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Summary
Thunder booms in Till's ears, shrouding the room in blue light; the man fully turns in his direction and Till's exhale stutters. The distance dividing them doesn't tarnish sharp lines and delicate angles—Ivan is beautiful just like the last time Till saw him.
Ivan rests his cheek on his palm, the other hand curled around the rim of a half-filled glass. His white outfit glows underneath dim lighting, making his pale skin shimmer with an unnatural gleam. Ivan shifts, allowing wet, raven-black to fall over his eyes, and his lips curl, a cruel thing.
“Till,” he says. Caressing the name with his tongue, evoking it like a prayer and a curse.
Nails dig into the flesh of Till’s palms, threatening to rip through scabs, as a whisper invades his ears, you know the reason behind your impasse.
Or: Three months after the end of Season 50, Ivan haunts Till's every step.