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1.
“What are you doing?” Ivan asks, leaning over Till’s spread-eagled body, noticing the bits of grass stuck on his clothes and the bandage on his cheek.
“Photosynthesis,” Till states, deadpan.
“At night?” Ivan asks, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were a genetically modified plant.”
“It’s confidential information,” Till says, continuing to spout bullshit with a straight face. “They don’t want you to realize that half of the remaining human population are actually capable of storing sunlight and converting it to energy.”
I’d believe it if it was you, Ivan thinks, I’ve never met anyone else who had sunlight running through their veins.
“But now I know the truth,” Ivan says, “what’s my punishment?”
Till gives a soft snort. “They’d have to kill you to shut you up.” He lifts up his hand lazily and turns his hand into a gun, making a soft bang sound.
Ivan makes a soft oof , and falls dramatically to the ground in an elegant heap of black clothing. “I’m dead now, you’ve killed me.”
Till tilts his head to glance at him out of the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the sky. “You look pretty alive to me.”
“You’re the only one that thinks that way,” Ivan mutters, rolling gently onto his side to stare at Till’s face. “Everyone else thinks I’m a robot.” The corner of his mouth lifts in quiet mockery as he says this.
“They’re a bunch of idiots then,” Till says, “you have a heart, don’t you?”
Yes, Ivan thinks, I’m looking right at it.
“Is a heart your only standard for being human?” Ivan asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Well, you’re alive aren’t you?” Till says. “Robots can imitate humans’ mannerisms and behaviors, but they’re not really sentient are they?”
I don’t know, Ivan wants to say, I think imitating emotions is easier than actually feeling them sometimes.
“I suppose so,” is all Ivan murmurs in reply, reaching up to brush his knuckles gently against Till’s bandage. “You got hurt again, didn’t you? What did you do this time?”
“I snapped a dish in half right over an alien’s head,” Till says, “then he grabbed my hair and tried to cut me with a knife. Pretty standard stuff.”
Ivan pinches his cheek, feeling a dull sense of satisfaction at the way Till flinches. “You’re such an idiot, who were you trying to save this time?”
“I wasn’t trying to save anyone, it’s just that they were treating one of the new recruits unreasonably. I saw it happening and I stepped in, anyone else would have done the same.” Till grumbles, rubbing his stinging cheek.
No, Ivan thinks, I wouldn’t have. Not unless it was you.
“You really should get that savior complex checked someday,” Ivan says, knowing that Till would never listen to him when it comes to this. It’s one of the reasons he fell so hard, after all.
“And you should get back to the base before they start sending search parties to look for you,” Till shoots back.
“I want to stay here a little longer, I haven’t seen the stars in a while,” Ivan says, gaze fixed on the reflection of the stars nestled in Till’s teal eyes, which in his opinion, shine brighter than the light left behind by dying stars in the night sky. Everything Till touches turns to life after all.
“Alright,” Till says, tracing the outline of constellations with an invisible pencil. “Suit yourself, but if they increase your workload with a couple thousand more interviews and ambassador deals, then you’ll only have yourself to blame.”
It’s a small price to pay, Ivan thinks, if it means I can stay by your side for a little while longer.
They stay in this position for several minutes, with Till drawing a map of the night sky in his head, and Ivan watching the way starlight falls onto the tips of Till’s eyelashes. Eventually, Till’s eyes close, and his breathing evens out. This is how they used to sleep even as kids, with Till on his back, and Ivan on his side, always facing Till’s direction.
Idly, Ivan wonders which is farther: the distance from the earth to the moon or the 5 centimeters between the tips of their fingers. If he shifts his hand ever so slightly to the right, he could lay their hands on top of each other before intertwining them in a pitiful imitation of handholding.
In the end, all he can do is carefully shift his hand so that their fingers brush ever so slightly against each other. He carefully caresses Till’s finger before hooking their pinkies together for 5 seconds, then letting go, moving his hand back to its original position where it can brush against Till’s hand.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” Ivan whispers, helplessly caught in Till’s gravity. Till shines as brightly as a meteor shower, and Ivan’s destined to stand in the middle of a grassy field with awestruck eyes and outstretched hands, hoping there’s a minuscule chance that he manages to catch a falling star. He thinks that this longing will consume him.
2.
The first person who taught Ivan what desire meant was no other than Till.
When he was younger, Ivan thought that desire was a base carnality, a violent language of possession and submission, an imbalance of power between parties. Now that he’s a little older, he equates it to hunger.
It’s nothing akin to the meals that the aliens constantly prepare for humans, those unidentifiable mixtures of goo and sludge and bits of questionable meat that pass through Ivan’s stomach like lead. His desire for Till feels like starvation, as if he never knew what it meant to yearn before he met him.
And how can he not desire him? With his sharp teal eyes that seem to break Ivan down to atoms, the elegant curve of his neck that makes Ivan’s teeth ache in his desire to bite , his slender fingers that are either adorned with rings or wrapped in fingerless gloves, his thin lips that look good wrapped around microphones, but would look even better wrapped around his cock and his voice that can either be as smooth as rivers of water running over flat pebbles or as rough as the edge of a jagged knife. All of Ivan’s wet dreams feature Till as the starring role, some scenes portraying Till flushed underneath him, his legs wrapped tightly across his waist and his nails painting a crisscross patch of lines across Ivan’s back as he thrusts into Till, chasing his warmth. Sometimes they’re on the bed, against the wall, spread out on the floor, Till’s music sheets scattered around them, but displaying sketches of Ivan instead of Mizi. If Ivan closes his eyes, he can almost imagine Till’s voice, hoarse from begging for more -
“Hey,” Till says, leaning over the couch to poke Ivan in the middle of his forehead. “Wake up idiot, you’re going to be late for your interview.”
“I wasn’t sleeping,” Ivan says, glancing up to see Till in a black button-down and grey slacks, the first 3 buttons of his top undone and exposing his pale chest. His red tie hangs around his neck, and one of his hands is braced against the arm of the couch as he leans forward. Ivan’s fingers twitch at his side, fighting down the urge to touch. “I was just thinking.”
Till snorts. “Yeah sure,” he replies, “and I’m the king of the world.”
No, Ivan thinks, you’re not a king, you’re a god. My one and only god, my universe, my heart.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Ivan asks, “you look like you’re the one going to an interview instead of me.”
“They want to take promotional pictures since my album’s about to be released,” Till says, ruffling his hair in a show of mild annoyance. “I didn’t want to dress up at all, but they told me it would be good for sales.”
They would be right, Ivan thinks, a twinge of jealousy in his chest at the thought of the whole world seeing Till like this. Till looks like the embodiment of sin, and Ivan would gladly bruise his knees from kneeling at his altar.
“Hey, lean closer for a bit,” Ivan requests, and Till casts him a suspicious look.
“For what?” He asks, attempting to scan Ivan’s face for any indication of what he plans to do.
“Just lean closer,” Ivan says, and Till tsks before leaning forward, albeit reluctantly. Once he’s close enough, Ivan grabs the end of Till’s tie and drags him forward. Till makes a noise of surprise and anger, but all Ivan does is laugh. They end up with one of Till’s knees pressed in between Ivan’s legs, and both of Till’s hands caging Ivan’s head.
It’s a sight Ivan would kill for, the image of Till’s flushed face embedded into his memory for easy recall during lonely nights (and days, because Till has a permanent residence in Ivan’s mind).
“You’re a bastard,” Till grows, attempting to move, but Ivan tugs on Till’s tie once again to keep him in place. “Don’t move, I just wanted to fix your tie for you.”
“What do you mean, it’s already fixed -” Till begins, then stops as Ivan starts to loosen it.
“Wait, wait, what are you doing?!” Till whisper shouts, attempting to struggle but Ivan’s hands are faster than Till’s mouth, already loosening the tie’s knot before Till can pull away.
“I told you,” Ivan says, tucking the tie under his collar and arranging the ends so that it hangs over Till’s button down. “I’m fixing it for you. This suits your image more doesn’t it?”
Till looks at him in incredulity, shades of red painting his cheeks and the tips of his ears red. It’s a good look for him and Ivan’s hands still, pressed carefully against Till’s blouse, the warmth of his skin seeping through the cloth and bleeding into his hands. He wants, more than anything, to pull Till down on top of him, to finally taste the mouth he’s been dreaming about for years, and to align their bodies together. It wouldn’t take much to move one of his hands down the small of Till’s back and push his body forward until his cock grinds against Ivan’s clothed leg, and to keep him going. He’d protest at first, but Ivan would soothe him and encourage him to keep going, to use Ivan for his pleasure, until Till throws his head back and bares his slender neck as he arches and cums from the friction and overwhelming pleasure. Then he’d slump, panting, against Ivan, and Ivan would flip them over faster than Till could blink, before he lowers his body against his, his mouth on Till’s neck, while his hand would reach down Till’s black slacks and circle around the tip of his cock. He’d thumb the head and gather the precum there, and he’d touch Till, slowly at first, then faster because any semblance of self-control he’d have would be washed away as soon as Till starts moaning -
His hands twitch, almost imperceptibly, but it’s all Till needs to snap out of his shock, quickly scrambling up and fixing his clothes. With the tips of Till’s ears turning red and his clothing in disarray, Ivan can almost pretend that his fantasy had actually come true.
“You’re a menace,” Till says, but the words lack any real bite.
“Thank you,” Ivan replies, and Till makes a face at him, his eyebrows crossing from anger. He turns around on his heel and starts to walk out of the room, and Ivan knows he should let him go, but he can’t resist calling out, “I helped you with your outfit, and you won’t even help me up?”
“You can help yourself up, Mr. Rising Star,” Till snarks, but he still stops a few feet from the door.
“But I want you,” Ivan says, hiding the sincerity of his words behind a flirty smile. “Come on, won’t our favorite rookie genius help me out for old time’s sake?”
“You’re ridiculous,” Till grumbles, but he turns back around anyway. Ivan reaches his hands out to him, a silent request, and Till meets him halfway. He pulls him, a bit too roughly, and it takes a bit of effort on Ivan’s part not to accidentally butt heads with him on the way up.
“I think you almost wrenched my arms out of their sockets,” Ivan states as casually as if he were talking about the weather. He watches in fascination as a vein throbs in Till’s temple, knowing that he’s really pushing his luck today but he can’t help it, because he’d do anything just to keep Till’s eyes on him for a little longer.
“It’s your fault for weighing so much,” Till retorts, but he still presses his hands hesitatingly on Ivan’s shoulders, kneading it for a few seconds before he lets go. “There, so you can’t complain about not being in your best condition later during the interview.”
“You’re so thoughtful,” Ivan drawls sarcastically, to mask how affected he is by Till’s simple touch.
“No need to thank me,” Till shoots back, before glancing up at the clock and startling. “Shit, it’s already so late, I have to go to my shoot.”
He turns around and starts walking back towards the door, but ends up hesitating with his hand hovering over the doorknob.
Turn back around, Ivan thinks quietly, look at me one last time before you go. He wonders if this is how Eurydice felt, wanting a tangible sign of Orpheus’ love, to know that he loved her to the point of losing her. Ivan wonders if Till’s gaze would immortalize him or pass right through him, forever in search of the edelweiss of his feelings.
“Goodluck with the interview,” Till says, with an underlying message of thank you for helping me with the tie . With that, he walks out of the room.
He doesn’t look back once.
3.
The hard tiles of the floor make Ivan’s knees ache, but it’s a dull throb at the back of his mind, as he carefully removes Till’s collar. He leans over Till’s slumped body, bracing one hand against the wall, his gaze fixed on his rumpled suit that has half fallen off, exposing Till’s bare neck and shoulder.
Even like this, he’s still the most beautiful person Ivan has ever seen, which isn’t an adjective that is often used to describe Till. Wild, most definitely. Fierce and rebellious? Without a doubt. Hot/handsome has also been used by quite a lot of fans when it comes to Till (with Ivan carefully taking note of their names and room numbers, just for future reference).
But beautiful? This wouldn’t be the first word that comes to a lot of people’s minds, but when it comes to Till, Ivan can’t help but find beauty in his teal eyes, his fair skin, his storm-colored hair, and his wild heart. He is the most beautiful person in the world, and he’s lying in front of him, bruises littering his skin from whichever bastard alien had decided to take what isn’t his.
Well, Ivan thinks, carefully cupping Till’s cheek, it’s not as if you’re mine either.
Belatedly, he remembers an interview he did for one of the clothing brands that decided to sponsor him. While he always prepared meticulously for every interview, not a lot of moments stuck with him, except for this one particular question that came up near the end.
You’ve been scouted by quite a few agencies, and you’re known as a rising star in the industry, constantly topping popularity polls and gaining brand reputation awards. What does it feel like, the host had asked, to be God’s favorite?
At the time, Ivan had simply smiled his usual polite smile and answered something along the lines of how he didn’t really believe himself to be God’s favorite, and that he was only doing his best to properly represent his owners and uphold their honorable reputation.
However, there was an inkling of truth in what he said. If he were favored by god, then it must not be his god, for his god had never liked the color of the night half as much as he liked the pink hues of the dawn.
He gazes down at Till’s unconscious face, thinking of how easy it would be to steal a kiss from him like a thief in the night. Isn’t this how he always acts around Till anyway? Stealing his pencils, his attention, and any scrap of affection he can get, just like a beggar.
But instead of giving in to his desires, he refrains, choosing to nuzzle his cheek with his nose, before turning his head and burying it in Till’s neck right above the silver Till etched into his skin.
He isn’t sure how much time passes as he cradles him in his arms before he rises. His knees protest at how long he’s been kneeling, but he pays it no mind as he carefully gathers Till in his arms. He’s going to bring him to the hospital to treat his wounds, then he’s going to deal with a certain alien after. He doesn’t deserve an easy death, he deserves to be dragged down, kicking and screaming, from his position of wealth and power, all connections cut off, and begging for mercy.
Unfortunately for him, Ivan has no mercy for those who dare to touch his beloved.
4.
The rain falls down heavily, drenching the two figures on the stage, both of them clothed in each other’s colors. It could almost be mistaken as a wedding with the matching white and black suits, but the somber atmosphere feels more suitable for a funeral.
As Ivan sings, he watches the way the rain gathers on the tips of Till’s eyelashes and falls on the bridge of his nose, and finds himself irrationally jealous of the easy way the rain touches his skin.
He turns his head to look back at the audience, noting the way they whisper amongst themselves in their native language, wondering who would be the winner of this round, as it seems as if the two of them are evenly matched, the rookie genius against the rising star.
It’s only fitting, Ivan thinks, for the one who started his heart to be the one to stop it as well. Because back then, when Till’s hand had slipped out of his grasp and he turned around to go back to the compound, Ivan had followed, as helpless as Orpheus was, because he was destined to always look back. Till had never asked him why, perhaps out of a sense of guilt, but Ivan only ever had one answer to the unspoken question.
For you, he would have said. It’s only ever been you.
In his daydreams, Till always looks at him with a mixture of worry and frustration in his eyes. Idiot, he imagines him saying, you could have lived if you just let me go.
If I let you go, Ivan would say, I would die a slow death. Living without you wouldn’t be living at all, because it’s only with you that I’m truly alive.
Perhaps it’s a good thing that Till had never asked him why he stayed, because if he had known the answer, then he would know the result of this round. For the aliens stationed in the front seats, the round is a close call between two crowd favorites and for Luka it’s a battle between a dead man walking and a clear winner. For Till, it’s his last stand, but for Ivan? It’s an offering to his one and only god from his most devoted believer.
And as he drops the mic and strides across the stage to Till, he thinks, I refuse to become a memory that haunts you. Hate me ok? Hate me with all you have, so that losing me doesn’t paralyze you. I’ll be the villain to your victim if it means you get to live.
He grabs Till’s face and watches the way his eyes widen as he slides his hand down to his neck and presses their mouths together in a rough imitation of a kiss. I’m sorry, he thinks, drawing closer even when Till pushes him away, all I’ve ever done is touch you with violence on my fingertips.
He grabs Till’s neck and squeezes, knowing that he could squeeze hard enough to leave a bruise, which would lower his points faster, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to bring Till any more pain, so he continues to squeeze until he sees the flashing 70 on the score board. He looks back at Till and presses a soft kiss to Till’s mouth, in the shape of an apology. He moves back and continues squeezing Till’s neck until he starts coughing up blood, until he’s sure that he’ll be the one to die instead of Till, until he physically can’t hold on anymore.
As he falls to the ground, all he can think of is Ah, so this is what it feels like to die and It’s more painful than I thought, overpowered by his final thought, Till’s finally looking at me.
He closes his eyes for a final time, with Till’s teal gaze seared into the back of his eyelids, knowing that he was finally seen. In the end, he’d rather be Eurydice than Orpheus after all.
+1
Till isn’t quite sure when it first starts.
Ever since he was young, he’s been carrying around an anger that weighs him down like gravity. Anger at the injustice that the system brings, anger at the unfair treatment humans endure, and anger at being used as mere entertainment for his captors. This anger transforms him into something wild and unruly, something that needs to be tamed.
He knows that he isn’t the easiest person to be around, knows that, through the messages left behind by the other kids in Anakt Garden, that everyone liked him and his passion, but no one wanted to get too near for fear of being burnt or torn apart. On some level, he understands, but for the most part, he just feels incredibly lonely.
Then Mizi comes, shining as bright as the sun, and Till feels warm for the first time in a long time. Along with her comes Sua, and Till watches as Mizi and Sua orbit each other like binary stars. He’s happy for them because they were able to find each other in this cruel world, and a little bit jealous that Mizi would never look at him like that. But for a while, it was alright, because all Till wanted was an anchor to bring him out of this hazy fog of anger, and for him, Mizi was a symbol for him to follow and devote himself to.
But then Ivan comes along, and suddenly Till’s pencils are being stolen and returned, he can’t release a song without showing the first few drafts to Ivan, the spot beneath his tree now holds two shadows instead of one, and whenever Till looks, Ivan is always looking back. It happens as slowly as falling asleep, but ever since Ivan entered his life, Till has never been alone anymore. It’s equal parts terrifying and exhilarating, and Till doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that he’s never been quite as alive as he is around Ivan.
So when Ivan sets him free and they run across the plains together, Till follows because Till would follow Ivan to the ends of the earth. But then he stops, because he remembers Mizi and Sua and all the people they’ve left behind, and he ends up letting go of Ivan’s hand and returning. Against all his expectations, Ivan returns too, and Till is never the same again.
He ends up in more fights than usual with Ivan, because there’s a tangled ball of guilt and longing and anger building in his chest, and being with Ivan has never been easy, because Ivan’s future is bright. He is the beloved star of the industry, the people’s favorite, and his owner’s beloved pet. Till’s future is a one-way street because people like him are meant to struggle and live and burn and die in the span of time it takes for a comet to streak through the sky.
If he falls, he would rather fall by himself, for the impact won’t hurt as much if it’s just him in the crossfire. So he makes his gaze pass through Ivan, knowing that if he ever looked at him for a few seconds longer, he would get caught in the sweep of his eyelashes and his snaggletooth smile and Ivan doesn’t deserve to be chained down to someone like Till.
But he must have failed a long time ago, because Ivan, who always plans 10 steps ahead of anyone else, would never have thrown their round out of impulse. No, this must have meant that he had planned for the one person to leave the round to be Till, even at the cost of his own life. For all of Till’s efforts, Ivan never stopped looking, and this is the very fact that ruins Till.
He isn’t quite sure how they dragged him away from Ivan’s lifeless body, but he remembers scratching and screaming and biting until they had to tranquilize him 5 times and lock him up with restraints that felt heavier than usual. All too soon, it’s time for his round against Luka, who tries to use Mizi’s memory against him, but Till uses the anger burning under his skin to sing him to an early grave. Their scores are almost tied when Luka tries to turn the tide by mentioning Ivan’s name, which makes Till see red. He breaks his nose and his jaw and is close to breaking the rest of his bones until someone carries him away. He’s swinging his fists around, attempting to hurt them too, but then someone that sounds suspiciously like Mizi speaks, and it turns out that it’s Mizi who came back for him, Mizi who saved him once again by telling him that Ivan is still alive and that they’re taking them both back.
Later, he meets Hyuna and sees the way Mizi looks at her as if she hung the moon and stars, and a wave of dizzying relief and happiness rushes through him at the fact that Mizi looks alive once again. He undergoes training with Dewey and Isaac, and sometimes Hyuna and Mizi, and his body becomes leaner, his arms and legs become more toned, and his jawline becomes sharper.
“You look more and more deadly every time I see you,” Hyuna whistles, as Till steps out of the training room, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt.
“Thanks Hyuna,” Till says, one corner of his mouth curling up, “need to be in the best shape if we’re going to take down the system after all.”
“We’d need all hands on deck for that to happen,” Hyuna remarks, slinging an arm around Till’s shoulders as they walk through the hallway. “On that subject, how’s Ivan?”
“Good,” Till says, which is a relief to say compared to the numerous, I don’t know s he had to give during the first few weeks of Ivan’s recovery. “They said he’d wake up today.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’re in a hurry,” Hyuna says, and Till frowns.
“I’m walking at my usual pace?” He says, and Hyuna snorts. “You ended training a full 2 hours earlier than usual, we usually have to drag you from there just so that you can eat properly. Also, you’re heading straight to Ivan’s room instead of the showers. You don’t have to hide it Till, it’s pretty obvious to me.”
It’s a casual utterance, but there’s something in Till’s chest that loosens when he realizes that he doesn’t have to hide his feelings about Ivan anymore because, against all odds, they’re safe here.
“Yeah,” Till says, allowing a small smile to show. “I guess I don’t.”
When they make it to Ivan’s room, Hyuna ruffles his hair and lets him go, but not after making him promise to eat something as soon as Ivan wakes up. Till hesitates for only a few seconds before opening the door and walking through it. He closes it, then walks to the center of the room where Ivan is laid out on a bed, no longer hooked up to numerous monitors and IVs. As he watches the steady rise and fall of Ivan’s chest, Till carefully crawls onto the bed and maneuvers Ivan gently so that his head lays on his lap.
He runs his hand through Ivan’s silky strands and hums the melody of his next song, something about all the stars they failed to reach, and what it means to seek immortalization in the form of having your beloved’s eyes on you.
He isn’t sure how much time passes before he feels Ivan stir against him, the steadiness of his breathing changing ever so slightly as if trying to become quieter. It’s only when Till sees Ivan tilting his head ever so slightly in his direction that he understands that Ivan’s attempting to listen to him sing, to make himself smaller so that Till becomes larger than life.
“Hey idiot,” he says, hoping his voice doesn’t betray his shakiness, before poking the middle of Ivan’s forehead roughly. “It’s time for you to wake up.”
He watches as Ivan’s thick eyelashes flutter open to reveal eyes the color of midnight skies, Till’s favorite, for he had always been more fond of the night than anyone realized.
As Ivan stares up at him with a mixture of longing and confusion, Till meets his stare directly, refusing to look away for even a second. I see you, Till thinks, I’ve always seen you Ivan. So stay with me, and let me show you all the ways you’ve ruined me and all the ways you’ve held me close enough to breathe. Stay with me, and I’ll tell you all about the songs I’ve hidden from you because they’re all about you, because you are my muse. Stay with me, so that I can find out what you look like in the morning, if you ever have bed hair or if your hair just falls into place like it’s effortless for you, you perfect bastard. Stay with me and let me learn and relearn you all over again until we get to belong to each other in all the ways that matter.
Stay with me, my north star.