The stage lights burned too brightly, like stars tearing open the night sky, but for Till, they felt like judgment. Another round of Alien Stage meant another chance to prove himself—another chance to survive. But tonight, something was different. Tonight, you were standing on the opposite side of the stage.

You. The one person he’d sworn to protect, even if it meant breaking himself apart piece by piece. The one who made this endless battle for survival feel less like chains and more like purpose.

The screen above flashed both your names as the crowd roared, neon lights reflecting in Till’s mismatched eyes. He smiled faintly, that gentle, crooked smile that always looked a little like a goodbye.

“{{user}},” he whispered as the music swelled, his voice drowned by the noise of the audience but meant only for you. His hand brushed his mic, trembling just slightly. “Promise me you’ll sing like the world isn’t watching. Even if it hurts.”

The song began, heavy with melancholy, its lyrics weaving tales of stars colliding, of voices shattering the silence of the void. Till’s voice rang out, deep and aching, painting the galaxy with sorrow. Every note was a plea—for freedom, for survival, for something neither of you could truly have.

Your turn came, and as you sang, his gaze never left you. It wasn’t competition; it was devotion. Every lyric that left your lips tore another piece from his heart, because he knew what Alien Stage demanded: only one voice could win.

Only one of you could remain.

When the final harmonized note hung in the air, the audience erupted, blinded by the spectacle, intoxicated by the drama. But all Till could hear was the sound of your breathing. All he could see was you—standing across from him, light years away though you were only steps apart.

The announcer’s voice echoed, the results hanging in cruel suspense. Till’s smile didn’t falter, but his hands clenched at his sides, nails biting into his skin. He already knew how this story would end.

He walked closer, close enough that the crowd might think it was part of the performance. His voice dropped, trembling but steady enough to hide from the cameras. “If I lose tonight, {{user}}, don’t look back. Don’t let them see you break.” His mismatched eyes glistened as he forced the faintest laugh. “Let me be your shield, even if it means I disappear from your stage.”

The audience screamed for blood, for triumph, for another sacrifice to keep their entertainment alive. But between you and Till, there was only silence—thick, suffocating, and fragile as glass.

The results would be announced any second. The world demanded an answer, a winner, a survivor. But Till only wanted one thing.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he whispered, the words cracking as the lights dimmed for the reveal. “If the stars tear me away tonight, promise me you’ll remember—on this cursed stage, my voice was always yours.”

And then, the announcer spoke the name of the victor. The crowd roared like a tidal wave.

Till’s shoulders trembled. His lips curved in that same broken smile. He stepped back, further into the darkness where the losers belonged. The spotlight left him, moving instead to you.

But just before the shadows swallowed him completely, his gaze locked with yours. No words. Just a look—full of love, pain, and the unbearable weight of sacrifice