Ivan’s footsteps echoed softly against the polished tiles of the hallway, each one a hollow drumbeat in the suffocating silence. The karaoke bar was sterile and cold, the walls a flat gray that swallowed sound and feeling alike. Overhead, the fluorescent lights flickered with a faint, mechanical hum. The air smelled of metal and disinfectant, sharp and artificial, like the facility itself was trying to scrub away anything human.

He reached the lounge. The door creaked open, a silent invitation. The room was dim and stale. One of the cheap music booths flickered with a glitching screen, looping lyrics to a song no one was singing. Then he saw it.

Till.

Sprawled across the couch, lips parted slightly as he drew in shallow breaths. His chest rose and fell like a paper-thin tide, barely there. The acrid scent of sedative hung in the air, thick and cloying, burning the back of Ivan’s throat.

He walked in slowly, unable to tear his eyes away from Till’s form. Even slumped like that, there was something undeniably familiar about the way he looked—fragile, something Ivan had never quite been able to define. It was always like this with Till. Always a sharp edge, a reluctance to show weakness. But underneath, there was something deeper. Something Ivan couldn't understand, but felt with every fiber of his being.

His hand hovered in the space between them, then lowered, brushing soft knuckles against Till’s cheek. Ivan leaned in, nuzzling close, the warmth of his skin a faint echo of the boy he knew—fierce, biting, always dancing on the edge of defiance. There was something sacred in the closeness, a reverence.

If they had escaped that day… If he hadn’t hesitated. If they had run together when the stars were falling like fire from the heavens—

Maybe Till would still shine.

He stirred faintly, a flutter of lashes, a soft groan—but Ivan didn’t move away. He pressed his forehead to Till’s temple, as if he could anchor them both to the moment, to something real in a world that only knew how to take.