Love as an act of Rebellion

But as they had gotten older and her love for and with Mizi had matured, she'd become less bothered by it.

“I am s-sorry… I-I really didn’t mean t-to…” Watching Sua’s expression turn to the more neutral one Till is familiar with—and is that a smile??—he tacks on:

“D-does it help at all that when I left, I dragged Ivan with me?” While his intention truly had been to give the girls some privacy, he’d thought more than once since waking up in this world about how he wished he’d try harder to know Sua better, and Till wasn’t above using this to try to wheedle into her good graces.

Hyuna looks off to the side in thought. Did everyone mean Luka, too? She chews on the inside of her cheek. Fingers clenching into fists and loosening, fingerpads rubbing at the meaty part of her hand, and again clenching her fist. It was a way to keep her mind here. Grounding technique. Honestly, she wasn't sure where she picked it up, but she wouldn't call it a habit.

"Yeah." It's unclear whether she's answering the first or the second question.

She lowers her head, uses her free hand to push back hair that cascades over her face.

"It's complicated," She finally answers. "We were close, but....Well," She looks at Till with a smile. It's strained. Like she's TRYING not to be so doom and gloom,

Till stops and slowly puts his tools down.

“S-sorry… We don’t have t’ talk about this if you don’t wanna? I wasn’t thinkin’ ‘bout it like that…”

Picking up his phone, Till starts tapping away.

“What kinda food were you thinkin’?” Till lifts his phone up higher so that it covers his face, but one can still see the tips of his ears turn pink.

His question earns a confused look, though. She looks at him with a tilt of her head, "Aren't you already sweet?" She laughs, "I AM not full of shit!" Hanabi gently pushes Till in a playful manner when he ruffles her hair fondly.

"I'm just very cute and very nice, that's all," She says this with a full chest and a prideful look. It's all in jest, of course. She really doesn't know how she got so lucky.

“Sh-shaddup! I-I-I’m not sweet!” Till laughs again. “You are SO full of shit!”

‘So full of shit your eyes have turned brown,’ he wants to say, but looking at Hanabi’s big brown eyes makes Till feel an overwhelming urge to squish her face and pinch her cheeks. He swipes at her head again playfully, further messing up her hair.

“Very cute,” Till agrees, admiring her fluffed-up hair—his handiwork. “And very nice… I’ll… I’ll try that. Thanks.”

Till pauses, paling rapidly.

Chiikawa want to play guitar like their best friend Hachiware. More so than that though, they wanted to learn. Since at the moment all they could really do was strum the strings in an uneven manner.

'Pling pling pling!'

The small rental guitar that they were holding could be used well enough for this purpose. Especially since they were unable to afford actually buy their own guitar at the moment.

Glancing over at the open booklet of sheet music, they looked quite concerned. None of this made sense. They had to be doing something wrong.

"....Mm..."

Likely not a danger to anyone. But over two decades of bad experiences with non-humans were hard to overcome, and Till couldn’t help being naturally reluctant to approach them…

…Even if they were pretty cute…

It’s the bad playing that eventually tips the scales, and Till gives a long-suffering sigh before walking up to the little white creature and crouching down beside them. He gives their sheet music and guitar a glance over.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," She says agreeingly. There would have been no way of knowing because they never really talked about it. "But....You know? I'm glad I know now." She works her utensil through her food, but doesn't eat yet. It's just to keep her hands busy. "Do you know what made you be able to do all of that while on stage?" literally life or death, is what he said. She HAS a feeling she doesn't really need to read between the lines to know that when Till means literally, he means it for real.

"We're here, aren't we?" She asks softly. "You and I, at my home, sitting here at the dining table with my two owls. We're sitting here talking, good meals--I HOPE it's good for you, hehe...

But we're both here, Till. Having those difficulties doesn't make you broken. It makes you human. You just work through them."

She thinks about his question from before. "I've always dreamt of going on a big stage, but I developed...Not a fear of being on stage, perhaps? But the crowd itself. I get stage fright because of the crowd below. No matter how small the crowd is. I got lost when I was a child. Took my sister an hour to find me, and since then, it's been a fear of mine. I force myself to go through the busier streets. The marketplace here, the boardwalk....I force myself to be surrounded by the crowd. It's not always easy. Some days I'm able to do it, but other days I can't breathe.

“I…I think…” Till traces the scar on one side of his neck and the lettering of this brand on the other. “I think maybe because it was life or death… And I knew how badly my friends would’ve wanted me to win… How badly Ivan wanted me to win—”

Till chokes up, eyes welling with tears. He swipes at his eyes impatiently, willing his voice not to stick in his throat.

“I was the only one left… An’ I never w-wanted t’ be. I… I just wanted t’ lie down and give up, y’know? But I knew how much he would h-hate that… How much he gave up t’ give me another chance to get out of it a-alive… An’ even th-then, I didn’t do good enough t’ win…” Ismael’s words of comfort and support just make the tears come faster, and Till gives a despairing little laugh.

“I-I j-just… I don’t feel like I deserve all of you… I d-don’t feel like I deserve all these ch-chances… I keep f-fuckin’ ‘em up…”

Pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes, Till wills himself to stop crying. Following Ismael’s lead, he picks up a fork and moves some food around his plate while he listens.

“I didn’t know that… I’m really sorry that happened t’ you… Yeah, that would’ve been scary as a kid…” When you’re a kid, the world is so much bigger. Terrifyingly large. And Till remembers being separated from his mother…

“I’d never have thought that was somethin’ you struggled with lookin’ at you now. An’ that’s also, like, a real fear. Crowds could get mad at ya, or trample ya, or—” Till scowls down at his plate, realizing that by defending Ismael, he’s painted himself into a corner where he can’t put down himself without invalidating her fears as well. After all, what’s the point of performing on stage if it isn’t for the enjoyment of an audience?

“You can’t be gross,” Till grumbles absently, picking at his food. “You’re too pretty t’ be gross.” Realizing what he said, Till drops his fork with a clatter, the tips of his ears flushing tomato red.

“I-I-I-I-I m-mean—! E-everyone th-thinks s-s-so!” Nice. Good save.

Although he’s grateful for the subject change, it’s only Till’s deep respect for Ismael that keeps him from rolling his watery eyes at the name ‘Aurelius’.

"..."

"...!"

"...Could someone help a TV out and say the F-word for me. The censors won't let me."

"FUCK!"

Margarita Karapanou, tr. by Karen Emmerich, from Rien ne va plus

He doesn't dare speak, lest he break the spell, instead getting to work on rubbing ointment on the cleaned wounds. It's not perfect, but they can check on them again tomorrow.

After being sure there's an even coat across all of the wounds, he slowly starts to wrap bandages around Till's neck, sure that it is secure, but not wrapping too tightly.

This is where he hesitates, hands shaking.

His head is finally quiet, but his heart is so loud. Filled with so many emotions and feelings about Ivan—about Ivan trying his best to be good for Till’s sake—that he couldn’t begin to parse through the chaos if he had months—years—in front of a notebook and sketchpad.

More tears slip down his face and fall onto Ivan’s hands, where they’re trembling under his chin.

Moving as slowly as Ivan, Till releases his white-knuckled grip on Ivan’s clothes to reach up and take both his hands in his. And isn’t it funny? How both of them move like the other is a startled animal, waiting to bolt? Maybe they both are. Till’s hands are shaking just as badly as Ivan’s, and they’re smeared with blood, but the skin-to-skin contact is more grounding.

Till runs his thumb over the silver brand on Ivan’s wrist, just as gently as Ivan had touched the one on Till’s neck, before nodding a little hesitantly.

He butts his head against Ivan’s hand, nuzzling his temple against Ivan’s knuckles in a way he remembers Ivan trying to comfort Till when he was distraught. Till knows it’s difficult for both of them, the way it feels like Ivan is collaring him. Strangling him. Till wishes that they didn’t have to bandage his neck at all, but he sees now that what Ivan is doing is in the best interest of Till’s physical well-being. Selfishly, he wishes Ivan understood him well enough to take care of his emotional needs as well, but Till can intuitively feel how hard Ivan is trying. How badly he doesn’t want to mess this up. Till can bear it.

Gently, so gently, careful around the metal of his tattered brand to not catch it on the fibers of the towel. "I need to use disinfectant now."

He knew this would sting, but he tried to split himself off from imagining the sensation. He's inhaling in his nose, exhaling through his mouth, as slowly as he can. Carefully, like handling an old text with pages so thin you can almost see through them.

Setting aside the bowl, he murmurs, "That's done. Now it's just...ointment and bandages."

He holds up the tube and the bandages, holding them for Till to see if he needs to.

Tears that had been welling up at his lashline spill over as Till looks up at Ivan mutely. The only noises in the room are Ivan’s voice and the much quieter sound of Till copying Ivan’s deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth, following Ivan’s pace.

The voices in his head fall silent.

“I dunno, I’d stop an’ watch if someone was doin’ that trick you just did. All the different types of art people can do… All the variations… It’s like the flowers, y’know? You think you’ve seen ‘em all, but they’re always changin’, an’ every time you stop t’ look, you see somethin’ new…”

Till turns more and more red with every compliment, but when his childhood self is mentioned, his expression turns… strange. An odd mix of nostalgia and regret.

“I… I dunno if he’d be all that impressed with my skills.” While Till had drawn a lot as a kid, he’d often felt guilty about the amount of time he’d spent on it. After all, music was his true talent and the reason for his existence, and he hadn’t been good enough to win the competition he’d been preparing for his entire. Drawing was just a silly little thing that humans did.

“But… I do think… he’d be amazed at where I am now. With so many people who care about me… Surrounded by so many people who don’t think twice ‘bout wanting t’ make someone’s day better…” Till gestures meaningfully with the rose still in his hand.

When Till asks what breed Gwen is, Vivi holds out the Pokemon to Till as she answers. "Gwen is a Pokemon called an Eevee. Before I got here, she was evolved into a Syvleon. You can hold her, if you'd like."

“S-so… is she gonna look different one day?”

He reaches up to give Gwen a little scritch between her adorable ears. Hopefully not that different.

After all, she can manipulate memories.

Then Till shows her his completed sketch and any argument she has dies in her throat. He made her look like any other girl. Namine feels her cheeks get wet, and she starts trying to blot her eyes.

Ripping the sketch from his book, he hesitates before turning it over and writing his phone number on the back.

But....Well, seeing Till by her doorway and seeing him all damped with sweat from possibly running here has got her feeling it coming. Her eyes sting with tears threatening to come.

"Oppa....." Her voice breaks, and her eyes are on full-on watery. "Till oppa!!!" The broom is dropped to the ground, and here she comes. Practically slamming herself against his chest and wrapping her arms around him. For someone SO petite and tiny, she's so strong.

And the way his heart feels like it’s breaking has nothing to do with his bruised ribs.

“I know… I know…” Till’s splinted hand comes up to pat her head, dropping the bags of food on her stairs so he can wrap his other arm tightly around her.

“It’s not fair… Not fair at all…” Blinking tears back from his eyes, Till tries not to think about how he would feel if he were in her position. He only wants to think about Hanabi and what she needs right now.