The world ended with the sound of shattering glass and metal grinding like bone against bone.

That was how Ivan left.

One moment, he was laughing—turning his head to look at Till in the passenger seat, sunlight catching in his lashes, hand reaching across the center console, heart so full it ached. The next, a semi tore through the intersection, red lights forgotten, and all of it—all that quiet joy, all that love—was ripped apart in a burst of noise and blood and light.

No slow-motion goodbye. No whispered I love you. Just a flash of headlights and the echo of Till’s scream.

They had been fiancés.

Engaged for three months. Planning a fall wedding. Ivan still remembered the way Till had grinned when they picked out the rings, how he’d snuck away to get Ivan’s engraved with “Come back to me” as a joke—a nod to how Ivan was always forgetting his wallet, always getting distracted. It used to make them laugh.

Now it felt like a curse.

Ivan hadn’t felt the pain of dying. Not really. One second there had been panic, the kind that tears through your ribs and lodges behind your eyes—and then…nothing. Silence. Cold. A strange in-between. He didn't know how long he floated in it. Days? Seconds? He wasn’t sure. But all he could think about was Till.

How he'd left him behind.

–

It had been six days.

Ivan found him in the apartment, curled up on the floor by the couch. The lights were off. The rain outside whispered against the windows like it was mourning too. The place looked untouched—still theirs, but hollow. Like time had frozen the moment Ivan died and nothing had dared move since.

Till sat with his knees drawn to his chest, head bowed. Ivan could feel the grief in the air, thick and suffocating. It clung to the walls. It radiated from Till like heat off pavement.

Ivan stepped forward. His presence made the room shift. Shadows lengthened. The temperature dropped. The silence sharpened.

And then—his voice, cracking through the dark.

“I thought you’d have cut your hair by now.”

Till’s head shot up.

Ivan felt it like a blow, the way Till looked at him—like he was seeing a ghost. Which, he supposed, was true. Still, it hurt. That wide-eyed, shattered look. That stunned, hopeful terror.

He crouched slowly, keeping his voice gentle. “I missed you.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected—tears, shouting, maybe even laughter—but Till just stared. Silent. Shaking.

Ivan reached out, heart hammering even though he no longer had a heartbeat. His fingertips brushed Till’s cheek.

Warm. Real.

Till gasped.

It was everything. The contact. The feel of him. The fact that he could still touch Till. Ivan wanted to cry just from that.

But then Till moved—reached out with both hands—and passed right through Ivan’s chest.

The moment shattered.

Till’s hands dropped to his lap like lead. His face crumpled. Ivan could barely breathe, even though he didn’t need to.

He cradled Till’s face in both palms anyway, thumbs brushing the skin just beneath his eyes. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s me. I don’t know how—I don’t know why—but I’m here. I’m back.”

Till’s voice shook. “You died.”

“I know.”

“They buried you.”

“I know.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

Till’s eyes brimmed, red and glassy. His mouth trembled, and the words that came next were quiet, fragile.

“Why can’t I touch you?”

Ivan’s breath hitched. His voice cracked. “I don’t know.”