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The dingy light of the bar is both achingly familiar to him and completely foreign at the same time.
The atmosphere is much more grim, for one. Their leader is heavily injured and they’ve lost a few good men in the operation. If it weren’t for Dewey and Issac’s united front, the morale would surely be worse. Those who can administer medical aid are running around from table to table, and those who can’t are gathering supplies for others.
It’s nothing at all like the despicable high-end establishments that his owner used to drag him to.
The warmth on his shoulder isn’t unusual. He’s used to floating in and out of lucidity with his face pressed against a large thigh, but this time there is no purple-colored skin underneath him. Only matted black hair that’s tickling his collarbone.
Ivan is dead to the world with his cheek squished on Till’s bony shoulder. He could easily be mistaken for an actual corpse if it wasn’t for the faint thump-thump-thump of his pulse under Till’s fingertips.
He stares down at their interlaced hands. Ivan’s fingers are loose.
Till tightens his hold, lip trembling.
He can’t get the memory of Ivan’s smile out of his head. Through the veil of haziness that covered his brain the entire round, the only thing he remembers with picture-perfect clarity is that damned smile. The one that looks so satisfied even while coated in blood.
He doesn’t get it.
He doesn’t get a thing.
Thump-thump-thump.
It’s irregular, and so faint that Till has to press his fingers hard into Ivan’s wrist to feel it, but it’s there. It’s there . Ivan’s alive. He survived. He’s alive.
Ivan’s breath catches. From Till’s angle above him, he can see his eyelashes fluttering open, but he doesn’t move.
“Ivan?” Till detangles their fingers, bringing his newly freed hand to cup Ivan’s cheek, and turns his head to face him. But it’s useless, the man’s eyes are unfocused and his expression is too relaxed. Ivan closes his eyes and doesn’t open them again.
Till moves him back onto his shoulder. Presses his nose into the crown of Ivan’s head. It smells like iron and gunpowder.
They sit like that, two newly rescued victims from Alien Stage. One on death’s door and the other a miserable mess. They must paint an ugly picture.
“Till.”
Looking up from under his drying bangs, he almost doesn’t recognize her at first. Outside of the Anakt Garden dress and her stage outfits, Mizi looks… well, she looks unrecognizable. Her hair is cropped shorter than he’s ever seen, and heavy bags are under her eyes. Even her smile has dimmed to something more awkward than the carefree one of just a few weeks ago.
Less like the burning sun and more like a dying star.
“Mizi,” he manages, too exhausted to even think about his feelings for her. “You cut your hair.”
She nods, her fingers teasing the strands by her ear. “I did. It was getting in the way.”
Mizi’s hair is important to her. This, he knows like the back of his hand. Ever since she was brought into Anakt Garden, she’s fiercely protected her hair from anyone who tried to give her grief about it. Even when it’d get dirty and tangled from running all over the garden, she never cut it. It meant something more to her than just plain old hair. Mizi would never part with her hair.
Then again, Mizi would also never part with Sua, and now look at her.
A half-empty bottle of water is pressed into his hands. “You need to eat. Ivan too.”
Reminded of the man who nearly sacrificed his life for him, Till feels for his pulse for the nth time that hour.
Thump-thump-thump.
Still alive.
Mizi looks at him with something in her gaze. Till opens the bottle and takes a sip. It tastes like pity. It tastes like understanding.
A year ago, the very idea of sharing a bottle with Mizi— the possibility of an indirect kiss— would have set his face alight.
Now, he throws back the rest of the water in one gulp, pushing his thoughts down from his brain to his throat, following the path of his esophagus to his stomach until he starts to mentally disconnect again.
An arm reaches out for Ivan.
It’s sharply yanked away by his.
Mizi hisses as she’s grabbed roughly, more in shock than in pain.
Till pulls his hand away from her wrist like it burned him. He tries to get his breathing under control. “S-sorry.”
She rubs her wrist but offers him a smile. “It’s okay, I get it. You’re still keyed up.”
He glares at his offending hand. What is he doing? Mizi isn’t an enemy. She’s the furthest thing from it, but nothing makes sense anymore since the sixth round. Not Ivan’s actions, not his execution or miraculous survival, and certainly not Till’s conflicting feelings now, especially concerning Ivan.
There are many things Till feels about the other man. A fellow human pet who stuck by his side even with Till’s abrasive personality. An annoyance who did everything to get on Till’s nerves just because he could. A friend who forfeited his own life for Till’s. He could never figure out what Ivan’s angle was, and he still can’t figure it out now.
If Ivan had died in the third round, maybe Till wouldn’t have felt a thing. But Ivan didn’t, forfeiting his round with Till instead. Thing is, he was the best student in Anakt besides Sua. He was practically guaranteed to make it to the last round and hopefully triumph against Luka. And yet, for some unfathomable reason, Ivan purposefully destroyed his chances. For Till. And now Till doesn’t know what to think about him.
Like Mizi, he’s also a different person now, it seems. In just a few hours, he’s changed from a man waiting for his death to a man fumbling through a brand new reality where Mizi’s alive, Ivan’s alive, and they’re sitting in a run-down bar that’s run by humans .
“Can you wake up Ivan for me?” Mizi asks. She doesn’t move to shake the wounded man again. Till swallows down the apologies for scaring her.
He rocks Ivan gently. “Hey, wake up.”
It takes a few minutes to rouse Ivan from his deep slumber but he does eventually stir. He doesn’t look up at Till, likely too weak to lift his head. Instead, Ivan stares ahead with blank eyes. Mizi gulps, clearly unnerved.
“Ivan, I’m going to feed you some porridge, okay?” Mizi picks up the bowl she placed down, stirring it a few times and lifting the spoon to Ivan’s lips. “Please eat. You need it to regain your energy and heal.”
Finally, after a few more insistent prods to his lips, they crack open. Mizi slips the spoon into his mouth, taking care not to spill anything.
Ivan chokes.
Till sucks in a breath as he watches Ivan cough harshly, phlegm catching painfully in the guy’s throat. Mizi pats his back while uttering soft apologies.
The next spoonful goes in much smoother. Ivan barely has the energy to swallow but Mizi is a miracle worker and manages to coax a few more bites into him.
And Till… the only thing he can do is rubbing circles into Ivan’s back and gripping his hand like a lifeline. He doesn’t know what else to do.
“Mizi…” Till wets his cracked lips with his tongue, desperate for something to say. “You can cook now?”
“Yeah, just a little bit,” Mizi smiles sadly. “I can only make this and maybe burnt rice. It’s not that hard, but I keep messing up. We never really had to learn back in…”
Back in Anakt Garden.
“Mn.”
She glances up at him. “It’s nice here, Till. I learned how to hotwire a car the other day and—”
A hoarse voice, “Till …”
Both of them pause, heads snapping to Ivan with wide eyes.
“Till…” Ivan’s voice is low and slurred, but he calls Till’s name like it’s the only thing he knows how to say with clarity. He’s struggling to get up, pushing against Till’s shoulder and turning his head as much as he can to look around the room. “... Where… Till…”
“Here,” Till ducks into his line of sight. “I’m here, Ivan.”
Under his fingers, the heartbeat has picked up. Still faint, but now a quick staccato rather than slow humming.
Ivan’s pupils are still unfocused, but his nose scrunches up as he peers into Till’s face with determined concentration. “... Till?”
He swallows. “Yeah, Ivan. I’m here. It’s me.”
Ivan’s expression clears. Recognition. “You’re… here…”
He still doesn’t seem all the way present, but he’s looking at him. He’s looking at Till for the first time since his body hit the floor of the stage, since he was thrown over a rebellion member’s shoulders and disappeared into the crowds, since Till’s been reunited with him in the bar.
“And… Mi— zi …?”
“She’s here too.”
“Yes, Ivan?” Mizi leans forward, her lips quirked up in genuine relief. “You’re safe with us. We’re all here.”
Ivan blinks slowly. Till can see her words slowly sinking their way into his head because he eventually mimics her smile. “I’m… glad.”
His eyelids droop again. Seems like just that was enough to tire him out.
Mizi places the bowl of porridge on the nearby table. “You should eat some of that too, Till. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. I’m going to check on Hyuna now.”
Till nods but makes no move to grab the food. His stomach churns at the thought of eating. Mizi sighs but doesn’t press, throwing one last glance back at them before she leaves. He watches her go. She’s as beautiful as the day she disappeared, if not more so. She’s lost the woman who meant the world to her, and yet she still finds the resolve to fight for others. The newfound strength is a good look in her.
He wonders if he can do the same.
Ivan’s hand squeezing his brings his attention back to the man. The subtle red of Ivan’s eyes is barely visible underneath his long lashes, but they’re firmly fixed on him like he’s afraid Till will leave if he looks away.
He helps Ivan’s head back onto his shoulder. After some internal debate, Till wraps his arms around Ivan in a loose hug. “Go back to sleep, Ivan.”
“Mm…” Ivan’s body is limp, having exhausted his energy trying to search for Till earlier. “You’ll stay?”
“I will. I’ll stay.”
“Oh…” Now he sounds amused. “I see… What a good dream to die to.”
Till’s thoughts stop. He scrambles for Ivan’s pulse again, his heart suddenly thundering in his chest.
Thump-thump-thump.
Till brings Ivan’s hand to his lips, pressing it against them. Ivan doesn’t respond, already dead to the world.
Thump-thump-thump .
It’s faint. It’s steady. It’s there.
His entire body shakes.
“You fucking idiot…”
Alive. He’s alive.
Alive, alive, alive.