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Ivan held many secrets inside. Not many would think it, assuming his calm, charming personality was just the way he was. That he only had sweetness within. Prince-like, talented.
Most of them were secrets he kept from Till, about Till. His love for him, for one. The love he clamped down desperately on like a trembling pot that threatened to burst with hot, dark shame. The spilling, pulsing love didn’t feel tender or beautiful. It felt like it boiled and festered deep within, but how could he just cut it out like simple rot? It was a part of him, it changed his life.
His favourite secrets were the ones Till never saw, when he wasn’t looking. In ANAKT, when he had been beaten badly by his guardian the night before, Till would hide his bruises and feign being fine, but Ivan’s steady eyes were always watching him, noticing. He glimpsed him steady his aching forehead, eyes fluttering, half-heartedly pulling his sleeves over the worst cuts. When Till slept from sheer exhaustion, or worse, briefly passed out from his injuries he didn’t tend to properly, Ivan was there, propping him up by the shoulder or holding his head in his lap. These tender moments felt so utterly unlike the two, so of course they only came when Till was unaware of them. Would he hate Ivan for it? He traced his finger through the arch between Till’s brows. He loved that stark sharpness in his face, even when it came with anger directed at him. Till, do you like me?, he would think.
He usually crept away when he felt him stir, but occasionally he would get caught. When Till shoved him off or childishly hit him, he cradled the feeling with twisted pride. To him, the bruising marks were like laurels of honour.
——————
He adjusted his dark blue blazer and crisp shirt. Today they had to perform a karaoke session for the highest-paying, elite segyein, so he was dressed pristinely. With the final rounds of the competition looming, the aliens wanted a private performance for the pleasure of hearing their voices all to themselves, drinking in excess and shovelling food down their throats. Ivan was ambivalent as usual, calmly singing Black Sorrow to perfection, Till’s face a fixed star in his mind. When they began to sway and laughed for way too long, he figured they were distracted enough, he slipped away silently. If Unsha saw, he didn’t say anything. He was usually appeased by Ivan’s obedience, there wasn’t much to fault him for. One thing was running through his mind.
Till wasn’t back yet.
He walked to the other parlours. With only 3 left in the competition, it wouldn’t be hard to find Till’s room. He expected it to be ear-burstingly loud, most likely from Till yelling than singing. Instead it was starkly quiet. Something was wrong. He felt his chest twist.
He listened through the door for any signs of the aliens. If he was caught, he was sure he could reason that he got lost, he was charming and obedient to most of them that they would usually accept it. But would they believe he just got ‘turned around’ into another contestant’s parlour? He could be punished. He thought of Till’s face. It was fine.
No sounds. Everyone was gone. Everyone but one.
He looked through the crack of the door, eyes dissecting the room. It was structurally identical to his own: the screens displaying lyrics and matching microphone, chairs and tables for drinks upon drinks, but Till’s was strewn with havoc. The table had been tipped, spilt drinks stained the carpet, the microphone laid still on the floor. His heeled shoe clinked against an empty glass bottle. The smell of alcohol was thick in the air.
He saw his outline, small by the leather sofa besides him, left behind by everyone. Sleeping? Something so peaceful didn’t feel likely in this scene of disarray.
He didn’t say a word yet, steps quiet. He crouched down to be closer, to look at him. Till looked so tired; his eyes heavy with purple shadows darker than their usual hue. Sweat streaked across his skin, his lips were collared.
“Till?” He quietly spoke.
His lips were slightly parted, but no words came.
Ivan’s eyes looked towards his clothes. His shirt’s collar was open. It wasn’t like that before. The more casual styling of black-tie formal wear was one that Till would suit, and even take upon himself to create, but it couldn’t be... They were instructed to wear the suits today with not a thread out of place. Not that Till had never broken a rule, but before, he saw Till enter, and his clothes weren’t this crumpled. His tie was gone, his dark blazer sagged down his arms. His clothes looked like they’d been… clawed at. No.
It wasn’t unheard of. The aliens saw them as pets to use, from desperate gutterrats to the most popular idols. Humans were considered strangely beautiful, despite looking so different from the aliens. Smaller, cuter. So, why just look?
He knew Till, who was so angry and assertive, and more shaken and fragile since Mizi’s disappearance. He wouldn’t take anything without a fight.
“Till.” He hummed, clicking his fingers around his head. No use being quiet now. He didn’t react. “Till?” He repeated, cupping his fingers around his cheek, expecting a shout or push back. No response. He really was out of it.
Of course. They had made it so he couldn’t fight back, so he could barely even struggle. He didn’t have to wonder, how could they? He knew what they were like, their cruelty towards humans. And they all knew in ANAKT, Till received the brunt of it. Ivan brushed his cheek gently as if one kind touch could outweigh all the years of abuse.
They drugged him. And left him here. They had shut the door, only to be found by someone who cared enough to come looking.
“Till? What did they give you?” He asked with a shake to his shoulder, but the grey-haired boy was despondent.
Ivan stared and stared, kneeling at his side. Oh. It was more than sweat. Thin tracks ran down his face.
His fingers softened. He didn’t even notice how clenched they were. He didn’t get angry often. Only when it came to you, Till.
The intensity melted into care, and he reached out. He gently brushed the wet remnants of the vile experience away, fingers wiping away the tears under his eyes and the sweat that somehow still remained against his still-cold skin. Like he could somehow erase it all. If only he could. He unlatched that muzzle Till was so damn familiar with. He saw how his teeth seemed to lightly clench even now. He must’ve been so scared.
What was he dreaming of, if at all? Was his mind as dark as the room, or was it now stinging with new awful memories of tonight?
He cupped his face, so it didn’t slump to the side in his unconsciousness. For someone so passionate and angry, Till’s face looked so fragile like this. Even in sleep, his eyebrows were pinched tightly. He wanted to ease the lined shadows under his eyes. He wished he could make him happy. Whatever that meant, Ivan didn’t know.
Till, I know it’s selfish.
I shouldn’t want you like I do. I shouldn’t.
He pressed his forehead to Till’s, and softly nuzzled his cheek. He felt the warmth between them permeate through the cold room. He loved him so much. At least he will have this one stupid moment. He was being selfish. He didn’t even notice Till’s eyebrows un-tense, and the softening of his closed eyes. For once someone in his life was gentle.
“Ngh… Mizi?”
Oh.
He was awake.
He looked up at him through dreary eyes, no doubt right now Ivan looked like a blurry dark figure to him. He gently let his face go, taking care not to let it fall.
“Ivan?” His voice was slow with confusion or perhaps disappointment. If it was Mizi, he would be so happy.
“Yes.”
“W-why are you here?” His short words dragged; his voice slurred from whatever they gave him.
“I- I came looking for you.”
“‘Course.” He sounded annoyed, but his face still looked so delicate.
He wanted to ask, but how could he make him replay those memories? To relay them to someone he probably didn’t even like? He hoped in some twisted way, being drugged would make the memories hazy, impossible to dig up, then he felt awful. They drugged him to make him vulnerable… he looked at him tentatively. He almost didn’t want to know, but he would carry all of Till’s burdens if it meant he could be free from them.
“Can you… stand?”
His head lolled as he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Yeah...” He rolled his eyes like it was obvious, and staggered upwards.
“Hey-” Ivan held his shoulders upright, and then felt the weight of Till’s upper body as his legs dropped back down.
Till’s head slumped on Ivan’s chest. Usually such a thing would make him giddy, but now? He felt disgusted by everything but the boy in his arms.
“Till…” He murmured.
“I didn’t sing.” His words were slow, like they were stuck in his throat.
Ivan gazed slowly, he wanted to know, but God, he wasn't ready. His insides were sick with fear. If it would break him to hear, Till was already cracked, rifts splitting through his body.
He felt a wet drop, then felt the trembling shake of his shoulder bones. In Ivan’s arms, they felt so thin. In the silent room, his soft sobs sounded as loud as a scream.
“I… they…” He whispered into Ivan’s chest, and Ivan wished he could take everything bad far away and cram it into his own heart so Till never had to feel pain ever again. He pictured it in his mind as he held him, Till’s heart bright with the light he carried inside, and Ivan’s own - black like a cove’s water reflecting its own darkness. He hoped that in all these years, Till’s light had rubbed off on him.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to say, Till.” His words soft as he could muster. He already knew. His eyebrows trembled as he looked at the boy in his arms.
He wished he could hold him together, offer any comfort he could. His hands wavered. He felt Till’s sharp hairs stick against his chest. He wanted to stroke it soothingly, but he worried that no matter what way he touched him, he would be like them. Like any comforting touch would be corrupted into something foul and infectious, because he gave it.
“Ivan…” Till brushed his cheek to his chest, and his heart flickered, twinged with gentle joy and bitterness at once. Till whimpered and Ivan listened, the two the only life to be found in the corner of the dark room.
Eventually the room went quiet like a snuffled flame. Was he still awake? Ivan didn’t hear the heavy breathing of sleep. The silence was unnerving. He was gonna take Till out of this shitty place, but it was likely already scratched into his memories as if with a dull knife. He gently lifted one limp arm over his shoulder, walking towards the crack of light the door emanated.
He carried Till back to his room, taking care not to hold him up so he wouldn’t trip or bump into the walls around them. They slipped in as silently as someone dragging a half-unconscious person could. He eased him in bed, where his arms flopped against the pillows. He looked around at Till’s room. Another reminder of his love for him, seeing the pieces of his personality in a room. The sheets of lyrics that patterned the floor, his many instruments propped against the wall, half-finished drawings scattered across his small allocated desk. His room was nothing like it.
He wishes he could be close to him, not even in touch, as much as he wanted to comfort him with gentle touches to his back or his hands or his head. He wished they could just talk without him saying the wrong thing, or Till misunderstanding his words. That they could simply understand each other. Would he remember this? He sighed bittersweetly. Even if he did, they wouldn’t talk about it, right? It was the way Ivan and Till were. Didn’t it make them, them?
He watched his steady breathing like it was his own lifeline. Maybe it was.
“Goodnight, Till.”