[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?]
[ 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. ]
[ 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.
that's the sound of a cat that's running away from agent grapes to the sound of a jazz club that they walked by. every so often, agent grapes has to reconnect with his shadow to get the full story of what they've been up to. he thought this time would easy much like last time, but unfortunately when there's a stage... the cat feels like it has to become the host.
what a troublesome creature.
that's why he's chasing after it in an attempt to catch it before it causes any trouble, and at the expense of his attempt will he collide right into one of the club's tenants hard. falling back, glasses sliding onto the floor, the cat manages to dip between legs with ease before disappearing into a shadow of the person that suffered agent grape's assault.
falling to the ground holding his face, the agent rubs his forehead as he mumbles... ]
Sorry... sorry...
[ removing his hands, black locks of messy hair drape back in front of the man's face as he looks over to seeing a familiar person. ]
[Is he okay? What a loaded question. Also sprawled on the ground after the collision, Till winces and shifts, having landed hard on his ass. He feels the ache blooming, a sharp protest from his tailbone, but he has no intention of confessing that his backside is throbbing. Instead, he rubs at the sore spot once, brisk and perfunctory, as he moves to push himself back up from the floor.]
I'm fine.
[He mouths the words that come automatically, reflexive and short, regardless of their truth. Up close, he looks anything but fine. It’s obvious he hasn’t slept properly in days: his eyes are tired and bloodshot, the delicate skin around them dark and swollen, his face puffy in that way that suggests recent tears.
He doesn’t look fine.
There’s dried blood caked beneath his nails, and his throat is swathed in cloth bandages that are impossible to overlook. At the edges, angry, fresh scratches peek out, red and raw against his skin.
He glances over the agent, surprised to find him practically upon his doorstep. Eventually, he reaches inside his pocket to pull out a little notebook and writes inside:]
[ reaching down to grab his glasses that may have fallen to the ground, agent grapes places them back onto his face properly while looking up to catch a familiar face. through black bangs, he can see that till doesn't look good, rather... he looks like shit, something that everyone could agree with about themselves, but this really takes the cake. ]
U... Um...
[ the forced mumble to perfect his timid nature, and slowly getting to his feet he'll nod very slowly. ]
I was... but that doesn't matter now. What happened to you...
[ it feels like something he should ask, really, because what else is there to be said about this abused expression he's wearing. he doesn't look well, and he's also talking with a notepad despite the last time they met he... didn't do that. resting his throat is one thing, but looking like he's been through hell and back is another.
even the smell of blood that rests on him, there's only so many things that could have happened, and since the other doesn't seem to be... troubled at the moment and concerned. this must mean it's something that happened not too long ago. ]
Then again, what hadn’t happened to everyone? Till is painfully aware he isn’t the only one who walked through hell during those recent “dreams.” Still, he can’t shake the raw feelings that throb, sharp and insistent, in his chest after the whole cruel affair.
That doesn’t mean he likes the idea of looking like a complete mess in front of anyone. Not that he has the faintest idea how to look like anything else right now.
It isn’t as though he’s okay. If anything, this feels uncomfortably like their first meeting all over again. Till had looked like shit then, too. He stares at the agent for a long beat, unsure how to answer, and it would be so much easier to latch onto whatever it was Agent Grapes had been chasing.
[ it comes out as a little stumble, his eyes large behind his glasses as he looks left then right trying to see if she's around. he doesn't know her form, or what her looming presence is like, but he's aware that if she's around them now then he has no reason to be chasing his cat.
despite not mentioning that part, he stands properly (despite the hunch there) as he looks to till properly. ]
Is danger around here? If so, and we need to leave... please blink twice.
[ like an agent would, he's ready to take the civilian to safety, and even if the casual way of writing on the paper doesn't match if a threat was nearby... it's better than to chance it.
[ Sharon hesitates momentarily when she reaches out, second-guessing herself, but eventually works up the nerve. ]
Hey, Till, it's Sharon. I, uh... Can I ask you about your thoughts on One and Sleep? Promise, I have a reason for it. [ She just isn't willing to tell him until she knows where he stands on them. ]
[It is a little surprising to hear from Sharon so suddenly. Not that he doesn’t think they get along well- the timing is just good. He hasn’t used the murmur a lot recently, it’s felt a little fuzzy. When he realizes he’s being addressed, he is happy to respond, though.
Even when it’s about the two most frustrating beings in existence.]
I think both can just drop dead.
[Which may sound harsh, but his hatred for Sleep is indescribable, and his annoyance with One vast.]
If I get the chance, I’ll obliterate Sleep. As for One, he’s the biggest fucking moron and a liability to everyone here. I’d knock his every light out and hope that manages to knock some sense into his stupid head.
[ That catches her by surprise, but a sensation of a smile curls through the connection, genuinely pleased at the response. ]
Looks like we're on the same page then, Till. I figured this is how you'd feel. [ especially given everything he's been through, ] But I needed to know for sure.
[ a beat ] I spoke to Sleep a couple of weeks back, and... She gave me a hint on where One is, and I think he can be found. Think you're up to helping me do that? —without beating his ass?
![[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.]
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'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.]
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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.
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we can move toward a lil wrap if u wanna
Works for me!
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[ 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? ]
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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.
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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.
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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.]
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[ 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?
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more 0/10 dirty talk
it still works on till
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. ]
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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?
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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? ]
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[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.
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[ 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?
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— take aim & give, week one.
that's the sound of a cat that's running away from agent grapes to the sound of a jazz club that they walked by. every so often, agent grapes has to reconnect with his shadow to get the full story of what they've been up to. he thought this time would easy much like last time, but unfortunately when there's a stage... the cat feels like it has to become the host.
what a troublesome creature.
that's why he's chasing after it in an attempt to catch it before it causes any trouble, and at the expense of his attempt will he collide right into one of the club's tenants hard. falling back, glasses sliding onto the floor, the cat manages to dip between legs with ease before disappearing into a shadow of the person that suffered agent grape's assault.
falling to the ground holding his face, the agent rubs his forehead as he mumbles... ]
Sorry... sorry...
[ removing his hands, black locks of messy hair drape back in front of the man's face as he looks over to seeing a familiar person. ]
U- um... Are you okay?
<3
I'm fine.
[He mouths the words that come automatically, reflexive and short, regardless of their truth. Up close, he looks anything but fine. It’s obvious he hasn’t slept properly in days: his eyes are tired and bloodshot, the delicate skin around them dark and swollen, his face puffy in that way that suggests recent tears.
He doesn’t look fine.
There’s dried blood caked beneath his nails, and his throat is swathed in cloth bandages that are impossible to overlook. At the edges, angry, fresh scratches peek out, red and raw against his skin.
He glances over the agent, surprised to find him practically upon his doorstep. Eventually, he reaches inside his pocket to pull out a little notebook and writes inside:]
You okay? Were you chasing something just now?
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U... Um...
[ the forced mumble to perfect his timid nature, and slowly getting to his feet he'll nod very slowly. ]
I was... but that doesn't matter now. What happened to you...
[ it feels like something he should ask, really, because what else is there to be said about this abused expression he's wearing. he doesn't look well, and he's also talking with a notepad despite the last time they met he... didn't do that. resting his throat is one thing, but looking like he's been through hell and back is another.
even the smell of blood that rests on him, there's only so many things that could have happened, and since the other doesn't seem to be... troubled at the moment and concerned. this must mean it's something that happened not too long ago. ]
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Then again, what hadn’t happened to everyone? Till is painfully aware he isn’t the only one who walked through hell during those recent “dreams.” Still, he can’t shake the raw feelings that throb, sharp and insistent, in his chest after the whole cruel affair.
That doesn’t mean he likes the idea of looking like a complete mess in front of anyone. Not that he has the faintest idea how to look like anything else right now.
It isn’t as though he’s okay. If anything, this feels uncomfortably like their first meeting all over again. Till had looked like shit then, too. He stares at the agent for a long beat, unsure how to answer, and it would be so much easier to latch onto whatever it was Agent Grapes had been chasing.
After a moment, though, he writes:]
SLEEP happened.
[And he’ll never forgive her for it.]
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[ it comes out as a little stumble, his eyes large behind his glasses as he looks left then right trying to see if she's around. he doesn't know her form, or what her looming presence is like, but he's aware that if she's around them now then he has no reason to be chasing his cat.
despite not mentioning that part, he stands properly (despite the hunch there) as he looks to till properly. ]
Is danger around here? If so, and we need to leave... please blink twice.
[ like an agent would, he's ready to take the civilian to safety, and even if the casual way of writing on the paper doesn't match if a threat was nearby... it's better than to chance it.
just in case something is wrong. ]
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week 1 of GODS
Hey, Till, it's Sharon. I, uh... Can I ask you about your thoughts on One and Sleep? Promise, I have a reason for it. [ She just isn't willing to tell him until she knows where he stands on them. ]
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Even when it’s about the two most frustrating beings in existence.]
I think both can just drop dead.
[Which may sound harsh, but his hatred for Sleep is indescribable, and his annoyance with One vast.]
If I get the chance, I’ll obliterate Sleep. As for One, he’s the biggest fucking moron and a liability to everyone here. I’d knock his every light out and hope that manages to knock some sense into his stupid head.
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Looks like we're on the same page then, Till. I figured this is how you'd feel. [ especially given everything he's been through, ] But I needed to know for sure.
[ a beat ] I spoke to Sleep a couple of weeks back, and... She gave me a hint on where One is, and I think he can be found. Think you're up to helping me do that? —without beating his ass?
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[It's mostly a joke. Mostly. One really DOES deserve to be punched in the face. A few times.]
Are you sure you can trust Sleep? What if it's a trap?