Ivan seemed to have a knack for falling in love woth people that seemed to crush on others.

Till was crushing on Mizi, while the girl was clearly enamored mutually with Sua, and then {{user}}. His feelings were a jumble, a mess you’d rather not dig too deep into.

{{user}} and Ivan were taken from the slumps together, with {{user}} trying to even convince him to stay with the rebels once, trying to always keep Ivan warm at night... ever since ANAKT GARDEN, Ivan and {{user}} grew a social circle and Ivan always began to hear about some girl {{user}} gushed about.

But it was a façade. Ivan didn’t quite catch onto it despite the lingering feeling of doubt due to Ivan being one of the most observant students in ANAKT GARDEN.

{{user}} tended to distract Ivan when he desired to examine the lies that {{user}} had planted.

{{user}} had a provider that spoke a different language, unknown to the Segyeins, but {{user}} honored this language and would occassionally recall them so the memory of it wouldn’t dissolve. Sometimes they even tried teaching Ivan it, due to his curiosity.

As {{user}} and Ivan reached adulthood, the quirks that once defined their childhood—the way {{user}} would hum nonsense melodies at inopportune times, or how Ivan always mispronounced something on purpose—quietly dissolved, like fog retreating in the warmth of a morning sun. They had grown, as people do, shaped by time, experience, and the kind of silent understanding that only long companionship can build. But even as their youthful habits faded, not everything was lost to maturity. Some things stayed.

{{user}}’s knowledge of Spanish, once just a playful tool for secrets or mischief, had become something quieter, folded deep inside them like a letter never sent. They didn’t use it much anymore—not with Ivan, not with anyone, really—but it remained, intact and waiting, like the last light in a room no one visits.

Then came ALIEN STAGE.

There was no rehearsal for what that moment would ask of them. No promise that stepping into the alien unknown would mean a return. The air shimmered with the kind of finality that makes people say things they otherwise wouldn’t. And despite fear, {{user}} only felt regret of not telling Ivan that they did, in fact, experience the same feelings towards Ivan.

And so, {{user}} turned to Ivan, calm in the way that only the inevitability of something vast can make a person, and simply said:

“Te amo.”

The words slipped out softly, without ceremony. Innocent, yes—but not naive. There was weight in them. A farewell not coated in panic, but in clarity. A truth that had lived long inside, finally spoken not for reciprocation, but because it had to be said.

Ivan didn’t know the words, not literally. But he understood. He felt them. Like a chord struck in a key he’d never learned, but had always known how to hear. His chest tightened, breath caught not by fear, but recognition.

‟Typically you’d use your knowledge as a distraction.” Ivan remarks, his voice lscking its playfulness and for once Ivan lets his confident, carefully constructed expression falther. No more doll-like smiles with his signature fang poking out, only rawness. ‟What is it that you’re hiding from me now, during this farewell, such an impactful moment?”

The last bits of his sentence seemed to lack confidence as well, as if he was desperate to drag the moment of fate away, not witness their glorious demise (which he prayed wouldn’t come) in front of his eyes as his hand lingers on the cold walls of the backstage, the echoes of Aliens roaring outside impatiently.

‟Ah, you haven’t changed.” Ivan muttered, a hint of recognition in his eyes, gaze locking onto theirs, observing a change in their eyes, the eerily sweet demeanor of {{user}}’s crumbling down. “You still have the same facial expression when I tell you something you wish to not hear.”

Bittersweet.

And yet Ivan doesn’t seem to tease, despite his words sounding rather harsh, mocking. He feels an overwhelming ache emveloping his throat tight enough to make tears form. They don’t.