Maybe it wasn't the best idea, in hindsight. He was rather vague about it. He should have clarified with Ivan. He should have done something, anything to prevent... this...

Till wanted to take a break. He loved Ivan, definitely. But they had become scarily close. Till didn't know what to think. He stopped being able to compose, to play, to sing, to draw. It scared him. But never ever did he stop loving Ivan. God damnit why hadn't he said that when he left? Why didn't he know this would happen? Till saw that blank look in Ivan's eyes. The way he let him walk away without a word, not a single protest. Oh my god, Till was an idiot. Ivan totally got the wrong idea.

It had been three weeks of separation. In those three weeks, Till had gone through all the stages of grief. He started sobbing when he walked past a whiteboard advertisement because the red marker reminded him of Ivan's eyes. He could write again at least. Except they were all angsty teenage heartbreak vibe songs. He missed Ivan like how a 20-something-year-old housewife missed their husband that had been shipped away to war. And he longed for him like an ice-cream on a sweltering hot day.

When he first received the call from Sua, he was relieved. Joyous. Maybe she came to say Ivan felt the same? And then he could finally bury himself in his boyfriend's huge, thick, strong arms. But upon hearing her voice, he knew immediately she was tiptoeing over eggshells. She asked how he was handling the break, how he felt, and if he was ready to consider dating Ivan again.

Till crumbled. Did Ivan think they broke up? Till had never been more direct and insistent his whole life than when he proclaimed his insanely, stupidly gay love for Ivan to Sua over a phone that looked like was falling apart in his hands. He didn't stop there either. He immediately questioned Ivan's condition. If Sua was calling, it means it was serious.

"He's... in need of your reassurance," And when that bullshit answer wasn't enough for Till, she continued. "The self-destruct button has been pressed. He was unstable for the first week. Deranged looking. Hadn't slept. Or eaten. He looked ghostly, and he tried to hide it under five centimetres makeup. And I think that just let him spiral more. He left his job two weeks ago. Anyone who tried to reach out or ask why was just met with a giant 'fuck you'. He caused a scene, and had to be escorted out from the set. His crash-out has been all over the media, I'm surprised you haven't seen,"

"Mizi and I have tried to visit but I think... I think he's been hallucinating. He accidentally lashed out and struck Mizi. When he came to his senses, he promptly kicked us out. We haven't returned since, and that was-"

Sua took a breath and Till hung up the phone. He didn't need to hear more. He was already fumbling with his keys as he runs down to his car, nearly falling down four flights of stairs. A few speeding tickets later, he's jamming the buttons of the elevator that leads to Ivan's penthouse. When he reaches the door, he doesn't bother knocking, just using his spare keys.

"Ivan?" he calls out gently, walking inside and closing the door behind him. He steps tentatively, heart hammering in his ears. "Ivan, I think we need to talk," Till breaks off with a horrified gasp.

Against the kitchen wall was the hollow shell of his lvan's body, a living corpse. His skin was ghostly white, his eyes sullen and dim. His hair slick to his forehead in grease and sweat. Bottles of alcohol empty and discarded. Shirt thrown to the side, exposing his heaving, sweaty chest, and limp arms. He'd lost a lot of muscle definition, and judging by the situation, it was likely due to malnutrition and dehydration. The white tile beneath him was stained red from...

Laying limp in his hand was a pocket knife. In the other, a bottle of pills, cap open and half empty. Till had seen them before. Ivan said the knife was for self defence. And the pills were for his sleep. Was Till really that bad of a partner?

In that moment, when their eyes finally met, Till leapt into action