticing Ivan when the man emerged from the dark. The guard’s eyes widened just before he went for his weapon. Ivan acted fast, lunging forward, just as the guard whipped out his gun, pulling its trigger. The shot was amiss, ricocheting off a headstone instead, splitting the gravel apart. Ivan reached for the arm holding the gun as he slammed into the guard, both of them crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs and strangled noise. With his elbow, Ivan managed to knock the gun out of his hand, causing it to slide across the grass and out of reach. When he had the guard pinned down, Ivan yanked his helmet off, tossing it in the grass.

Till had run back up the hill, clutching the capsules to his chest, just in time to see Ivan land a punch across the man’s face. The guard grunted, attempting to retaliate with frail hits across the sides, Ivan caught the man’s arm and twisted hard. The guard screamed, thrashing uselessly as Ivan’s hand clamped around his throat. A few strangled breaths escaped him, and Till could only stare, astonished, as Ivan bit his lip, eyes strained with focus, holding on until life drained from the man’s face. He stayed like that for a beat too long before finally releasing him, sucking in the cold air. This wasn’t the first time Till had seen Ivan kill a guard–he’d done his share of it too–but he could never shake the feeling it gave him. There was something so… ruthless about it, a mechanical action that embedded itself within him, unrelenting in its grasps until the act was done. The light in his eyes would leave, clouded in the moment. Till recalled their squabble at the plane crash site, and how death felt so near, desperate to overcome their scuffle because Ivan wouldn’t stop unless he made him. Death was always the finality for Ivan; unrelenting, programmed, and impossible to shut off.

Slowly, Till inched closer, peering over Ivan’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Ivan flexed his fingers, Till’s eyes boring into the splatter of blood across his knuckle. “I’m fine,” he gave plainly, finally getting off of the man. “We need to get out of here. Where’s Anise?”

“I’m right here,” Anise said, cocking her gun.

Ivan sighed, reaching forward to drag the helmet along the grass, then upwards with him when Till offered his hand. Ivan closed his eyes, putting on the helmet, they could hear its definite click in place, the singular light beam turning on. Till shrugged off his backpack, fixing to put the capsules inside of it. The lights inside of the cemetery flicked on, nearly blinding him from how bright they were. He shielded his eyes, groaning. 

“What’s going on?” Anise hissed, cursing under her breath.

Till exhaled a shaky breath, spinning around to take in their surroundings, his eyes settling on a window in front of them, passing all the graves. They couldn’t see it in the dark, nor the door on the edge of the wall. 

“Guard seven-xero-eight-nine,” A voice blared the speakers on the wall–monotonic, dosing over them like freezing cold water. “We never accounted for the idea you’d come back to us.”

The door on the wall split open, and Till’s never seen so many Guards in his life, spilling all from that one hatch in quick succession. 

“Guard seven-zero-eight-nine?” Anise repeated, whipping her head towards Ivan. “Is that you? How do they know that?”

Till froze in place, raking a hand through his hair. “Ivan,” he breathed out, backing up from the crowd coming their way.  

“We needed to get in,” Ivan insisted. “I used my ID to access the room. But I assumed we’d be out before the system flagged it.”

“You’re really brave,” came the voice again, calm. “Infiltrating like this. Under other circumstances, you would have been initiated a reset. Your loyalty to the Segyein wouldn’t even be in question.”

The Guard’s divided, making room for the mysterious person. It was a man, adorning a different kind of Guard uniform Till had never seen before. It was made of sleek metal, all black from the neck down. The helmet on his head was transparent, and they could see the tired eyes of a middle-aged man. This must be what a commanding officer looks like. Till recalled the similarities of his voice, gasping in realisation that this was the same person from the Guard Station. 

“The only outcome for your friends,” he said, finality in his tone, “is termination.”

Ivan stepped forward, making Till hastily reach for him–panicked that he was going towards that large group alone. He managed to grab his wrist just as Ivan stopped mid-walk. His body jerked, his free arm whipping to cradle his head, but it was encased in the helmet.

“Ivan?” Till called out his name, voice shaking. 

Ivan let out a low groan, his body whipping away from him, but Till held on tight. Ivan staggered backwards, struggling to stay on his feet as he swayed. He looked like he was in so much pain, his cries of discomfort muffled by the headgear. The commander grinned in turn, tilting his head as Ivan writhed. 

“It’s the helmet!” Anise hissed, stomping forward. “Take it off!”

“I knew you’d try that trick again,” the man said, arms folded behind his back. “So I used Guard eight-eight-one-two as a ploy–just in case you’d try to impersonate him. And you did.”

Till and Anise ignored him, the woman pulling on the helmet but it wouldn’t budge, no matter what she did. Suddenly, Ivan straightened up, and pushed her back, hard, and she went tumbling into the grass. 

“Anise!” Till cried, but he barely had time to react when Ivan swung at him. He ducked just in time, but he kept his grip firm on his wrist. Ivan pulled Till closer, and his knee made contact with his stomach–knocking the air out of him. Till gasped out, coughing up spit, managing to keep his boots planted on solid ground. He quickly recovered despite the pain, dodging Ivan’s elbow targeting his back as he slumped forward. 

“Ivan,” Till panted out, forced to let go when the man shook him off. “Ivan, please–”

“Guard seven-zero-eight-nine,” the commander raised his voice. “Terminate the rebels.”

Ivan moved fast, actions merciless, and Till barely had time to brace before Ivan’s fists collided into him, the impact bursting up his arm. Till ducked, weaved, tried to sidestep, but every dodge left him open somewhere else. He was too careful, unwilling to hit back with full force. 

Guard 7089 didn’t share that sentiment.

Till blocked what he could, arms burning from the effort, but Ivan’s strength broke through again and again. A punch caught Till’s jaw, and stars burst behind his eyes. He stumbled back, clutching his side after Ivan’s knee drove into his ribs. The air rushed out of him in cascades, all he could taste was dirt and blood. He couldn’t stop the cry that tore from his throat as he doubled over in pain. Till clenched his fist, his shoes digging into the dirt, panting tiredly, he failed to move out of the way fast enough–Ivan kicked him down. He fell into the grass from the impact, pain blossomed all over him as rolled onto his back with haggard wheezes. 

This fight wouldn’t be so hard if he was giving his all, but he simply couldn’t. Hands that were always so tender, and gentle with him–now slamming down on him, leaving his skin bruised and raw. He loved the man under the headgear, and though Ivan couldn’t see him for him under the manipulation, Till still couldn’t hurt him. Till laid on his side, sputtering up coughs, Anise’s collapsed body was within his vision. They tried to tag team Ivan, but Till was just holding her back, causing Anise to falter as well when he wouldn’t attack, giving Ivan ample time to send them both crashing with little effort. 

Till’s eyes rolled up, finding the commander looming over him–his gaze flat and lifeless, yet not like Ivan’s once had been. There was something unhinged there, a glint of pleasure behind the shallowness. He turned toward Ivan without breaking eye contact.

“Do as I command, Guard seven-zero-eight-nine,” he said coldly. “Finish him.”

Till struggled to keep his eyes open. Ivan’s boots filled his vision as he stopped before him, unmoving. Weakly, Till reached out, his trembling fingers wrapping around Ivan’s ankle, waiting–expecting to be kicked aside. But Ivan didn’t push him away. Instead, the beam from his helmet’s visor fixed on Till, flickering faintly. Then, a growl escaped Ivan’s throat, and his body began to tremble. He twisted his body sharply, his hands clawing at the helmet. The noises grew louder, desperate, as his breaths turned to ragged groans that rose into strangled screams, prying at the clasp.

“Dewey,” Ivan strained out, falling to his knees. Anise dragged herself up, holding her stomach, stunned. “Open. The. Door.”

Ivan? What’s wrong?

Dewey’s voice came to life in Till’s ear. He raised his head slightly, shock washing over him. Somehow, Ivan was able to connect his helmet comms to the ear piece. The commander stopped smiling. 

“Do as I said,” the commander stressed, but Ivan, though difficult, ignored him.

“Just do it!” Ivan screamed, desperate. “Anise, get him out of here!”

I’m opening the door. Cariah’s hacking into the cemetery cameras. Doors will close in thirty seconds regardless. I’m on my way.

Anise ran over to Till, pulling his beaten body up from the ground. The Guards started to move towards them–until the commander held out his hand, stopping them. 

“We apprehended the rogue weapon,” he said. “Let them go.”

“No,” Till whispered. “No!” He said again, louder–pushing against Anise as she dragged him backwards, towards the entrance. “I can’t. I can’t!”

Ivan kept struggling on the ground, his breaths deep and panicked, still trying to yank the headgear off. 

“Ivan,” Till cried out. “Ivan!”

“We have to go, Till,” Anise said. She tried to be soft, but the more he fought against her, the less patient she became with him. 

“I can’t lose you again!” Till screamed. 

“Till, please. Go,” Ivan said, raising his head from off the ground. Till wished, desperately, that he could see his face. “I’ll be okay.”

The door’s closing in 20 seconds, guys. 

It was Cariah; his voice rushed, distracted by something else. That only made Anise pull harder, shoving Till ahead of her. His legs stumbled up the grass,weaving between gravestones. He wobbled, disoriented as cries pulled up his chest in heaves, vision so blurry he could hardly see. Still, he forced himself to go faster, the door starting to slowly close from the distance. His mind was too flooded to focus on where his feet landed, and he lost his balance, falling. One of his backpack straps snapped, jerking the bag from his shoulder. Sua and Hyunwoo’s capsules slid out, and away from him. 

“Shit!” Till shouted.

Ten seconds. Till, get up!

Cariah must’ve hacked into the cameras by now, watching him crawl on his knees as panic overtook him. He couldn’t distinguish them because they clattered onto their backsides, effectively hiding the labels. Pain pulsed through every inch of him, his body too spent to move the way he needed it to. It felt wrong–monstrous, as his mind yelled at him to determine which one had more value, that he could use a couple of seconds to at least determine that. It was selfish, and unrealistic, even as the exit closed more and more. With a choked cry, Till lunged forward and grabbed the closest capsule. He kicked off the dirt, running as fast as he could. He dove, Anise right behind him, sliding under the narrowing gap–Till’s back collided hard with the wall.

The door sealed shut, the sound of it rattled through Till’s bones. Ivan was still inside.

Ivan–back in the Segyein clutches. He stared at the metal barrier, numb, unable to comprehend the finality of it. His mind struggled to catch up to the moment, to understand that in the span of an hour, seven months had crumbled into dust. Seven months of growing, of learning, of living without fear. Seven months of laughter, of joys–of love. All of it; locked away behind that door. Till’s fingers pressed into the cold capsule, drawing his attention back towards it. His hands shook as he fumbled with it, tentatively turning it onto its side to read the label. 

Hyunwoo.

Sobs escaped him before he could even open his mouth, his shoulders trembling violently as he folded in on himself. Despair rocked his frame, his heart tearing apart within him. Till clutched the capsule to his chest, his fingers digging into its engravement, searching for comfort in a stranger. He kneeled until his head touched the cold, metal floor.

“I’m sorry,” Till choked out, the words dissolving into mush. “Sua. Ivan. I’m so sorry.”

Dewey had arrived, somberly watching Till break down. But he ignored his presence, and Anise’s, caught up in a world wind of emotions that might actually succeed in killing him. 

Mizi. Ivan. Sua. Gone. And he was all alone. Again. 

Chapter Text

Hearing Till cry out and plead for him had to be the cruelest thing Ivan had ever been subjected to. It was like a spear stabbed through his heart, leaving him feverish, bleeding out, and dying. The pain he inflicted when his involuntary punches and kicks connected with parts of Till’s or Anise’s body hurt more than any injury he ever received. He already loathed himself, and the acts he committed under the helmet’s control made that insecurity intensify. He never wanted to hurt Till again–not mentally, physically, or agonizingly, Ivan’s presence no longer in his life, after nearly a decade of having to suffer without him because Till thought he was dead. That knowledge alone scorched through his veins more ruthlessly than the shocks the helmet was driving into his skull. Each electrical jolt tore down his spine, rattling bone, seizing muscle, warping his vision… but none of it compared to the agony of hearing Till’s fear of losing him again.

 That commander stood over him all the while, sending such convulsions through Ivan in his own headgear, sucking his teeth at Ivan’s pathetic writhing, rejecting the hushed commands, his brain wanted to listen, yet his body fought. 

“Why don’t you cease this foolishness?” The man asked him, dissatisfied with his actions. “It would be better for you if you just listened. That's how you found yourself here, right?”

Ivan didn’t answer, his fingernails dug into the grass beneath him–it was like pulling teeth just to hear himself think, focusing on the dirt getting underneath them. At least he took back control of his body. It took everything in him to tether himself, to remember the person he had become in the seventh months he’d been freed from Segyein control. Ivan blew out a breath, another–then another, grounding his mental, attempting to calm down. He could do nothing in this state, not while the headgear screamed commands into his skull. It was a miracle he’d even managed to connect the helmet to Till’s earpiece at all, inputting the serial code into the wireless channels usually reserved for walkies or command directives; the very system the Commander was now using to control him. 

“Do you want to know how you were found out?” The Commander asked, kneeling down next to his keeled over body. “The Segyein sent out a team to preserve what could be salvaged from the crash. And guess what they found underneath the cargo hold?”

Ivan focused on breathing, the pain more manageable–the pounding in his head subsiding. 

“Don’t wish to guess?” Came the stiff, almost amused remark. “Very well. It was your headgear.”

“You…” Ivan huffed out, exhausted. The only reason he was still conscious was due to being trained for such stenenous torture. “You’re the Commander from Guard Station.”

“That’s right.” The man’s tone carried a cruel sort of pride. “They found every weapon that died in the crash. Every one–except you. When you left the Station, I found the body of the guard you killed and sent word to flag your ID. I had a hunch you’d somehow crawled back from the dead. After all, who else could manipulate the headgear but a Guard?”

Ivan didn’t know what exactly was happening–whether the Commander’s grip on him was growing weaker through all his monologuing, or Ivan was succeeding at pushing back. The electricity that shocked through his body halted abruptly, and finally, he was able to think clearly. 

“So what?” Ivan spat, irritated. “Are you going to kill me now?”

“Where are your manners?” the Commander snapped. “Has spending time with those rebels taught you to forget your place–to forget respect for higher authority?”

“Respect?” Ivan echoed, and a chuckle escaped him. The sound startled the Commander, making him reel back. Guards weren’t supposed to laugh. They weren’t supposed to feel anything. “Why would I respect someone who upholds a system that suppresses and discriminates against us–”

“Us?” The Commander’s voice cut like a blade. “You dare compare yourself to me?” His words dripped with disgust, each one hotter than the last. “You’re nothing–not a person, not a man. Not human. You are a weapon–and weapons don’t exist without the Segyein…”

Inside the headgear, the red and green lights, almost disorientating in all the information it stored that he now deemed useless, shut down. Leaving him in a calming dark, his entire being relinquished back to him. The Commander must’ve noticed the red beam flicker off. Ivan slowly raised his arm, fingers weakly slipping underneath the headgear, where the clasps resided. With one last exhale, he placed his other hand on top of his head–and pulled. The headgear slipped off easily–no longer controlling him. When it hit the ground with a dull  thud, Ivan realized just how light he suddenly felt. The air was crisp, sterile and staggered, but he gulped it into his lungs all the same, staring up underneath his eyelashes, smirking when he saw the stunned expression on the Commander's face. He just had to calm down enough, and deviate his entirety, and it seemed the result sent the helmet into malfunction, unable to control him any longer. After all, he wasn’t a Guard–so it could no longer have such a hold on him.

“You may smile,” Ivan began. “You may display anger, pride, even pleasure. But those are practiced personifications–imitations of what you think emotion should look like.” 

The Commander could only stare at him in bewilderment, unable to process being talking to that way. Ivan could see the faint reflections of data streams flickering across the man’s visor–desperate attempts to regain control, but whatever he was finding wasn’t helping.

Ivan pressed his hand against his chest. “I have emotions. A concept someone like you pretends to know, but could never begin to understand.” His conviction didn’t waver, not one bit. “I’m more human than you’ll ever be, no matter what lies the Segyein fed you to make you feel superior. In the end, we’re all their toys–but I refuse to be one any longer.”

That statement, filled with reckless venom, was what made the Commander snap. Made everything too real–too true. His teeth gritted, and the anger narrowed his brows. Suddenly, he lunged at Ivan. Ivan barely saw the movement–only the blur of armor before the man’s full weight crashed into him, metal slamming into his ribs. Pain burst through his chest, hot and breath-stealing. He hissed, his fingers locking around the man’s forearms as the Commander’s hands sought for his throat.

“You think you have a choice?” The Commander yelled, throwing a punch at Ivan’s face. The pain of it blossomed through his cheek, but he only spat out the blood, and smiled with reddened teeth. The Commander’s frown couldn’t get deeper if it wanted to.  “The Segyein want you back because Unsha wasted every last resource on you–only for you to amount to nothing in the entertainment industry. They pitied him, since he’s such a generous donor to the PDA, and his pet went and sacrificed himself from some–some flimsy emotion. Don’t you get it? You were a charity case, Ivan.” Ivan startled at the usage of his name, as if the Commander was crumbling within his own right. “They saved your sorry life for nothing, and you repay that mercy by betraying them. And that’s really unfortunate, because you were a better Guard than you ever were an Idol–and somehow, you managed to fail at both.” The commander leaned in, eyes narrowing. “If I could terminate you, I would have already. I let your so-called friends go, thinking you’d fall back in line. But you’re too far gone.”

“I am not far gone,” Ivan growled, forcing the words past the weight crushing his abdomen. “I am not malfunctioning, and I am not faulty. I am me.”

“You are broken!” The Commander bellowed. Ivan went still beneath him, his breath catching in his throat. “You’ve lost every ounce of guidance, every lesson hammered–” He jabbed a finger against Ivan’s temple, jerking his head sideways with the blow. “--hammered into that hopeless brain of yours. Years of training–wasted! And for what?!”

“I have learned what is right!” Ivan countered, his stubborn ferocity tearing through. “I learned what it means to care for others–what it means to see people as more than pets, to understand their pain, and their place in this dystopian world! I can never atone for what I’ve done under the Segyein command, but I–” Luka’s words rang in Ivan's head, said through earnest, desperate lips–understanding what he meant now. “But I can grow. I can love those who love me, because it is the least I can do. For all I’ve done.”

The Commander watched him, wide eyed. Then, an humorless laugh bubbled with the man’s throat. It was prolonged, and calculated–as if everything Ivan had just said had been one big joke. But of course he couldn’t fathom what Ivan meant, because such things as empathy was a foreign concept to him. Watching him now, imitating human emotion without understanding it, Ivan realized how sad it truly was.

“Resetting you would take care of all of that,” The Commander heaved out, as if it were his last resort.

“You,” Ivan clasped his hands over the man’s wrist, feeling his breath slipping away the more he gripped him, “can reset me one-hundered times–no, a thousand. But I will never forget the people who are dear to me.”

“You’re not strong enough to fight the brainwashing,” the man shot back, though his words trembled, his eyes bulging as his  hold pressed harder against Ivan’s windpipe. 

“I may not understand why I hold them so close,” Ivan kept on, reminded of Till’s distressed expression nine years ago as he fell to his demise. How he couldn’t grasp why it was the first thing he saw upon waking up, stripped bare of all its meaning. “Or why their faces haunt my dreams. But I swear, for as long as I live, my only objective going forward will be finding my way back to them. Every. Single. Reset. Rendering me useless to the Segyein.”

The Commander’s grip faltered, his irises quivering as if dazed by Ivan’s confession. For a fleeting moment, the confidence in his gaze wavered, replaced by something dangerously close to doubt. The silence that followed was deafening. Around them, the Guards remained frozen, awaiting an order that would never come. Ivan’s breath came in harsh, uneven bursts, his hands still locked around the Commander’s wrists. He didn’t loosen his grip, his focus was elsewhere, but he stayed anchored on the man’s faltering expression. He could see the thoughts turning behind them, the struggle to make sense of what he’d just heard. Was it a meaningless threat–or a vow? 

Ivan knew the answer didn’t matter. The truth was already written in the assuredness of his voice; he was a man who had already lived through mourning, who had endured nearly a decade haunted by familiar faces, places, and names–yet each remained tethered to emotions he could no longer name. He hadn’t spoken out of defiance, he’d spoken out of grief that he would turn into calculated rage he would always feel, if he felt nothing else.  And somehow, Ivan could tell that made his words far more terrifying.

He had to tell his children how much he loved them, he reminded himself–even if he no longer knew what such an emotion truly felt like. He would tell them–Vivi, Suella, Louie, Taehyun, Lucas, Youngwoo. No matter how long it took.

He would.

The ride back to the base was quiet, depressing, and somber. Empty in a way that made the van feel too crowded for all the grief and nerves inside of it. Till’s forehead rested against the passenger window, the glass vibrating gently with every bump in the road. Dawn had begun to break, washing pinkish-gold over the horizon, the world daring to go with its day. His sniffles filled the silence in small, uneven breaths. Every so often, he dragged his sleeve under his nose, then curled his arm back around the capsule–Hyunwoo’s ashes settled on his lap whilst Sua’s were pressed protectively against his chest. He held her like she was the last warm thing in a world encased in winter.

Outside of the cemetery, during the storm of his breakdown, he barely registered Anise calling his name. He had folded in on himself, shoulders shaking, guilt choking him until he couldn’t see straight. He’d ignored her hand tapping insistently at his shoulder, too lost in the spiral inside of his head. Apparently she decided he had cried enough, grabbing his chin, forcing him to look at her. Though her expression seemed annoyed, there was a hint of sympathy, Anise’s resting face hard to decipher. He never thought of her as someone who welcomed touch, not unless it was Penny, but she cradled his face in her palm nonetheless. Then she pressed something cold and hard into his stomach. He gasped, eyes wide, breath hitching when he looked down.

 Sua. His heart nearly flew out of his chest.

“I was behind you, remember?” Anise murmured, her voice gentle. “I managed to snag it before we had to dive out of the cemetery.”

Till’s thumb brushed over the cool metal of Sua’s capsule; slow, reverent, his hand jittery with leftover adrenaline and grief. His eyes were still swollen and blurry, but relief broke through the haze for one fragile moment. He exhaled shakily, gulping down remnants of a sob.

“Thank you, Anise,” Till whispered, his voice collapsing in on itself. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course,” she said softly, her hand squeezing his shoulder in an attempt at comfort–awkward, but earnest, and somehow it actually helped.

But the brief quiet success of capturing Sua’s ashes couldn’t overshadow the cold dread settling back over them. Because when the three of them looked toward the cemetery’s sealed door, the reality of who hadn’t come running out with them loomed over all their heads. Their relief drained away, replaced by an aching silence. 

Ivan was still inside. As time continued to stretch on, the prospect of him being alive grew slim.

“Do we just let them take him?” Anise asked aloud, turning toward Dewey.

 Her voice was thick, almost desperate–imagining herself in Till’s predicament. She knew how hard it would be to cut his losses here, when the biggest loss would be his friend, his lover–someone he's already lost before. Till knew, logically, what every rebellion member signed up for: danger, sacrifice, missions that could cost them everything. Ivan had stepped into that life willingly the moment he suggested saving Sua. This was no different. It shouldn’t have been different.

But it was.

Dewey didn’t answer, and his eyes stayed fixed to the door, knuckles turning white from how hard he clutched them. And that silence–elongated, and uninterrupted told Till everything. He lowered his head, breath shaky. Of course Dewey wouldn’t treat this any differently. Of course he couldn’t make exceptions, not even for Ivan. Not even for the man Till had mourned once already, and he had finally gotten back. And logically, Till understood.

But his heart…

His heart was shattering all over again.

“We need back up,” Dewey said at last, staring down the door. “But we can’t stay here, Till.” His brown eyes locked onto him. “This place is crawling with Guards, and they know we’re here. We’re outnumbered. Do you get that?” 

Slowly, Till nodded, an automatic gesture–though his heart pounded in protest. Dewey crouched down in front of him, gripping his shoulder tightly, giving it a squeeze. “We’re coming back for him.”

“What if,” Till sniffled, biting his lip to keep from crying, “they move locations?”

Dewey paused, then pressed his earpiece. “Cariah, were you able to get into the tracker?”

Yep. I got a backdoor into Ivan’s headgear when he connected it to Till’s earpiece, so I piggybacked off its GPS chip. We’ll have remote access to his location as long as the headgear stays intact and he stays in the building. But that’s all I can do. 

Till’s heart dropped hearing that. But from the looks of it, it didn’t seem Ivan was taking the headgear off anytime soon. Whether he was going to be relocated… They just had to pray he wasn’t. They had to move–now.

Till pushed himself back onto his feet, clutching the capsules close to him, ensuring he wouldn’t drop them again. “Let’s leave–gather more people, form a plan, and come back.” He twisted around, limping toward the elevator, his bones screaming at him to rest. But he couldn’t. Not with day breaking and time slipping through their fingers the longer they stayed suspended like this. 

“Cariah,” Dewey said, the two of them following him. “We’re leaving. Meet us on the bottom floor. Please stay out of sight.”

They regrouped without issue, retrieving their scooters from the bushes and heading straight back to the van. Till rode with Anise this time, leaving one scooter behind–just in case. Now they were on the road again, speeding toward the base to assemble a team and rebuild the plan from the ground up. Dewey multitasked, driving one-handed and texting rapidly–most likely reaching out to Isaac, asking him to gather as many willing Rebellion members as he could. Till knew that many of them had already said no to the initial mission, so he wasn’t sure if this would be any different. Perhaps, since it was Isaac asking, they would change their minds.

 When they arrived, the base remained silent, but peaceful. Never the wiser to what unfolded mere hours ago. Nothing seemed unusual at first glance, except for the crowd gathered around the bar. Till squinted, recognizing Isaac at the center, speaking with animated urgency. His words slowed as soon as he spotted them approaching. One by one, the crowd turned to look, and the air went stale. Till’s stomach dipped from the guilt. He had already dragged Ivan into danger for something so selfish; his need for closure, for answers, to give peace to someone unaccounted for. And now he was doing it again, putting everyone else at risk for just one person. Except–Ivan wasn’t just one person, not to him. He had already lost Ivan once–to the cruel idea of death–to nine years of grief that carved into his bones. 

He couldn’t bear to lose him again. Not when this time, Ivan’s end wouldn’t be mistaken. This time, it could be real–would be.

Just as Till was about to head inside with the group, Anise put a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing them out of the crowd.

“Till,” Anise said. “You need to go to the infirmary.”

Till shook his head. “No. I’m okay.”

“You’re struggling to walk,” Anise pointed out plainly. “And your face is swelling. Go get that taken care of.”

Till tilted his leg, trying to conceal the wince that escaped him. His fight with Ivan did leave him banged up, but he couldn’t think of attending to own condition when Ivan was in danger. 

“Will you come get me when you’re setting out again?” 

Anise stared at him grimly, and he hated the look on her face–the kind that said her mind was already made up. Her hand slid off his shoulder. Dewey stepped in beside her, his expression just as firm, stripped of the relaxed, almost playful ease he usually carried.

“Till,” Dewey began carefully, “it’s best if you stay here.”

“What?” Till’s voice shot up, rough and incredulous. “Why?”

Dewey let out a long sigh, like he’d been bracing himself for this. “It’s nothing personal–”

“I can still fight,” Till insisted, cutting him off. “If you want me to rest, fine. I’ll rest. But I’ll be fine to continue the mission.”

“That’s not it, Till,” Dewey snapped, frustration bleeding through. “I get it. You feel guilty. You think the only way to make this right is to rescue him yourself. But you have children. Children who–” He winced, eyes darting away before forcing himself to finish, “who probably already lost a parent. I can’t let them risk losing another.”

Till stood there, frozen–so still that the only proof he hadn’t turned to stone was the soft cloud of breath leaving him in a cold trail. A tremor rolled through him, subtle at first, then visible, his widened eyes slowly dropping until they fixed on his scuffed, dirt-stained boots.

The idea of losing Ivan hurt so deeply he wasn’t sure how to even breathe through it, let alone imagine living in the aftermath. The emptiness that already began crowding his chest felt unbearable, but he knew he had to bear it. Because he wasn’t the only one Ivan mattered to. Louie had been excited to go searching for tiny crabs with him. Taehyun and Lucas had their tradition of playing with Ivan at the Underground Arcade. Suella and Vivi loved braiding his hair, painting his nails, and dozing off in his arms. Even Youngwoo, still so small despite her rapid growth over the last few months, had taken a liking to him, his presence already woven into her memory. Losing such a constant in their life would be distressing. Losing Till, too…?

Till’s shoulders slacked, exhaling shakily. 

“Anise, you always told me…” Till’s voice came out thin, words barely enunciated. “That you had a wife to make it home to. So why are you risking your life now? For me?”

“Because you’d do the same for me,” Anise said without hesitation, like the answer had always been obvious. Till’s head lifted, eyes searching her face. “I came into this mission knowing the consequences. We all did. If there ever came a day I didn’t make it back, I know you’d look out for my Penny.” Her expression softened–sad, but certain. “We don’t always see eye to eye,” she went on, “but I know you’re a genuine person. And that includes how much you care about the people on the base.”

Till could only nod, at a loss for words–everything Anise said was true. He had never expected anything in return from the people he helped, like when he saved Luka, perfectly content with the idea that they might never speak again. And even if he and Anise bickered like children half the time, he would still look after her wife whenever she was away. If Cariah ever drank himself senseless–much to Till’s protest–he always made sure the man got home safely. It was hard to accept that people would do the same for him. Harder still to stand back and let them. But he had no choice this time.

“Just,” Till breathed out, “see me before you leave. Okay?”

Anise nodded. “Of course. Are you taking the capsules with you?”

Till nodded, staring down at them–he didn’t wish to part with them just yet. He had to give Hyunwoo’s to Luka, but he hadn’t even told the man they were back. He didn’t want to alarm him, especially when the results weren’t definite. The man’s heart was already frail, there was no point in distressing him unnecessarily. 

Till turned around, stepping down the bar’s steps, leg yelling at him all the while. 

“Guys,” Cariah brusted out of the bar, panting, eyes blown wide.

“What’s wrong?” Dewey demanded, whipping his head toward him. “Why do you look like that?”

“I lost track of Ivan’s headgear,” Cariah gasped, stumbling down the steps as he tapped furiously on his watch. He thrust his arm toward Dewey so he could see the display. “It didn’t notify me that it disconnected or anything. It just–shut off. Completely. It’s not even showing up as a connection option anymore.”

“So what you’re saying,” Anise began slowly, “is that the gear shut down on its own? It might not be controlling him anymore?”

Cariah nodded, biting his lip hard. “Yes. But that could also mean Ivan’s…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

The implication hung in the air between them, all three of them turned toward Till. His mouth fell open, mind spiraling, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned away and continued down the steps, heading for the infirmary.

“Till?” Anise called after him.

If he stayed out here any longer, enduring one blow after another–he really might collapse. He needed to rest. He needed one moment of peace from the inferno his life had become.

I’m here one moment, then gone the next. But, yes, of course. You “won’t look for me anymore.” Liar.

Till laid on the infirmary cot, staring up at the ceiling. The TV mounted on the wall blared loudly, but he wasn’t listening; he just needed the noise–any noise–to drown out the voice in his head. If he let himself focus on it, he knew he’d unravel. The medical assistant worked efficiently, rattling off assessments and unfamiliar jargon that slipped in one ear and out the other. All Till managed to register was that his hand was sprained, sentenced to a brace for the next few weeks. The rest of his injuries were cleaned and bandaged, leaving him feeling physically okay–at least enough to be discharged.

But he knew they wouldn’t let him go home. He had heard them talking in the hallway. How they thought he was still at risk. How one assistant claimed to have seen him mumbling to himself, worried he might be slipping into stress-induced psychosis. They needed to ask Isaac if it would be okay to discharge him anytime soon, but he was currently in a meeting, so all they could do was monitor him until then. Till couldn’t find it in himself to deter their assumption, because with ‘Ivan’s’ voice getting louder, and louder, it would be wrong to lie to them. Plus, he had to stay here. Anise told him that she’d come see him before they headed off, so it was best he remained in place. He didn’t know how long he had been laying there, intently boring into the popcorn ceilings–perhaps hours.

Any moment now, Luka could wake up and text him for updates–or worse, walk into the bar himself and see just how much everything had fallen apart. Till couldn’t face him. He couldn’t face the kids. All he could think about was Ivan, until even that thought drifted into dangerous territory, until Ivan no longer looked like himself at all. Hair shorter, eyes dull, and clothes soaked through. A version that spent years haunting him. 

He wondered when the present one would begin to do so, as well. 

“Did you hear?”

The voice came outside of his hospital room; panicked, failed to be said in a whisper. Till grabbed the remote control, and against his better judgment, he turned the volume down.  

“What’s going on?”

“There’s someone at the gate. Trying to get in.”

“A rebellion member?”

“No. It’s a Guard.”

Till blinked. Instantly, he sat up, head snapping towards the door. He threw his legs over the cot, and bounded out of the room. His sudden presence startled the women, concerned gazes locking on him.

“Till,” said one of them, nervously. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“Did you say there’s a Guard at the gate?”

The two women looked at each other, unsure of what to say. Till didn’t wait for an answer. He limped down the hall, frantic, ignoring the calls of his name behind him. He shoved open the double doors and stepped into the cold, continuing forward in nothing but a sleeveless T-shirt and the infirmary-issued pants. The air was freezing, but he barely felt it; the heat of panic, grief, and adrenaline burned hot enough to keep him moving. His injured leg slowed him down, each step a jolt of pain, but the assistants had told him it would heal if he stayed off it. He didn’t care. He would risk a permanent injury if it meant reaching that gate.

When he arrived at the area, a crowd had already gathered. He pushed his way through, catching bits of rushed, uneasy murmurs as people whispered to one another. Then he saw them–the figure on the other side of the security gate, dressed head to toe in full Guard attire. The familiar armored uniform concealed their entire body, not even a hint of skin visible. He should have been concerned. He should have wondered how they’d been found, how a Guard had gotten this far, or why the uniform wasn’t glowing like they usually did. But he wasn’t thinking at all. He was running on pure desperation, shoving past people so forcefully he nearly lost his footing.

“I told you to rest,” Dewey scolded, catching Till’s arm and steadying him before he could fall.

“I heard someone was at the gate,” Till replied, breathless.

“Isaac’s handling it,” Dewey muttered with a scoff. “I need to get these people out of here before this goes haywire.”

He started pushing people back, shouting for the crowd to move, to clear the area, to keep a safe distance. Till stayed where he was, unable to look away. And as the crowd thinned, he felt it more and more–the Guard’s gaze fixed directly on him.

“You,” Isaac’s voice boomed through a megaphone, standing at the front of the line. “Do you bear any weapons?”

The Guard shook their head slowly.

“Is there anyone with you?”

Another shake.

“Remove your headgear.”

All the while, the Guard kept their hands raised, signaling they meant no harm. Slowly, they reached up toward their headgear–and it felt as though time itself stopped. Till’s heart pounded fast, then faster.

The clasps clicked, and the helmet lifted.

“Ivan?” Till breathed weakly, blinking rapidly to make sure this was real. 

Dark hair spilled out, messy the way it always escaped from baseball caps and beanies, brushing the nape of his neck. His eyes were bright, the familiar specks of red unmistakable. Even his snaggle tooth showed in the tight line of his frown. He looked worn down, and exhausted but he was unmistakably Ivan. He tossed the helmet to the ground carelessly, as if shedding something wretched, no longer part of him.

“Open the gate,” Till said, stumbling forward, his voice rising with urgency. “Open the gate!” Isaac didn’t hesitate–his fingers flew over the keypad, entering the passcode.

Ivan didn’t even have a chance to step fully inside the base before Till launched himself into his arms, breaking down against the cold, hard plating of his armor for what felt like the hundredth time that day. For a split second, Till braced for the worst. For Ivan to stiffen, to push him off, to say he remembered him–remembered them–but not the emotions that came with it. That whatever they’d once shared had been wiped clean, and they were back at square one. And even then, Till knew he wouldn’t care. He would help Ivan again, from the beginning if he had to, as long as Ivan was here. 

But instead, Ivan’s arms–encased in that freezing metal–came around him. He pulled Till closer, as if afraid he might disappear if he didn’t hold on. Till heard him inhale against his shoulder, Ivan drawing in his scent. Till flushed with sudden embarrassment, convinced he only smelled of antiseptic and dried tears, but Ivan didn’t seem to mind. And that was when Till knew he was still him.

“I told you I’d be okay,” Ivan mumbled into the crook of his shoulder.

Till laughed wetly and forced himself to pull back, even though every instinct begged him not to. Isaac ushered them inside, and Dewey barked orders for them to head straight to the infirmary to get Ivan checked out. Everything after that blurred together, like he was moving underwater. People talking, doors opening, footsteps echoing; none of it felt real.

Till kept waiting to snap awake, breathless and heartbroken, realizing he’d imagined the whole thing out of exhaustion and hope. That his thoughts were twisting in on themselves, churning out a dozen explanations, fantasies–anything that could soften the idea of losing Ivan again. But by the time Ivan got looked over–diagnosed with a broken ankle, minor injuries, and mild dehydration, Till came to terms with the fact he really wasn’t dreaming, and that Ivan wasn’t going anywhere. 

He was here to stay.

“I think I’ve seen better days,” Ivan’s deep voice cut through Till’s thoughts, warm and teasing despite the rasp. “But it’s nice to know you’ll still stare at me like that.”

Till chuckled sheepishly, realizing he had been staring at him all that while. He’d given Ivan his cot for the evaluation, and Till had been perched stiffly in one of the plastic chairs the entire time, worrying at his nails until the skin around them stung. When Ivan patted the empty spot beside him, Till rose without hesitation, inching closer until he sat down gingerly.

Though he was extremely relieved that Ivan was in one piece, there were things left unsaid. Questions he just had to know.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Till cupped his face, and Ivan nuzzled into his hand. “Did… did they try to reset you?”

Ivan shook his head, smiling tiredly. “He threatened to, of course. But I told him that’d I spend the rest of my life searching for you guys. That I’ve been reset before, and it didn’t work.”

Till’s heart soared, healing from the hours of turmoil he had to endure so far, but he felt confused. “So, he let you go. Just like that?”

“He was terrified,” Ivan explained. “He knew that if what I was saying was true–and he knowingly gave the Segyein a faulty ‘weapon’--they’d kill him. I guess he believed me in the end.”

“What made him believe you?” Till asked, tilting his head. “And why didn’t he just… kill you?”

Ivan pointed to the pieces of the armored uniform resting against the wall, now stripped from his body. “The headgear shut down. And the controls inside it stopped lighting up. It couldn't control me anymore."

Cariah’s panicked explanation flashed through Till’s mind, and understanding settled in. That must’ve been the moment Ivan regained autonomy. That explained why the gear wasn't lit up when he first saw him at the gates, the red beam in the helmet off.

“So he was worried that even if they reset you,” Till said slowly, “there was a chance you couldn’t be manipulated anymore? And that the reset wouldn’t work?”

“Right,” Ivan said. “And as for why he didn’t kill me–the Segyein wanted me alive. If he terminated me, they’d know he did it to cover something up. It was a lose–lose situation for him, in the end. So he let me go.” Ivan huffed a humorless laugh. “Though he told me he’d be hunting me down. Called me a dead man walking.”

“And what did you say?” Till asked, feeling immensely proud of him.

Ivan flashed him a crooked, cocky grin. “That it wouldn’t be the first time,” Till snorted at that. “Then I stole the rest of that Guard’s uniform to slip out unnoticed.” He gestured vaguely toward the discarded armor. “I saw you guys had left a scooter, but it died on me halfway here. I had to walk the rest of the way on a bad ankle. That was not fun.”

Till grinned, leaning into to plant a kiss on his cheek. “I’m so relieved that you’re safe. Isaac and Dewey were putting together a rescue team.”

“That reminds me,” Ivan turned serious. “Where’s Hyunwoo and Sua’s ashes?”

Till pointed to the bedside table, where they were stacked up on top of each other. “I’ll give Luka Hyunwoo’s tomorrow. I think I’m too exhausted to interact with anyone else today.”

“I guess we could call my first big mission a success,” Ivan said proudly, interlacing their fingers “Well, with a few minor hiccups.”

“We’ll be out of commission for a while,” Till gestured to his braced hand, and Ivan’s ankle. “But I was wondering if you’d be interested in being my work partner?”

Ivan tilted his head, teasingly thinking about it for a moment. “I’d love to.” Then his voice came back softer, earnest, “I’m so sorry for hurting you and Anise. I feel so terrible.”

“Ivan, you were being controlled,” Till replied quickly. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I promise,” Ivan raised Till’s hand to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of his hand, “to never hurt you again.”

Till sighed, cheeks growing warm. Ivan’s growing touchyness and displays of affection reminded him of when they were younger, though unfamiliar after all this time, Till could get used to it.

“I know you won’t,” Till smiled softly at him, watching Ivan sway slightly, all that he’d gone through starting to catch up with him.

Ivan leaned his forehead against his, eyes falling shut as if the simple act of touching Till had finally allowed him to rest. His breath came slow yet at ease, warm against Till’s skin. He looked so… human–completely, undeniably human. Till didn’t have to question it anymore, didn’t have to fear that Ivan would slip back under Segyein control or let whatever the Commander had said to demean him creep in and give him doubts. He’d broken the last chain they had on him, shattered the final hold that had kept him suspended between man and weapon. The Commander had been terrified of what he saw, of what he couldn’t control. Of something even he himself, with all his power, couldn’t replicate no matter how hard he tried. And it wasn’t a miracle, magic, or some kind of science that made it possible.

 It was Ivan’s humanity, locked away inside of him.

 The love, empathy, and pure imperfections caged inside of his heart, awakened, and resurfacing. Now taking complete control over him, and he’d use it to determine all his decisions from then on.

Nothing could control him anymore. He was finally free. 

Chapter Text

By the time Till finally worked up the strength to give Luka Hyunwoo’s ashes, a week had already slipped by. He’d gotten sick the very next day–feverish, dizzy, and aching in ways that made even walking to the bathroom a challenge. Ivan, naturally, experiencing a newfound weakened immune system, caught his cold–with his broken ankle on top of it. The poor man was bedbound for the first three days, but he adapted to it better than Till had, and had gotten over it quicker. Isaac made it painfully clear that if he so much as spotted either of them outside their apartment within seven days, there would be consequences. So house arrest it was. 

By the third day, Till was practically climbing the walls, staring out the window like a feral cat brought indoors and betrayed by the concept of confinement. He wasn’t lonely–not with Ivan there–but he missed the kids so badly. The video calls helped, seeing their faces light up, hearing them yell over each other as if their shouts would dispel their injured body parts and illnesses. But seeing their faces through such a tiny screen wasn’t enough, and it could never be. Till had never gone this long without seeing them in person. Even though five of them didn’t live with him and Ivan, he still made the effort to see them every other day without fail. He was their parent, too, and showing up physically was one of the ways he carried that responsibility, easing the load on Luka’s shoulders whenever he could. 

A week wasn’t long in the grand scheme of things, and some parents might even beg for the time apart. But to Till–it felt like an eternity.

So when they were finally, finally, cleared for full health by Isaac after a home visit, Till didn’t walk to their agreed-upon meeting spot–he ran.

And then he slowed down, and sheepishly turned around. 

Ivan waddled behind him slowly, shifting his weight with careful precision as he worked the crutches. His left foot was swallowed in a medical boot, still too fragile for a regular shoe, much less walking on. Isaac had said that trekking for hours in such heavy gear on top of a broken ankle was nothing short of unbelievable, but the recovery that followed certainly made it feel less heroic. Still–considering he’d done it to get home, to them… he couldn’t exactly scold him for making his injury worse.

“Sorry,” Till said, jogging back to him. “Didn’t mean to leave you in my dust there. I’m just excited.”

Ivan let out a warm laugh. “It’s alright. I wish I could go faster. I feel like that tortoise from Vivi’s storybook.”

Till slipped a hand onto the small of his back, slowing to match his pace, taking tiny steps. “To be fair, the tortoise did win in the end.”

“Perhaps I’m more similar to him than I thought,” Ivan looked at him, his eyes bright. Despite how miserable their lives had been the last week, Ivan always kept a positive outlook on things. Till admired that about him. How could he not after everything Ivan overcame? “At least my hare waits for me.”

“Of course!” Till quipped, slipping his braced hand through the loop of Ivan’s arm, shuffling closer. “I’d wait a thousand years for you.”

Ivan’s smile deepened, eyes crinkling, and Till felt his heart flutter–it never got old. “A thousand-and-nine.” He corrected Till.

“A thousand-and-nine,” Till echoed, lifting nine fingers proudly into the chilly air for emphasis. Ivan laughed again, and together they kept inching forward along the fenced path, taking their time, heading toward the beach.

“It’s them!” Taehyun shouted, pointing at them for emphasis.

 The rest of the kids whipped their head over their shoulders as soon as the words left the boy’s mouth. Then the pack of cubs came barrelling towards them, leaving Luka, Youngwoo, and forgotten drawings made from sticks in the sand. Till opened his arms wide, and took in all their warmth as they wrapped around him however they could. 

“We missed you guys!” Till announced, stuck in place, five bodies holding onto him tightly. 

“We missed you guys, too,” Suella spoke for all of them, leaving their huddle first. She opened her little purse, and outstretched a folded piece of paper. Till took it from her, and made a big show of unfolding it… but he didn’t really have to pretend when the drawing revealed itself. 

“I drew it for you guys,” Suella said quietly, shyly twisting her body. “Lou helped me colour it.”

Louie nodded persistently, still wrapped around his pants leg. 

The drawing was of them–of their family. Luka was holding Youngwoo in his arms, and the rest of the kids were lined up in front of the adults, coloured vibrantly outside of the lines. Till was pretty sure he and Ivan were holding hands, and he found that to be incredibly sweet. He was very delighted with his new addition to the refrigerator.  

“I love it, Suella,” Till insisted, and he meant it. The little girl was getting better at drawing, and he could proudly say she got her artistic skills from him. “Lou, your colouring is amazing, as always.”

Louie looked up at him, eyes wide from the compliment, before nuzzling in closer. Till’s chest warmed at the gesture. He had never been taught how to be a parent–none of them had. But he remembered, vividly, what it felt like to be a child searching for warmth in someone else. Sleepy hands reaching out in the dark–seeking comfort, heat, and safety. And familiar arms always reached back without hesitation. She had always gathered him close, answering those silent calls with unwavering tenderness. He couldn’t recall her face anymore, time, trauma, and other circumstances had eroded the details. 

But her love? That he could never forget. 

It had held him like it were a being itself, an entity so fierce yet gentle, urging him forward, telling him to keep fighting even when the Segyein insisted he was unworthy, unintelligent, and too much trouble. He never had to wonder if he was capable of loving, or worthy of being loved–no matter what Urak or anyone else claimed. Because he had known love once, and deeply. He’d carried it with him all his life, even when he didn’t understand why. Even when he wondered why all who he loved was taken away. Why did hers remain in his heart, and so persistently?

But now, as Louie clung to him, seeking the same small refuge from the cold–the same warmth Till had once reached for… He understood. He had carried that love so he could give it to them. So they would know what it felt like, and how to show it. So they would never accept anything less than the love he had been given once, the love Luka had finally found, and the love Ivan was only just learning to display. 

When Till looked off to his side, realizing the kids had let him go, he found Taehyun and Vivi. Ivan had kneeled down, crutches forgotten in the sand, holding their attention. They seemed surprised at first, but Vivi’s eyes softened the longer he talked to them. Though his eyes could have been playing tricks on him, Till knew he wasn’t mistaken as he read Ivan’s lips, and the words ‘I love you’ left his mouth. Vivi’s lips pressed together, trying her hardest to fight off a smile, whilst Taehyun happily let Ivan pull them into an embrace. Vivi clasped her arms around his neck, holding him just as tight, and Taehyun enthusiastically lifted the arm not wrapped around Ivan into the sky, shouting about how he loved him, too. Suddenly, the rest of the kids left his side, Suella leaning on Ivan’s lap.

“Mister Ivan,” Suella piped up, tilting her head. “Do you love me, too?”

“Yes,” Ivan said instantly, nodding with earnestness. “Of course I do.”

“And me?” Louie asked, batting his thick eyelashes up at him.

“And you, Lou,” Ivan confirmed, pressing a quick laugh into his forearm.

Lucas lingered at Ivan’s side, arms folded, posture composed, face neutral as ever–very Luka–before he let out a pointed, unnatural cough into his hand.

Ivan turned to him, gaze softening, and ruffled his hair. “I love you too, Lucas.”