Dim lights please

“Mm.” She let out a huff of air that sounded almost like a laugh. “I know you’re worried. So am I. But this isn’t exactly surprising, Ivan.”

He paused. “We were saved. He’s safe.”

“You’re both safe,” she corrected firmly before visibly softening, reaching out to grasp one of his hands.

He let her, staring into her eyes. The difference was almost startlingly; no longer did she have the bright eyes of the girl he had known. The kindness was still there, he surmised it always would be, but the light had dimmed.

“It isn’t as easy as just getting saved,” she said quietly. “That doesn’t undo the damage. Especially—” She paused, looking away for a moment. When she looked back, she squeezed his hand. “He still saw you get shot, Ivan.”

He stiffened a little. “It was just a flesh wound.” He tried to tug his hand away; Mizi held on with a surprising tightness.

“You have always underestimated yourself, Ivan,” she looked almost sad, and it made his skin feel itchy all over. “He cares for you. Deeply.”

Finally he managed to free his hand, ignoring the too-loud thumping in his chest. “I need to see him.”

“Okay,” she agreed easily now, smiling with that same tinge of sadness that made him feel too exposed.

-

Ivan opened the door and peered inside. He wasn’t too surprised to find Till asleep; Mizi had also informed him that he was sleeping most of the time.

Gently he shut the door behind him, wincing when the metal hinges creaked loudly, but one glance at the bed and it was obvious Till was still asleep.

Walking to the bed, he admired Till for a silent moment. He found himself counting his breaths before stopping himself with a firm shake of his head.

He didn’t need to worry about that, not anymore. Till was safe.

Slowly he eased himself into the chair by the bed. For a moment longer, he sat there and watched Till. At first glance, he looked peaceful, but after a while Ivan started to notice little details—a tiny furrow between his eyebrows, a twitch in his jaw—that made him realize that might not be the case. Even in sleep, he seemed haunted.

He was safe, but he didn’t feel it. Or believe it. In the end, that was all that mattered.

Ivan thought back to what Mizi had said. Had he been the cause of this? Surely not. Ivan being shot in front of him was hardly the most traumatic thing Till had ever experienced.

It was only when Till made a muffled sound in the very back of his throat that sounded suspiciously like a sob that Ivan forced himself to move. Leaning onto the side of the bed, he reached out and brushed his knuckles against Till’s jaw.

Even that featherlight touch was enough to have him scrambling awake, tangling himself in the blanket as he hurried to sit up. Ivan quickly leaned back, giving him space.

After he calmed down, Ivan noticed two things: his eyes were dull—even duller than they’d been on stage—and the dark circles under them were so dark he looked sick.

“Hey,” he greeted. For once, he understood what it felt like to be unsure of what to say.

Till stared at him. Once it was obvious he wasn’t going to respond, Ivan glanced around. He found what he was looking for on the bedside table.

“I heard you haven’t been eating,” he continued, grabbing the bowl. It was a mix of fruits. Mizi had mentioned something about it being easy on the stomach and refreshing. Obviously Till hadn’t felt the same way.

Till still said nothing. Ivan ignored the tightness in his chest.

“You’re recovering,” he said. “You need to eat.”

Still nothing. Ivan swallowed. He needed to tread carefully, he knew that, but that was more of Mizi’s expertise. He usually never thought twice about what he was going to say or do.

Just as he was opening his mouth to try again, Till sniffed once and said, “I should be mad at you right now.” Ivan’s mouth snapped shut. Even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear, he wasn’t going to interrupt. Till breathed out slowly. “But I don’t even have it in me.”

Ivan gently set the bowl aside. “I’m—”

“If you apologize, I’m going to start crying.”

Ivan pressed his lips together. Till hadn’t even cried on the stage, or immediately after, but Ivan wasn’t going to test him.

“I…” Till looked down; Ivan followed his line of sight and watched as Till fidgeted, nearly drawing blood with how roughly he was picking at his cuticles. He resisted the urge to stop him. Not yet. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Ivan.”

“Nothing is wrong with you,” he assured, and he meant it. They were all a little screwed up, but wasn’t that to be expected? “You’re just upset.”

Till let out a wet sounding scoff. “Upset?” he repeated with an intensity that made Ivan feel a little shaken, “I know what upset feels like, Ivan. I’ve been upset. This is—this is like I’m going to burst. Any second.”

“If you do,” Ivan placed his hand on the bed, though he didn’t quite touch him, “I’ll be here for you.”

Till sniffled. “You kissed me on stage without consent but now you won’t even touch me?”

“I’m working on bettering myself,” he replied easily. It was a joke as much as it was the truth. He had no intention of betraying Till’s trust again.

Till let out a pitiful attempt at a laugh. Without a word, he placed his hand palm up on his thigh, a silent invitation. Ivan hesitated for only a second before he slid their hands together, fingers intertwining. He spotted a bloody patch on Till’s thumb from where he had obviously picked at the skin too much.

“I should be relieved,” Till continued after a lull in conversation, so quietly Ivan could barely hear him. “I should… I’m lucky. I know that. I just—”

He paused, glanced at Ivan quickly before looking away again, jaw tight.

“You can tell me.” Ivan squeezed his hand. He hated knowing Till was still suffering. He was naive for ever thinking it was going to just disappear if they somehow got to safety. Even back when they were children, it was a foolish dream.

Till shrugged weakly. “I… You can’t get mad.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. Ivan breathed in. “I won’t.” A beat. A skeptical look from Till. “I promise.”

“Okay.” Till looked ahead, staring at nothing, just the blank wall across from them. “I kind of wish I had died.”

Ivan made an effort to keep his voice as calm as possible, “I’m glad you didn’t.” Then, “I wouldn’t have let you.”

He saw Till smile out of the corner of his eye. It was small, a little sad. “Obviously not,” he agreed quietly. “You let yourself get shot for me.” He shook his head. “I am—um. Thankful,” he said, “I know it doesn’t seem like it. It’s just—”

Ivan waited, knowing he just needed time. Ignored the heavy thumping in his chest, the sudden urge to vomit.

“I think it’d be… easier,” Till’s voice grew a little more shaky with every word, “I don’t know. To not. Deal with any of this.” Ivan didn’t comment on the growing wetness in his eyes, or the tremble in his jaw. “It’s like, I’m expected to be thankful. Or–or something. And I am, I mean.” Till cursed quietly, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s hard to explain.”

Ivan brushed his thumb over his knuckles. “Try?”

Till opened his eyes, just enough to glance over at him. Swallowing thickly, he looked ahead again and shook his head. “I don’t know… Now I have to learn how—how to deal with this shit. Sometimes surviving is harder, I think.”

It was odd. Ivan had never really thought of it like that. What after would look like for them.

“You’re not alone,” he said finally.

Till nodded, scrubbed roughly at his face with his free hand. “I—I think I need a little more sleep.” He sniffed. “I’m tired.”

Ivan glanced at the fruit. “Okay,” he agreed quietly, “but you have to try to eat when you wake up, even if you don’t feel hungry.”

For a moment, Till didn’t answer. Ivan tugged on his hand lightly.

“Till,” he said. He waited until Till finally glanced at him. “I never really cared if I lived or died.”

His eyes widened, just a little. Ivan thought back to the first day he had met Till, the first moment he realized Till was different. Maybe the others hadn’t realized it, but he had. Somehow he had made Ivan feel alive, despite all odds.

“But I always cared that you lived,” he continued steadily. “As long as you’re here, I’m satisfied.”

Till sniffed. “I don’t want to hear that,” he said wetly. “I don’t want you to die. For me or anyone.”

“Okay,” Ivan agreed easily. “How about this, then?” He took Till’s hand in both of his, cradling it with care. Like it was the most important thing in the world. To him, it was. “No matter how hard it is, or how bad it gets, we hold on for each other?”

Till let out a pitiful sound. “That’s really—” He looked away. “That’s really fucking cheesy, even for you.”

“Want to know the worst part?” Ivan whispered. Till eyed him. “I mean every word of it.”

Till snorted. It wasn’t a laugh, not quite, but it was enough for now. Ivan grinned, bringing their hands up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to Till’s knuckles. He made a face but didn’t pull his hand away, which just made Ivan feel more emboldened. He moved up and pressed a kiss to Till’s wrist; his skin was pale, even for him, nearly translucent, probably from being locked away underground and malnourished.

“Answer the question,” he breathed against his skin.

Till shook his head. “You’re—I can’t believe you sometimes.” He reached up with his free hand, hesitated for a second, before pressing his hand into Ivan’s hair. “Okay,” he agreed softly.