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Like everytime after they were done with him, everything hurt. But unlike usual, unlike before , when Till reached for that insatiable flame, that part of him that did not regret starting a fight or beating the damned aliens, nestled somewhere within his beaten frame, there was only emptiness, its darkness ash-like.
Till lifted his hand from where it was flopped on the floor. His fingers were dripping black with blood.
His collar felt like a coil of steel around his neck and it was too heavy and he didn’t know how he was going to get up. He didn’t know how to get back to his room.
But it was okay, because that mysterious someone would save Till soon, the way they usually did.
He just had to wait. They would come. They would free him.
—
As soon as he awoke, Till realised that Ivan still wasn’t here.
No, why was he thinking of that bastard?
What was important was that his saviour wasn’t here.
How long had it been since Till had blacked out? This corridor had always been timeless; even today, the lights were as bright as ever, indifferent, no different from every time he’d been there.
Perhaps Till could even pretend that a certain idiot was here with him, now, in the dull oblivion of the white corridor.
Till lifted his hand to check if it were still his own, because for some reason he felt as if he couldn’t move.
It was still blood-stained. He wasn’t sure whether that meant it was his.
Suddenly, the world seemed to be encased in a mist, bridging him from reality.
Despite the brightness, Till found himself drifting off.
—
When was that person coming? It felt like forever had passed.
Perhaps they weren’t.
Even Till wasn’t sure who he was waiting for by now. If Ivan were watching him from heaven or wherever people went after they died, he’d probably-
Ivan.
Bile rose in his throat.
No… It couldn’t be.
That person that had always cared for him…
That couldn’t be the case. Till just had to wait a little more and his saviour would arrive.
__
That person hadn’t come. But that must be because of a little delay, right? There was no way…
___
That person wasn’t coming.
They weren’t coming because they were dead.
That person was Ivan.
In fact, it had always been Ivan, all along; Till had just been too caught up in his own bullshit to realise.
And now that Ivan was dead, there would be no one that would come for Till, free him from his collar, endure his brash mannerisms, laugh at his attempts at running away.
There would be no one.
Here, under the glaring light, Till thought that he hated Ivan more than ever: he hated him for taking up an insurmountable space in his life without either of them realising, then leaving a vacuum of space that he would never be able to fill on his own, for loving him so selflessly until the moments before his death, for always coming back despite being mercilessly turned down.
But more than anything, Till hated himself.
He examined his hand again. His fingers were tainted in Ivan’s blood.
Ivan was gone. And without him, Till would never be free.