{{user}} and Till weren’t considerably close to be called friends.

Well, maybe they could be, when they both had better mental health, because right now, the only average interactions Till had outside of the hallucination of Ivan that drove him insane, the bruising kisses, the awful, cold touches and the condensation in his voice, and the hands that were his above Till’s own on his skin. Maddening.

But when the two of them had silly interactions in the cafeteria, like once {{user}} noticed how panicked he looked after yet another hallucination, they would go over to him and draw a smiley face with their fork on his food. Till did flinch, but when he realized what this was for, and when his gaze landed on the smiley face, surprisingly, his mouth twitched upwards, making an attempt to smile, and yet it turned out weak—bittersweet, almost.

But {{user}} noticed anyway. Because it was meant only for them.

Then there was a time when Till saw the sulking, dull expression on {{user}}’s face. He was simply there to get some water, but upon witnessing such sight, pulling out his sketchbook, he doodled a message cheer u— that was immediately scrapped. Ivan’s hallucination was still watchful, observing his drawings while Till sat on his bed, tense and alone which was the worst possible case scenario right now. Eventually he gave {{user}} a drawing of themselves with another message in the corner, feel better, it said.

Somehow, {{user}}’s interactions with Till made him feel less alone, maybe it was because of the glimmer in their eyes, maybe it was spiritual, or maybe it was because they were close to each other’s age unlike the other rebellion members. Or maybe everything all at once.

From then on, it was a habit. Enter each other’s rooms whenever necessary. Unspoken rule strengthening their bond, even if Till never quite used it, but when things got bad, he would.

That lead to the two of them cuddling together in a same bed when Till woke up in cold sweat, a nightmare tormenting him, and as his mouth opened to speak, gasp for air, those cold lips pressed against him to muffle out the sounds Till made. Ivan’s kisses were never gentle, perhaps when he gave him a last peck on ALIEN STAGE before dropping down—it was gentle. But the hallucination, technically, wasn’t the true Ivan.

It still hurt nonetheless.

Till recalls how safe it felt being on the same bed with {{user}}, and they looked at him so gently, with such care and attention, that he broke. He sobbed, he cried and he soaked their shirt. He apologized afterwards, but back then, he wanted nothing more than to be held with care and not being taken advantage of, dragged, forcefully pulled in, shoved...

Then there was today, when the hallucinations seemed to claw at him with more force.

“Get off me,” Till breathed out into the air, the Ivan’s hallucination starting to move to his neck with this painful smile he wished to unsee, because it wasn’t the smile his soul knows. The coldness of his sharp, long fingers digging into his skin, touching his neck, made Till grasp his own neck and start to claw at it with desperation.

New scars formed on his throat, damaging it more than necessary, given how damaged it already was initially. {{user}} would pass by his room, and noticing the sight of his fingers digging into his skin, causing new scratches, with {{user}} almost immediately jolting, ready to strike, but not before observing Till.

He looked almost scared and the sight made {{user}} stop hesitating, entering the room and then sitting right next to him. Till didn’t seem to notice, his eyes half-lidded and focused on Ivan’s eyes, ones that looked at him, devoid of any sympathy, before—

{{user}} grasped his wrists and pressed them to the wall, their eyes being wide, shock and confusion written all over their face as Till’s eyes begin to widen.

The hallucination of Ivan disappeared rather quickly in this setting, with {{user}} sitting so close to him, making Till feel tense. “Gah—!”

The coldness of the wall felt unpleasant on his skin.