Work Text:
The room was quiet, too quiet, too still. Everything just 'too'. So much so it didnt even seem like a word anymore.
He wasnt sure how to take it— Ivans death. They had been together for long, apart of each other's lives. He had watched Ivans end, the way his body had crumpled and limped on that stage. It was so quick, so easy for them to just murder him.
He always thought him and Ivan had been walking parallel in this hell. In some ways, he had foolishly let himself believe thats how it would always be— him and Ivan. Sua and Mizi were there, too, but not as constant as Ivan.
His knees were pulled to his chest, his back against the wall. It was cold; or maybe that was just the remembrance of knowing he was alone. Completely and utterly alone. Alien Stage had consumed every other person he had, killing them off or making them disappear from his view.
Funnily enough, he didnt cry. He couldnt bring himself to, his eyes were dry.
It was disgusting. He couldnt even mourn his friends correctly. Faulty, through and through. He had came onto the stage, prepared for death. Instead, he had to give absolution to someone who couldnt take it. Their hands were too brittle and too lifeless to accept.
His hair messed as he leaned further into the wall, seeking comfort, seeking anything. Anything to shield him from facing the harmful truth that lay outside.
There was no warmth in his motions, no matter how tightly he curled into himself, it didnt help. He wanted to leave, to go home: wherever that was. Maybe Anakt Garden where feelings came just the bit easier.
The feeling on his lips hadnt subsided, it lingered far deeper than surface level admission. The motion Ivan had made— the gesture he wasnt sure what meant. Touching lips. It had felt like he was trying to consume him along with his soul. Maybe Till would have let him if he had understood.
So burdensome.
Till hated tears, he hated the feeling that imbedded so roughly inside of him. So strong that it made everything else overflow and water bubble to the surface of his eyes. He hated it. He hated being alone. He didnt want to remain this way.
His eyes fell shut, brows furrowed as some pained expression wiped his face clean. It hurt, but he couldnt place why.
Alien Stage was supposed to be an honor to die in. It was a lie. Ivan hadnt died in glory, he hadnt died happy, not really. He saw the look on his stupid face. Till would forsake that honor dozens of times over if it meant Ivan would still be with him.
The only trace of Ivan that stayed with him was the dried blood on the bottom of his shoes or the bit that had soaked into his pants. No matter how hard he grappled with his mind, it all came back to the same solution. Ivan was gone. Once so lively, reduced to red liquid woven into the very base of Tills being.
Maybe thats what Ivan wanted, to stay with him through death. It wasnt a comforting thought, it made his fingers twitch.
He had watched him be shot down. He had watched him falter and tread the floor. He had watched the light in his eyes fade. He had watched him bleed out.
It was so empty. He should feel sad, but he was more angry than anything. He knew well that Ivan couldve won, he had reasons to. Why had he gave that up so quickly? It was unfair, not to just himself, but Till. It was disgusting. How could one be so selfless, but so selfish at the same time.
He didnt need other people. He just needed to suck it in. If Ivan had died for Till to something more internal, he couldnt change that. Ivan had died for him, he needed to win.
If he didnt, what had Ivan died for?
He hadnt realized he was crying until he was completely sobbing, chest wracking with sobs. He was so powerless. He couldnt stop it, he couldnt change anything. He was weak in this, how could he do this alone?
Ivan had died in front of him, even more alone and indefinitely cold. He had let him die alone and cold. Breathing proved difficult when every time he just choked. The air was suffocating, full of sand that weighed down his lungs.
His mind was oscillating between being angry and being horribly sad. Who would mourn him when he died?
The past was something he never cared about. Not until now. How could he be better when there was no more time to change things? No more of his friends?
It was embarrassing to be clinging to a shoe, his fingers whitening by how tightly he was holding it. It was the only thing he had left, the only thing of Ivan. Was this what was going to happen to him? Was the only thing left of him going to be red staining liquid?
He couldnt breathe. This had to be worse than death. Far more. Even the quiet didnt offer solace, it seemed to mock him. He didnt want to sing, he wanted to be trapped in the past. He wanted to be trapped in the days where Ivan, Mizi, and Sua were his only problems.
His loose fitting clothes didnt do much against the cold of his heart.
There was paper beside him. He barely even registered the fact that he had gotten it out earlier. Drawing was always his reprieve, but how could he draw a face he barely remembered? Every time he closed his eyes, he only saw that horrible look on his face. It resembled that of which he could only describe as grim triumph.
Ivan had gotten what he wanted, but Till was stuck here, wondering what that really was.
Had Ivan craved death? The thought alone made him sick.
He was going to the final round, but at what cost? The loss of everyone he knew, everyone he loved. He had grown accustomed to the constant losses, but at what point did a person crack and shatter? He had lost his mother, his mizi, his friends, and now his Ivan. It mustve been some cruel joke on him from the universe.
His time was dwindling quickly. He spent far much more time sulking than he shouldve, too immersed in the tightening in his chest. His eyes felt dry and his blood felt unmoving. Tired. So tired. Tired of fighting, singing, losing.
Every time he had opened his mouth and let melody flood from his vocals, he had lost something. Singing wasnt an honor, it was a curse. It was the reason he had lost everyone.