Chapter Text
0.
In the end, he decided to consult Sua for these three reasons: first, Sua was a perceptive, clever woman who could give good advice and keep secrets well; second, her mask of a yamato nadeshiko paired with her pragmatic inner self meant she wouldn’t scream, and by now she was tired of hitting him; third, she’d already tried to call the psych ward years ago and had long since given up on making a second call.
Then, her eyebrows, as proper as bird feathers, furrowed.
“Promise me,” Sua said slowly, “even if you insist on a ghost marriage, you’ll find a body unrelated to a murder, please?”
1.
I don’t actually want to kill anyone, Ivan had said.
A few hours ago, he’d returned from high school to his apartment, where he lived alone. The room was dark, but Ivan was used to going straight to his study without turning the living room lights on. He’d always had good eyesight, anyway.
Petals—Ivan blinked—there were red petals scattered in the entryway. He remembered he’d closed the windows so wind couldn’t get in, so was this a burglary? Surely cats couldn’t open windows or unlock doors. Maybe he should submit a request to review the surveillance footage? But he didn’t even know what was missing yet.
Just seconds after that thought, something jumped out from behind the sofa and lunged at him. Oh, so this was actually a murder—
Ivan’s head hit the floor, but he forced his eyes to stay open despite the pain and raised his hands to defend himself. Seeing a flash of silver, he quickly rolled sideways and caught his opponent’s arm to ram it into the side of a cabinet. The books on top fell down, and each one landed precisely on his assailant, but even that didn’t stop him. Ivan shoved him again—once, twice, three times—until the other’s struggle became noticeably weaker. After that, he took the opportunity to roll away.
Recalling his adoptive father’s lessons, Ivan picked up a heavy hardcover book and hit the other’s carotid artery. This had him falter momentarily, but he didn’t lose consciousness, which made even Ivan wince. So he repeated the motion until, with a simultaneous thud and clang, the body finally collapsed and the silver light fell to the ground.
Ivan crouched down. It was the fruit knife from his own kitchen; this person hadn’t let go of it until he’d collapsed.
As the lights turned on, he registered the dull pain in the back of his head, as well as the weight on his left shoulder—he still hadn’t taken off his schoolbag. If he’d known better, he would’ve carried it on both shoulders, so it might have at least cushioned him then.
But to be honest, this assailant was weaker than he’d expected; at least when compared to Ivan, he wasn’t particularly strong, despite the strength of his will. If he’d been willing to stop or put down his weapon, Ivan wouldn’t have had any intention of killing him.
None of that mattered now, though.
He turned the man over and found he wasn’t much older than him, maybe even the same age. Blood and sweat plastered grey hair to pale face, and even in death, he was frowning. Ivan checked his clothes, but there was nothing hidden in his black t-shirt or pants. His most notable feature was a few old scars, but compared to other assassins and hitmen he’d seen, his body was far too slender. With these clothes and the choker around his neck, he seemed more like an average college student with a penchant for drinking and all-nighters.
So what to do now? In the past, a call to his adoptive father would’ve solved everything, whether it was dealing information or dealing with the body. But things were different now. As part of a civilized society ruled by law, these situations were no longer that easy to deal with.
Then should he call the police? The idea of being a proper law-abiding citizen did come to mind. This would be the most appropriate course of action—but, unfortunately, wasn’t an option for him either. Hyuna had warned him her ability was limited, and if he stepped out of line again, this supposedly secure identity he’d so painstakingly constructed would collapse as easily as a soufflé cake.
Ivan unlocked his phone and looked for Hyuna’s contact details. When he saw that her last message mentioned she was on the other side of the planet, he turned off the screen with a click.
Even if he did decide to ask for help, something still had to be done now. Otherwise, this place would be uninhabitable until Hyuna arrived, which was something he’d unfortunately already suffered through before.
“Er… pardon me?”
Ivan took a deep breath and removed his school uniform jacket. He had to drag the body into the bathroom; draining some of the blood should make subsequent work easier.
It was quite heavy—maybe this was the weight of a full adult? First, he had to lean the other person on the edge of the tub so he could rinse off the sweat and blood from his hands. While doing so, he watched the blood flow down with the stream of water, slide across the white porcelain surface, and finally hit an obstruction. Forgot to pull the plug, Ivan muttered, but the moment he reached out to do so, another familiar blow hit him from behind.
“Ah… no one told you…”
You don’t have to work so hard, he wanted to say. His opponent was weaker than he’d been during his last attack, unable to even force Ivan’s face to the bottom of the tub—bracing himself with one hand, Ivan flipped them over effortlessly.
The other person struggled as hard as ever, scratching Ivan’s arm that was strangling his neck.
“Excuse me, could you calm down for a moment? I don’t want to kill you either,” Ivan said sincerely, then pushed him into the water.
His struggle immediately intensified, but also weakened soon after.
Ivan picked up the grey head like a cat and calmly asked, “Are you okay? Can we talk for a bit?”
The grey cat’s lips quivered and spelled out two syllables: Fuck off.
Ivan smiled and pushed him down again.
Just like last time, after three repetitions his attacker settled down, but remained conscious. After all, Ivan didn’t want to kill him a second time.
“Hello.” He brought himself to eye level with the other. “May I have your name?”
Eyelashes fluttered, and the water droplets on them trembled, but he remained silent. After three minutes of patient waiting, when Ivan started wondering if he should try again, those two lips finally spat out another word.
“Till? Well, it’s nice to meet you, Till.” He continued, “Do you know me?”
This time, the other answered quickly: Ivan.
Ivan offered him a smile. Great, he said. So, to get reacquainted—Till, can we talk?
2.
Till sat at the dining table, face to face with Ivan. Both of them were wet from what happened tonight, and by the rules of hospitality, Ivan should’ve offered him dry clothes. But Till wouldn’t accept them anyway, so Ivan ended up just using a towel—like rubbing a cat dry.
So had he just given this cat a bath? Inwardly, Ivan laughed at the association.
He could finally see the other’s face, fully revealed: green-grey hair and emerald eyes that moved with his gaze, accompanied by dark circles underneath. His skin was still pale in the light, but the curves of his cheeks seemed soft. It was a face that belonged to a young man; perhaps, a beautiful one.
Ivan had never quite understood the concept of beauty. People often commented on his good looks, and his friends Sua and Mizi were considered two of the prettiest girls in their high school, but he’d never resonated with those comments. Using those standards, however, this man did have a good face.
Though there was one occasion he’d felt that something was truly beautiful: the meteor shower he’d seen in his childhood. Those marvelous, dazzling lights that streaked across the sky could almost make one forget they were still in hell. Just now, Till’s green eyes had been shining in the darkness, so he was content with calling them beautiful as well.
Ivan started the conversation.
“First, I want to ask one thing,” he said. “Why won’t you die?”
Of course, it was possible he’d made the classic mistake of wrongly assuming the victim had died. Even so, the other’s actions puzzled him. It was obvious Till was no professional; he was physically weak and had no finesse, but still held on with terrifying willpower. It seemed to be a personal vendetta rather than something related to his adoptive father, but the problem with that line of thinking was that Ivan really hadn’t provoked anyone since he’d come here. He’d even made the local honor roll.
He looked at Till, and Till looked at him. After three minutes of this stalemate, Till let out a breath and reached up to remove the choker from his neck.
This revealed a deep, crudely stitched-up wound, and when Till pulled out the silk thread with some effort, Ivan found that the cut went through almost half of the young man’s throat. No blood flowed from it; the pink and red flesh was stuck together like a sliced cherry, inappropriately reminding him of the cake in his fridge.
“So are you a zombie, or something like that?” Ivan tried to touch it, but was slapped away.
“Not a zombie,” he said, annoyed. “I can still talk and breathe, and it hurts when I get hit. Does that sound like a zombie?”
“So you’re a ghost.”
Till stopped talking.
Oh, so that was it. Ivan grinned, showing his snaggletooth, and continued his questioning. “Why do you have to kill me?”
The other gritted his teeth, but still answered, “I have to kill you because you’ll kill me in the future.”
Now Ivan was the silent one. Still wearing his signature snaggletoothed smile, he looked at Till, then at the floor, and then at the ceiling.
“…I’m sorry? Isn’t there some mistake here? I don’t even know you, and I’m not planning on killing anyone.”
“Right, that’s exactly why,” Till said. “I have to do this before you know me and before you want to kill me. It’s the only way I’ll accomplish my goal.”
“And your goal is?”
He paused for a moment.
“Revenge.”
…
“Revenge.” Ivan leaned forward. “So even if you kill me, you won’t be resurrected?”
“…Honestly, no clue.” Till shrugged. “That angel didn’t explain shit. Just opened my eyes, and here I was. I wanted to find you at school, but I couldn’t do anything after I stepped outside. Sure I could walk through walls, but I couldn’t touch anyone, and my body felt even weaker than when I was sick. So I finally decided to just hide here and jump you when you walked in.”
“So you’re killing me purely for revenge.” That was a terrible reward for time travel.
“Sure, let’s go with that. The angel didn’t mention anything nice like resurrection anyway, only that I’d be able to fulfill my wish with my own hands, and threw me down here.”
As someone who was definitely going to hell, Ivan didn’t comment on heaven’s customer service. He only asked what he needed to: “Why did my future self kill you?”
Till’s meteor-like eyes darkened as he traced the gash in his neck. “…Who knows? I could never figure out… what you’re thinking…”
“So,” Ivan went further, “are you still planning to kill me?”
Till looked up to meet his eyes and nodded.
The silence grew, lingering, until the owner of the house finally broke it.
“Do you want anything to eat?” Ivan walked to the kitchen. Having grown up in the slums, he knew food was a universal hard currency (there were a few other things, of course, but most illegal) and in the culture of the country he lived in now, treating someone to a meal was considered a gesture of goodwill.
Regardless of how bizarre this situation was, it was still something to be wary of. Even if he could just move away or lock Till up somewhere, having a ghost harboring murderous intent towards him couldn’t be good. Not to mention, if there was one, there could always be another. If this was how carelessly heaven handled things, it’d be bad if he offended someone else in the future.
Without waiting for a reply, Ivan opened the fridge. Inside was cake, half of a whole round cake: his favorite flavor, chocolate with cherry jam. He split this half in two, and along with a plastic spoon (let’s avoid any more incidents tonight) pushed a piece towards Till.
“Sorry, that’s all I have. I hope you don’t hate sweets.”
It’s fine, Till muttered, accepting this hospitality from the one he was trying to murder.
Satisfied for now, Ivan cut into his own share, and the sweet, refreshing aroma of fruit filled the air around the table.
“Gah—ack—ugh… wha…?”
That was Till’s voice. Ivan looked up to see him clutching his throat, coughing and making continuous gurgling noises. He walked over and moved Till’s hand away, and then sponge cake crumbs, ganache, and bits of cherries spilled out of the wound.
I’m sorry. He wiped away the other’s tears with a napkin. You said you could talk and breathe (and you did choke on water) so I assumed you could eat.
Till just shook his head like he couldn’t believe it himself. So Ivan mimicked Mizi and hugged his head, stroking his grey hair comfortingly.
“It’s okay, it’ll be okay, alright?” Remembering what Mizi had said then, he repeated her word for word. “I’ll help you, so let’s figure this out together.”