[People keep appearing in the penthouse. First, it was only he, Noah, and Lortel. After that, it was Ivan, and then Sunny started staying in his room. It's the middle of the night when he ventures out into the shared living space, dark aside from the moonlight seeping in through the windows.
[How did he get here? He doesn't quite remember. He feels half-awake, unsettled and uncertain. He sees an unfamiliar shape with an unfamiliar face.
[In the waking hours, Sunny had been warned of Till's arrival, but now, in this dreamlike darkness, he startles.
[With a faint glow, Till sits by the embers of the dying fire. It's no longer as warm as it had been, but now that he's here, he has some extra blankets to snuggle beneath. It isn't entirely dark, though. In contrast to the darkness that cloaks the room beneath its dark covers, Till glows faintly. Like a warm, inner light shines from within, he can see in the immediate vicinity around him.
. . . Of course, he looks a little worn thin. He's lost weight, and the bags beneath his eyes seem to suggest he hasn't slept much in a while, just as the wrapping around his neck suggests an injury.
Till is quiet as he works, the sound of pencil against paper faintly sounding as his hands glide over the creation he doodles. It's of a small tuft of flowers- especially detailed for a pencil drawing.]
[He's glowing... It's so strange. Sunny's seen so many bizarre things since coming here, but never someone glowing... The sound of pencil on paper is familiar, and Sunny feels a weak pang of longing for it. He inches closer through the darkness, unsure of how to announce his presence without startling the other boy. He tries to thud his socked feet a little more solidly against the wooden floor, even though his approach is slow. He won't get too close...]
[The soft announcement works. The scratch of graphite stops, and he glances up from his drawing. He's met everyone who lives here. Everyone except for...
'Sunny'.
That's what he thinks the name was. That's right. It's dark, but his eyes have adjusted to the room, and he cannot help but see an uncanny familiarity to... Ivan. He reminds him of Ivan when he was younger.
Till doesn't want to surprise him in turn, so he scribbles in his notebook again, before lifting it up. Hopefully, the kid can see it in the dim light. Or read in general.]
Hey.
Are you Sonny?
[He doesn't know which way he spells it, but he assumes it's close enough.]
[It's a common enough mix-up. Sunny won't bother correcting. He points to the page and nods his head. It's rare to "talk" with someone who also doesn't actually talk, but it's almost a comfort. The pad of paper will help. Sunny gestures toward the boy, hoping the message is clear enough - and you?]
[Exactly who Sunny suspected then - Till, a friend of Ivan's. The fact they're from the same world surprises him, though he can't be sure why. Maybe it's the idea of other "worlds" existing at all. Even after a month in this place, Sunny still assumes most of what's happening must just be part of his own never-ending nightmare. Till and Ivan could just as soon have been conjured from Sunny's own mind...
[Sunny's eyes flicker back to where 'Ivan' is now written on the page, and he hesitates for a few long seconds...
[Then, he offers Till his hand for a shake, a 'nice to meet you'. Till is being friendly, so...there's no reason not to be friendly too.]
[He stares at the hand for a moment, not too familiar with it. Certainly, no one has ever wanted to shake HIS hand, before. But he does recall his guardian having done it with others over deals and business.
This isn't supposed to be a transaction, though, he doesn't think. After a moment, he holds out a hand to shake.
[The hesitation makes things...a bit awkward, but...only for a second or two (or so Sunny hopes...)! He shakes Till's hand, and it's the most pitiful, wet napkin of a handshake this or any world has ever seen. It's a wonder this kid can pick up a pencil with his grip strength.
[He inclines his head, polite, then lets go. A glance at the page Till had been scribbling on catches his eye again ("Ivan"). He points to the drawing, not the writing ("Ivan"). Then he looks at Till with slightly raised eyebrows. Maybe he'll show him more.]
[ Is their tether defective? Is he? As he always suspected, are his emotions so shallow they can't ripple to the other side? He's stricken for a moment by what's been said, wishing he could be so much more than this impassive thing, because Till deserves to feel dazzling, like heaven, and so much more. He deserves to feel divine to someone whose reverence could cause a shockwave, rather than divine to an ant.
Till's recklessness is stupid. It's foolish, but it shows he's willing to do what most aren't. That makes him stronger than the rest of them. Ivan is impressed. He's caught up remembering how Till would sniffle and cry yet still get up to fight again. He knows that even if all hell breaks loose in this tunnel, as long as he makes it out alive, he'll want to do the next crazy thing to save someone in this place, and the next, and the next.
Ivan isn't sure what he means to Till. But he knows what Till means to him, and he intends to be there. ]
[Oh. Shoot. Till realizes, a moment too late, that he has stumbled and said something wrong. He can feel it as it passes between their bond, and he wants to swallow it back down. Ivan's self-loathing has risen a touch, along with uncertainty.]
Ah- hey. I didn't mean it about now.
[Sure, sometimes Ivan can be confusing even despite things, but their tether has helped so much. The difference is like night and day.]
I just meant... before, when we were kids, you know? None of the things that worked with Mizi and Sua worked when I tried them...
[He understands so much better now. Still, he stumbles a little. Mostly, because he's never been all that good at confronting emotions of THIS kind head-on. It's different from fighting or being defiant. Emotions of the heart are the one emotion he was way too scared to confront in the past. He's promised himself he won't do that anymore.
He's just... not used to feeling this. He has to be honest. He doesn't want Ivan to doubt himself on account of screwing up and saying the wrong thing.]
. . . There's only one other person who existed in this whole damn universe who made me feel like they... like they genuinely gave a crap about me.
[And he can't even properly remember her face. What he remembers the most is her warmth, her love, and the profound and traumatic loss he felt when dragged from her warmth before being shoved inside a box and being shipped off for sale.
God damn it. He's feeling a little emotional all over again. He draws a shaky breath.]
It's hard for me. I... spent my whole stupid life being scared and hating myself. I know I always made a big show of things, and I always said it didn't matter what those fuckers said or did, but- of course, it still got to me sometimes.
[Unwanted. Good for nothing. His voice was his only redeeming quality. No one would ever give him a second glance if not for his singing ability and composition.]
You know, whenever I was with that bastard, he always made it a point to remind me that I was nothing more than a bargain bin pet sold at discount because who in the world would have wanted ME? The only thing I was good for was my voice and affinity for music.
[Ha ha.... the laugh through the tether is bitter.]
And look at me now? I can't even talk right.
[ Ha.
. . . ]
You... You make me feel so stupidly special, and wanted, and needed, Ivan. You don't... know what that means to me.
[He swallows thickly.]
And it's also so damn scary, too. Because I don't know why you see anything at all. I hate myself so much, and I'm terrified you'll disappear again.
[Either because he wisened up, or because this place could steal his life and he would vanish.]
I can't forgive myself. And I don't feel like I deserve the feelings you share with me through the tether. Even though I... I want to hold onto them.
When did his heart last stop in his chest only to pound so, so loudly in his ears. Why do those lovely words that make him feel light-headed somehow sound so familiar.
On the sleepy morning they tethered, Till did have something to say to him. Such a special thing it seems like a dream — and maybe it was? He can't be sure. This place makes his mind bend. And too much happens in dreams he doesn't trust. Still, it feels like a crime not to be sure. I love you, and what else? That whole memory is steeped in love. Is it really okay... to have that?
It's strange to hear that Till is asking himself the very same thing. ]
They're not for anyone else, just you, so you might as well take them. I don't care if you never sing another note. I like talking like this, too. I like that it's just for us.
[ Nothing else in life makes him feel this way. It's only, always been Till. "Hard to impress" he said, and maybe that was true about him then. He had been little more than a walking paresthesia.
What Till had gradually given him was more wonderful than just awe. Day by day, his nerves woke up from that numbness. Lines from his pencil turned into curiosity. Listening to him shout became amusement. And that first punch to his face was like an explosion.
He actually cared that his pulse was racing, he'd realized. And it felt good.
Ivan doesn't know how to articulate that at all. ]
If you're really fine with it—
Then I want to make you feel loved. And stop you from thinking those other things.
[It feels as though his heart is up in his throat. It beats so quickly that he can hear his blood rush as it pounds in his ears, coloring his cheeks. Those are words he never would have imagined someone would use for him. Even with the tether, can he feel the way it makes his chest swell?
Sitting on the mattress, he drags a pillow up to cover his face, as though it will somehow suppress the fluttering sensation or the way his words simultaneously make him want to cry.]
It means he doesn't have to ask if he can... or should. It's not like Ivan usually asks before invading Till's personal space, but recently he's felt a new need to tread a little lighter.
Coming home is the only thing he thinks can cure the on-edge feeling he's had since he overhead Till communicate that he means to go down into the dark. He carries the butterflies with him as well. When they start in one of them, at that point they're just infectious.
The ground floor of the Blue Note is a creative space. A work-in-progress still, too. The tables either taken out or entirely rearranged, it no longer looks like a venue for many. Instead, it has some touches of belonging to just a small few. Upstairs is where there's space to sleep. The abandoned beds and baths and old sofas. Ivan can sense Till through anything that separates them, so he goes straight to him. ]
[The only light in the room is Till himself, and he is plenty bright for himself- and hopefully not anything that will bother or affect Ivan's eyes. He really has done a lot better around it recently, though.
Till's hair is pulled up into a ponytail in the back, but otherwise he's simply in comfortable clothes- an oversized sweatshirt and equally baggy sweats.
The butterflies certainly don't dissipate when Ivan appears in the door, the soft clicking of his many legs having given him away, as he hadn't been trying to conceal his presence to begin with.
. . . Beyond that, he could sense him through the tether as he neared.
His voice is still a little strained, but he does use his genuine one. He glances away, sitting on his knees, before patting the place beside him to beckon him over.]
It's the imperfection of it that lets him know the sound of Till's voice is coming from the room, not his head. The way his lips fall open looks curiously like a smile.
This is like the early days, hm? The encompassing dark. Till stowing away in the room, his light truly a rarity. Till's ill-fitting cloths don't reveal whether he's filled back out to a healthy weight, but Ivan imagines he has to've.
He allows his upper body to flop onto the bed, curled up facing the other. His legs likewise curl up underneath of his coils to show he's taken the cue to get comfortable from head to toe. ]
Haha... yes, this way it feels like no one can listen in. We were getting a good bit off topic.
Yeah. Though I don't really care about that. If it bothers them so much, they can tune out.
[Or something. He says that, though if someone chimed in and they were being embarrassing, that would set him sputtering. But he means it in the moment. As Ivan curls up close, Till reaches out to cup either side of his face.
He swallows past a lump in his throat, his cheeks glowing. Every muscle, like usual, tells him to run. His grip tightens just a little on Ivan to force himself to continue.
Because he really REALLY wants him to understand this.]
. . . Ivan. I don't want to beat around the bush. I don't want you ever to sit there again, wondering what you might mean to me.
[His eyes glance back and forth between Ivan's, the red of his irises reflected in his own.]
You are, and always have been, the most important person to me in the universe.
[Putting aside his childish, silly crush. Of course he cares about Mizi. That's a given. She had always been a source of hope to him. But Ivan...]
There's never been a time when you didn't occupy some part of my heart and mind. You were the only person always there by my side. You tried to free me, for fuck's sake.
[Ivan. The most outwardly obedient student at Ankat. The child whom all of the segyein loved and doted over. When he was hurt, Ivan was always quietly nearby. When he cried, he stayed until he was done. Maybe he upset him sometimes, but then maybe Ivan didn't have the right words or know what to say or do either.
How are any of them supposed to know? It's not like anyone ever taught them how to deal with these kinds of feelings and emotions.
Till's brows crease.]
I'm not good at this. That should be really obvious by now. [The fact that Ivan died without realizing how much he meant to him is the most glaring example of all.]
But I want to get better, because I can't imagine a world without you in mine. I don't want to experience that again. I love you. I love you, Ivan.
[He shakes his head, gaze watery by now.]
I don't know what that means for us, or what that makes us, or... how we're supposed to be.
[How should he? Men weren't even supposed to like LIKE each other. One hand lowers from his cheek to press it firmly against Ivan's chest.]
But please tell me that you can feel it right there. I'm a coward, but having you here, with me, in my life, even if I get scared or guilty sometimes... I feel like I'm overflowing in the warmth of your gentle tenderness. You have to feel how that makes my own well up, too.
[ she'll go searching through the Blue Note for him, not exactly sure where she'll find him right now. Wherever she does track him down (as long as he isn't preoccupied with his bug husband (bugband. husbug.)), she'll wave and smile. ]
Can I join you? There's something I'd like to ... that is, I really want your advice, [ she admits, quiet. ] I don't know who else I'd ask.
[ not that she doesn't trust her other friends, it's just ...
[Ultimately, he can be found within his little art nest, within a corner of the main room that he has set up for himself and his crafts and other activities. Presently, he is engulfed in composition, however. His fingers move, as though playing an instrument, before he lifts his pencil again and sets notes down to paper.
He pauses, though, when he notices Lortel, and sets his pencil aside when she speaks.]
[He flushes at the question, color blooming faintly across his cheeks. He takes his time with it, falling quiet as he lifts a closed fist to his chin, eyes distant, as if feeling for the right words in the dark.]
A lot of things. I've known Ivan most of my life, so it's not just one feeling. It’s all the years stacked together. It's every moment and memory stitched into something I can’t really pull apart anymore. Sometimes he annoys me. Sometimes he really pisses me off. He loves getting under my skin, loves poking at me until he gets a reaction.
Definitely don’t let that good bug persona fool you.
[IVAN IS A MENACE.]
But...
[He glances away.]
Don't tell him this, but... it wouldn’t really be him if he weren’t like that sometimes. Now that I can feel and understand his thoughts instead of just guessing, a lot of things make more sense. It feels like... I dunno. Comfort. Home. Ivan isn’t just part of my life—he's my normal. My everyday. My everything.
[His cheeks deepen in color as he fumbles his way through the confession, trying to shape something too big into words that feel too small.]
It doesn’t feel the same as how I thought I felt about Mizi. With her, I had a crush—my heart was always pounding. I guess I got like that around Ivan at home sometimes too, but I didn’t really accept it or recognize it for what it was.
I dunno... I think we’re past the point of boyish embarrassment or a simple crush. He’s... integral.
[Staring down at his hands, he fiddles with them nervously.]
It's like a piece of him that got woven into my soul so tightly I don’t know where I end and he begins. He's essential. If he disappeared again, it wouldn’t just hurt—it would feel like something vital had been carved out of me.
Every day that we’re here together, I just feel so...stupidly happy and damn grateful. He’s what brings color and music to the world.
I have never, even once, been fooled by his "good bug" persona.
[ she says it lightly, mostly joking—
—but she'd spent months refusing to trust him because she'd truly believed he had some ulterior motive. that he'd betray her, if it benefited him.
and it had never happened. she finds Ivan hard to read, still, sometimes, but far less inscrutable than she once did.
she otherwise listens in silence, her knees tucked up so she can rest her elbows on them, and her chin in her cupped palms.
It doesn’t feel the same as how I thought I felt about Mizi.
this wins an immediate reaction, though not a verbal one. recognition blooms in the murmur, accompanied with a pale shock.
her emotions remain a confusing muddle in the murmur thereafter, hard to read if only because she herself has no idea how she's feeling, other than perhaps too many things at once. ]
Your star...
[ gently. she tips her head back to stare at the ceiling, thinking of the sky. ]
How romantic.
[ it is. almost absurdly so. if she'd ever had any lingering doubts about Till's feelings, as if she possibly could, this would have dispelled them all. ]
That must be love, hm? The kind you read about in books and see in plays.
I’ve been writing songs my whole life, s-so I can sometimes do well with words.
[ . . . ]
On paper, anyway.
[Usually on paper. Less so on the spot, when he’s flustered. Maybe because he doesn’t feel as embarrassed sharing it privately, it isn’t as bad. He tries to make sense of the emotions swimming in her heart, but after her momentary surprise, he can’t quite make heads or tails of them.]
With Mizi, it was...
[He frowns, more in thought than anything. He isn’t sure he can articulate this, even to himself.]
She was kindness and warmth. She didn’t like me—not like that. I mean… she never wanted to be my exclusive partner or anything. Once, she even asked what it was I liked about her, and I already knew she liked Sua best.
[He has the grace to look a little embarrassed at this next part.]
I was shy and didn’t know what to say, so I blurted out something seriously stupid. We were only just, you know… friends. I always pictured myself looking cool for her, or even rescuing her from the Alien Stage someday.
[When he was young, his optimism had been so blind. He truly believed there would be something—some grand act—he could do to save her.]
…My feelings for Mizi were exciting and comfortable at the same time. Like I had a reason to keep trying every day, just because she existed and smiled. I always knew, though—you know—that I didn’t really have a chance. I don’t even think she likes guys. I never… expected anything.
[He never tried to pursue her. Not really. Even if, sometimes, he let himself fantasize about it.]
I guess I don't know how to explain it. It was easy to think of her as something wonderful and fantastical, like an angel. To me, it felt like she saved me every day, simply by existing.
[ she's quiet for a long time, after that. Lortel has shifted positions, folding her arms atop her knees and curling over so she can rest her cheek on the pillow they make while she watches him talk. ]
... I had something like that, too. Once.
His name is Ed. He ... saved me. He was ... the first person to ever do something for me just because. I didn't have to pay him or threaten him, it wasn't because he wanted my influence or my power... he just felt like it was the right thing to do. I was so infatuated with him.
[ she lifts her head, staring ahead, away, at nothing. ]
I knew, too, that he ... wouldn't return my feelings. I didn't want to admit it, at the time. I was determined to fight for him. But there was another girl, and she...
[ Lortel smiles, soft and and a little wounded and incredulous at her own naïveté. ]
I was never going to win against her. I was just being stubborn. I'd never known anyone like him, before. No one ever took my side... how could I possibly let him go, even if it was always hopeless?
But I've been thinking, recently, that ... that wasn't love.
[ she'd been so sure. the pounding of her heart, the heat she'd felt rise to her face, the blooming of brand new emotions she'd never experienced before. if that wasn't love, then what was?
Every day that we’re here together, I just feel so...stupidly happy and damn grateful. He’s what brings color and music to the world.
He’s my star.
now she knows the real answer, at last. ]
I'm sorry. You must be confused why I'm asking about all of this, but I... I suppose I've been having trouble understanding myself, lately. The way you describe things... I'm sure it doesn't feel that way, but you make it sound so clear. As if it were obvious. The difference between a crush, or infatuation, and ... love.
[Because Till isn't quite sure if he can pinpoint it himself. His crush had been very real, though looking back, he realizes how childish he had been. There is no doubt in his mind that Mizi is someone important to him. His feelings regarding that thought are very genuine.
At the same time, he thinks... having the crush and somewhere to direct his hopes and feelings had felt necessary.
A verse of a song trickles through his mind absently, filtering through the tether.
My feelings are: ERROR! No better options. ♪]
Does this mean... you've found someone you do think you're in love with?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
early august
[How did he get here? He doesn't quite remember. He feels half-awake, unsettled and uncertain. He sees an unfamiliar shape with an unfamiliar face.
[In the waking hours, Sunny had been warned of Till's arrival, but now, in this dreamlike darkness, he startles.
[But he doesn't make a sound.]
Re: early august
. . . Of course, he looks a little worn thin. He's lost weight, and the bags beneath his eyes seem to suggest he hasn't slept much in a while, just as the wrapping around his neck suggests an injury.
Till is quiet as he works, the sound of pencil against paper faintly sounding as his hands glide over the creation he doodles. It's of a small tuft of flowers- especially detailed for a pencil drawing.]
no subject
no subject
'Sunny'.
That's what he thinks the name was. That's right. It's dark, but his eyes have adjusted to the room, and he cannot help but see an uncanny familiarity to... Ivan. He reminds him of Ivan when he was younger.
Till doesn't want to surprise him in turn, so he scribbles in his notebook again, before lifting it up. Hopefully, the kid can see it in the dim light. Or read in general.]
Hey.
Are you Sonny?
[He doesn't know which way he spells it, but he assumes it's close enough.]
no subject
no subject
Pulling the notebook back to himself, he answers.]
Till.
[Simply. Before pulling it back to write another message quickly.]
I'm friends with Ivan from the same world.
no subject
[Sunny's eyes flicker back to where 'Ivan' is now written on the page, and he hesitates for a few long seconds...
[Then, he offers Till his hand for a shake, a 'nice to meet you'. Till is being friendly, so...there's no reason not to be friendly too.]
no subject
This isn't supposed to be a transaction, though, he doesn't think. After a moment, he holds out a hand to shake.
Maybe this is a common custom on other plants?]
no subject
[He inclines his head, polite, then lets go. A glance at the page Till had been scribbling on catches his eye again ("Ivan"). He points to the drawing, not the writing ("Ivan"). Then he looks at Till with slightly raised eyebrows. Maybe he'll show him more.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
we can move toward a lil wrap if u wanna
Works for me!
no subject
[ Is their tether defective? Is he? As he always suspected, are his emotions so shallow they can't ripple to the other side? He's stricken for a moment by what's been said, wishing he could be so much more than this impassive thing, because Till deserves to feel dazzling, like heaven, and so much more. He deserves to feel divine to someone whose reverence could cause a shockwave, rather than divine to an ant.
Till's recklessness is stupid. It's foolish, but it shows he's willing to do what most aren't. That makes him stronger than the rest of them. Ivan is impressed. He's caught up remembering how Till would sniffle and cry yet still get up to fight again. He knows that even if all hell breaks loose in this tunnel, as long as he makes it out alive, he'll want to do the next crazy thing to save someone in this place, and the next, and the next.
Ivan isn't sure what he means to Till. But he knows what Till means to him, and he intends to be there. ]
What do you feel when I look at you?
[ Palpitations. His chest constricts. ]
[ Why did he have to ask? ]
no subject
Ah- hey. I didn't mean it about now.
[Sure, sometimes Ivan can be confusing even despite things, but their tether has helped so much. The difference is like night and day.]
I just meant... before, when we were kids, you know? None of the things that worked with Mizi and Sua worked when I tried them...
[He understands so much better now. Still, he stumbles a little. Mostly, because he's never been all that good at confronting emotions of THIS kind head-on. It's different from fighting or being defiant. Emotions of the heart are the one emotion he was way too scared to confront in the past. He's promised himself he won't do that anymore.
He's just... not used to feeling this. He has to be honest. He doesn't want Ivan to doubt himself on account of screwing up and saying the wrong thing.]
. . . There's only one other person who existed in this whole damn universe who made me feel like they... like they genuinely gave a crap about me.
[And he can't even properly remember her face. What he remembers the most is her warmth, her love, and the profound and traumatic loss he felt when dragged from her warmth before being shoved inside a box and being shipped off for sale.
God damn it. He's feeling a little emotional all over again. He draws a shaky breath.]
It's hard for me. I... spent my whole stupid life being scared and hating myself. I know I always made a big show of things, and I always said it didn't matter what those fuckers said or did, but- of course, it still got to me sometimes.
[Unwanted. Good for nothing. His voice was his only redeeming quality. No one would ever give him a second glance if not for his singing ability and composition.]
You know, whenever I was with that bastard, he always made it a point to remind me that I was nothing more than a bargain bin pet sold at discount because who in the world would have wanted ME? The only thing I was good for was my voice and affinity for music.
[Ha ha.... the laugh through the tether is bitter.]
And look at me now? I can't even talk right.
[ Ha.
. . . ]
You... You make me feel so stupidly special, and wanted, and needed, Ivan. You don't... know what that means to me.
[He swallows thickly.]
And it's also so damn scary, too. Because I don't know why you see anything at all. I hate myself so much, and I'm terrified you'll disappear again.
[Either because he wisened up, or because this place could steal his life and he would vanish.]
I can't forgive myself. And I don't feel like I deserve the feelings you share with me through the tether. Even though I... I want to hold onto them.
no subject
When did his heart last stop in his chest only to pound so, so loudly in his ears. Why do those lovely words that make him feel light-headed somehow sound so familiar.
On the sleepy morning they tethered, Till did have something to say to him. Such a special thing it seems like a dream — and maybe it was? He can't be sure. This place makes his mind bend. And too much happens in dreams he doesn't trust. Still, it feels like a crime not to be sure. I love you, and what else? That whole memory is steeped in love. Is it really okay... to have that?
It's strange to hear that Till is asking himself the very same thing. ]
They're not for anyone else, just you, so you might as well take them. I don't care if you never sing another note. I like talking like this, too. I like that it's just for us.
[ Nothing else in life makes him feel this way. It's only, always been Till. "Hard to impress" he said, and maybe that was true about him then. He had been little more than a walking paresthesia.
What Till had gradually given him was more wonderful than just awe. Day by day, his nerves woke up from that numbness. Lines from his pencil turned into curiosity. Listening to him shout became amusement. And that first punch to his face was like an explosion.
He actually cared that his pulse was racing, he'd realized. And it felt good.
Ivan doesn't know how to articulate that at all. ]
If you're really fine with it—
Then I want to make you feel loved. And stop you from thinking those other things.
no subject
Sitting on the mattress, he drags a pillow up to cover his face, as though it will somehow suppress the fluttering sensation or the way his words simultaneously make him want to cry.]
. . . Will you come home?
[Back to the Blue Note.]
no subject
[ He's glad for the request.
It means he doesn't have to ask if he can... or should. It's not like Ivan usually asks before invading Till's personal space, but recently he's felt a new need to tread a little lighter.
Coming home is the only thing he thinks can cure the on-edge feeling he's had since he overhead Till communicate that he means to go down into the dark. He carries the butterflies with him as well. When they start in one of them, at that point they're just infectious.
The ground floor of the Blue Note is a creative space. A work-in-progress still, too. The tables either taken out or entirely rearranged, it no longer looks like a venue for many. Instead, it has some touches of belonging to just a small few. Upstairs is where there's space to sleep. The abandoned beds and baths and old sofas. Ivan can sense Till through anything that separates them, so he goes straight to him. ]
Till?
no subject
[The only light in the room is Till himself, and he is plenty bright for himself- and hopefully not anything that will bother or affect Ivan's eyes. He really has done a lot better around it recently, though.
Till's hair is pulled up into a ponytail in the back, but otherwise he's simply in comfortable clothes- an oversized sweatshirt and equally baggy sweats.
The butterflies certainly don't dissipate when Ivan appears in the door, the soft clicking of his many legs having given him away, as he hadn't been trying to conceal his presence to begin with.
. . . Beyond that, he could sense him through the tether as he neared.
His voice is still a little strained, but he does use his genuine one. He glances away, sitting on his knees, before patting the place beside him to beckon him over.]
I... thought we should 'talk' in person.
no subject
It's the imperfection of it that lets him know the sound of Till's voice is coming from the room, not his head. The way his lips fall open looks curiously like a smile.
This is like the early days, hm? The encompassing dark. Till stowing away in the room, his light truly a rarity. Till's ill-fitting cloths don't reveal whether he's filled back out to a healthy weight, but Ivan imagines he has to've.
He allows his upper body to flop onto the bed, curled up facing the other. His legs likewise curl up underneath of his coils to show he's taken the cue to get comfortable from head to toe. ]
Haha... yes, this way it feels like no one can listen in. We were getting a good bit off topic.
[ Sorry, Ash... ]
no subject
[Or something. He says that, though if someone chimed in and they were being embarrassing, that would set him sputtering. But he means it in the moment. As Ivan curls up close, Till reaches out to cup either side of his face.
He swallows past a lump in his throat, his cheeks glowing. Every muscle, like usual, tells him to run. His grip tightens just a little on Ivan to force himself to continue.
Because he really REALLY wants him to understand this.]
. . . Ivan. I don't want to beat around the bush. I don't want you ever to sit there again, wondering what you might mean to me.
[His eyes glance back and forth between Ivan's, the red of his irises reflected in his own.]
You are, and always have been, the most important person to me in the universe.
[Putting aside his childish, silly crush. Of course he cares about Mizi. That's a given. She had always been a source of hope to him. But Ivan...]
There's never been a time when you didn't occupy some part of my heart and mind. You were the only person always there by my side. You tried to free me, for fuck's sake.
[Ivan. The most outwardly obedient student at Ankat. The child whom all of the segyein loved and doted over. When he was hurt, Ivan was always quietly nearby. When he cried, he stayed until he was done. Maybe he upset him sometimes, but then maybe Ivan didn't have the right words or know what to say or do either.
How are any of them supposed to know? It's not like anyone ever taught them how to deal with these kinds of feelings and emotions.
Till's brows crease.]
I'm not good at this. That should be really obvious by now. [The fact that Ivan died without realizing how much he meant to him is the most glaring example of all.]
But I want to get better, because I can't imagine a world without you in mine. I don't want to experience that again. I love you. I love you, Ivan.
[He shakes his head, gaze watery by now.]
I don't know what that means for us, or what that makes us, or... how we're supposed to be.
[How should he? Men weren't even supposed to like LIKE each other. One hand lowers from his cheek to press it firmly against Ivan's chest.]
But please tell me that you can feel it right there. I'm a coward, but having you here, with me, in my life, even if I get scared or guilty sometimes... I feel like I'm overflowing in the warmth of your gentle tenderness. You have to feel how that makes my own well up, too.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
more 0/10 dirty talk
Towards the end of week 2, Feb
[ she'll go searching through the Blue Note for him, not exactly sure where she'll find him right now. Wherever she does track him down (as long as he isn't preoccupied with his bug husband (bugband. husbug.)), she'll wave and smile. ]
Can I join you? There's something I'd like to ... that is, I really want your advice, [ she admits, quiet. ] I don't know who else I'd ask.
[ not that she doesn't trust her other friends, it's just ...
he's just the friend she needs, right now. ]
no subject
He pauses, though, when he notices Lortel, and sets his pencil aside when she speaks.]
Sure- of course.
[Him, of all people? Not Ivan...?]
If I can help, and all. What's up?
no subject
I just ... need someone to talk to. I'm in ... a difficult position, [ she murmurs, her tone almost making it a question. ] And I just...
[ she'll end up joining him wherever he sits, drawing some comfort from just being able to be close to him. ]
Till, when you think about Ivan, what does that ... feel like? To you?
[ what she's really asking is:
what does being in love feel like? ]
no subject
[He flushes at the question, color blooming faintly across his cheeks. He takes his time with it, falling quiet as he lifts a closed fist to his chin, eyes distant, as if feeling for the right words in the dark.]
A lot of things. I've known Ivan most of my life, so it's not just one feeling. It’s all the years stacked together. It's every moment and memory stitched into something I can’t really pull apart anymore. Sometimes he annoys me. Sometimes he really pisses me off. He loves getting under my skin, loves poking at me until he gets a reaction.
Definitely don’t let that good bug persona fool you.
[IVAN IS A MENACE.]
But...
[He glances away.]
Don't tell him this, but... it wouldn’t really be him if he weren’t like that sometimes. Now that I can feel and understand his thoughts instead of just guessing, a lot of things make more sense. It feels like... I dunno. Comfort. Home. Ivan isn’t just part of my life—he's my normal. My everyday. My everything.
[His cheeks deepen in color as he fumbles his way through the confession, trying to shape something too big into words that feel too small.]
It doesn’t feel the same as how I thought I felt about Mizi. With her, I had a crush—my heart was always pounding. I guess I got like that around Ivan at home sometimes too, but I didn’t really accept it or recognize it for what it was.
I dunno... I think we’re past the point of boyish embarrassment or a simple crush. He’s... integral.
[Staring down at his hands, he fiddles with them nervously.]
It's like a piece of him that got woven into my soul so tightly I don’t know where I end and he begins. He's essential. If he disappeared again, it wouldn’t just hurt—it would feel like something vital had been carved out of me.
Every day that we’re here together, I just feel so...stupidly happy and damn grateful. He’s what brings color and music to the world.
He’s my star.
no subject
[ she says it lightly, mostly joking—
—but she'd spent months refusing to trust him because she'd truly believed he had some ulterior motive. that he'd betray her, if it benefited him.
and it had never happened. she finds Ivan hard to read, still, sometimes, but far less inscrutable than she once did.
she otherwise listens in silence, her knees tucked up so she can rest her elbows on them, and her chin in her cupped palms.
It doesn’t feel the same as how I thought I felt about Mizi.
this wins an immediate reaction, though not a verbal one. recognition blooms in the murmur, accompanied with a pale shock.
her emotions remain a confusing muddle in the murmur thereafter, hard to read if only because she herself has no idea how she's feeling, other than perhaps too many things at once. ]
Your star...
[ gently. she tips her head back to stare at the ceiling, thinking of the sky. ]
How romantic.
[ it is. almost absurdly so. if she'd ever had any lingering doubts about Till's feelings, as if she possibly could, this would have dispelled them all. ]
That must be love, hm? The kind you read about in books and see in plays.
[ ...
gently, curiously: ]
What was it like, with Mizi?
no subject
[ . . . ]
On paper, anyway.
[Usually on paper. Less so on the spot, when he’s flustered. Maybe because he doesn’t feel as embarrassed sharing it privately, it isn’t as bad. He tries to make sense of the emotions swimming in her heart, but after her momentary surprise, he can’t quite make heads or tails of them.]
With Mizi, it was...
[He frowns, more in thought than anything. He isn’t sure he can articulate this, even to himself.]
She was kindness and warmth. She didn’t like me—not like that. I mean… she never wanted to be my exclusive partner or anything. Once, she even asked what it was I liked about her, and I already knew she liked Sua best.
[He has the grace to look a little embarrassed at this next part.]
I was shy and didn’t know what to say, so I blurted out something seriously stupid. We were only just, you know… friends. I always pictured myself looking cool for her, or even rescuing her from the Alien Stage someday.
[When he was young, his optimism had been so blind. He truly believed there would be something—some grand act—he could do to save her.]
…My feelings for Mizi were exciting and comfortable at the same time. Like I had a reason to keep trying every day, just because she existed and smiled. I always knew, though—you know—that I didn’t really have a chance. I don’t even think she likes guys. I never… expected anything.
[He never tried to pursue her. Not really. Even if, sometimes, he let himself fantasize about it.]
I guess I don't know how to explain it. It was easy to think of her as something wonderful and fantastical, like an angel. To me, it felt like she saved me every day, simply by existing.
no subject
... I had something like that, too. Once.
His name is Ed. He ... saved me. He was ... the first person to ever do something for me just because. I didn't have to pay him or threaten him, it wasn't because he wanted my influence or my power... he just felt like it was the right thing to do. I was so infatuated with him.
[ she lifts her head, staring ahead, away, at nothing. ]
I knew, too, that he ... wouldn't return my feelings. I didn't want to admit it, at the time. I was determined to fight for him. But there was another girl, and she...
[ Lortel smiles, soft and and a little wounded and incredulous at her own naïveté. ]
I was never going to win against her. I was just being stubborn. I'd never known anyone like him, before. No one ever took my side... how could I possibly let him go, even if it was always hopeless?
But I've been thinking, recently, that ... that wasn't love.
[ she'd been so sure. the pounding of her heart, the heat she'd felt rise to her face, the blooming of brand new emotions she'd never experienced before. if that wasn't love, then what was?
Every day that we’re here together, I just feel so...stupidly happy and damn grateful. He’s what brings color and music to the world.
He’s my star.
now she knows the real answer, at last. ]
I'm sorry. You must be confused why I'm asking about all of this, but I... I suppose I've been having trouble understanding myself, lately. The way you describe things... I'm sure it doesn't feel that way, but you make it sound so clear. As if it were obvious. The difference between a crush, or infatuation, and ... love.
no subject
[Because Till isn't quite sure if he can pinpoint it himself. His crush had been very real, though looking back, he realizes how childish he had been. There is no doubt in his mind that Mizi is someone important to him. His feelings regarding that thought are very genuine.
At the same time, he thinks... having the crush and somewhere to direct his hopes and feelings had felt necessary.
A verse of a song trickles through his mind absently, filtering through the tether.
My feelings are: ERROR! No better options. ♪]
Does this mean... you've found someone you do think you're in love with?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)