Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Ivan's never been sure of who he is.

A singer? A star? That's what his caretakers tell him, whispering words and images into his ears that only serve as white noise. The truth is, Ivan's never been much of a thinker. In the gardens during their breaks, Sua tells him that much. She once told him that her thoughts come in words, an inner voice, and when Ivan asked why she would even bother thinking of words when it's just in her head, she turned to him and seriously asked if he's ever had a thought in his life.

Sua’s not good with words either, but on this topic, Ivan thinks she might be onto something.

He doesn't mind being a shallow thinker. Life without thoughts is easier. He knew this the moment he stepped into the academy, watching the other students quiver in fear of their captors, when it’s oh so easy to make them pleased. A smile and a nod is all it takes to make them love him, and smiling is much easier when he’s not bothered about their meaningless existence.

It’s a month of him being here when Sua meets Mizi, a girl with bright pink hair and an even brighter and pinker personality. She abandons Ivan’s company almost immediately, which he only absentmindedly notices. Instead, when he’s busy laying on the grass and wasting away those invaluable hours of playtime, he sees her frolic around with Mizi, rolling in the grass, cackling with laughter. 

Ivan guesses Sua isn’t as bad with her words as he thought she was.

“You look happy,” he notices, watching Sua trudge up the hill, her breath stuttered and face flushed. 

“I like her,” Sua admits. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Can I play with you?” Ivan asks.

Sua makes a face. 

“Stay out of this, Ivan. For once.”

And then she’s disappearing down the hill again, leaving only Ivan and the soft drifting clouds above him. He thinks he should be offended, but it’s such a good day outside that he doesn’t bother to understand why. 

Sua is loud when she laughs. Ivan is surprised. She’s so calm usually, almost solemn, a child with an ancient soul. But her peels of laughter fill the usually quiet garden with a soft melody, and he distantly wonders what it’s like – to feel. To love.

It sounds fun.

***

He meets his own ‘Mizi’ shortly after. Ivan, stupidly, doesn’t think much of him at first. He’s always somewhat been in the background, another skinny, angry child; too stubborn to lay low and follow the rules. The poor boy is always black and blue with bruises, the injuries too numerous to even be covered with their prescription white oversized shirt.

Ivan pities him and his overly loud mouth. Don’t the beatings start to get dull after a while?

His curiosity is where it begins. Laying atop his designated grassy hill like a king on a throne, he splits his attention between Sua and Mizi and the boy. His people-watching hobby is back up in full swing, as he tries to mimic Mizi’s smile and the boy’s angry frown in turn. The boy really does have such a punchable face. It makes sense why the number of bruises multiply every time Ivan sees him.

It’s weird. Ivan rarely wants anything, but he’s no longer satisfied with just watching the boy’s soft silver hair and furious face from afar. He needs to know. He has questions. Why are you so angry? Why do you bother fighting back? Do you want to know how I avoid the beatings?

Ivan slides down the grassy hill, coming to a stop in front of the boy, who darts his eyes up to him as his shadow encapsulates his place on the ground. He promptly asks none of these pressing questions.

“Do you like getting punched?” Ivan says instead.

The boy is too confused to even scowl. For a moment, the angry expression drops off his face, leaving behind only his bejeweled teal eyes and delicate features, and something in Ivan’s stomach drops like a brick. 

“What kind of question is that?” the boy asks, frustrated expression back in full force. “What happened to ‘hello, nice to meet you’?”

Ivan cocks his head. “Hello. Nice to meet you.”

“Not like that!” The boy shouts. “You’ve already ruined it! What do you mean, I like getting punched? Who likes that?!”

He’s getting so worked up, it’s funny. Ivan can’t help his smile when he points at the boy’s collar, proud at his discovery. His master always says Ivan is an observant child.

“Then what’s that?”

The boy slams a hand over his bruise, so hard it must hurt against the purpling skin. Ivan’s hand droops a bit in surprise. When he looks up, the boy’s entire face is red as the tomato soup they give him for lunch, and he looks furious.

“That’s – none of your business, got it?!” he says. Ivan has never met a louder person in his life. “Why are you –? I don’t even know who you are!”

“I’m Ivan.”

“Well, okay, Ivan,” he spits. The sound of Ivan’s name in his mouth is pleasant. “I’m very politely asking you to scram.”

The boy’s words are like a riddle, and Ivan’s never claimed to be good at interpretation. “Why? I can help you.”

“Help do what? Beat me up?”

He meant he could offer some advice, but okay. “I guess I could do that too.”

The boy's face twists and turns in ways Ivan hadn't thought possible. Fascinating. Like watching a bug crinkle and squirm under the sun. Ivan didn't know humans came in this kind of flavor.

“Like hell you are!” The boy says, fisting Ivan’s shirt in his grip. “You bastard, don't look down on me. I'm taller and stronger than you, you know?”

Ivan shrugs. That is true. 

“...But I'm not the one who gets hit.”

The boy's eyes widen. Ooh. Sore spot. Zero points for him, one point for –

SMACK.

– I…van…?

There's a sharp sting across his face, a flower of pain blooming on his cheek. It's been so long since Ivan last got slapped, and the shock of it briefly brings him back to reality, like his sight got upgraded in saturation and vibrancy. Ivan reaches a hand to feel for his cheek, hot and sore, and he turns to look at the boy in wonder.

The boy’s panting in exhilaration, looking like he hadn't been expecting himself to do that. His face is flushed and his soft silver hair is everywhere. His eyes are blue – no, green. Teal? So bright and colorful, Ivan could stare at them forever.

For the first time in his life, Ivan feels something.

Ba-dump.

If this is what getting slapped does to you, Ivan sees why the other boy keeps going back for more.

“Wow,” he deadpans, too lost in the feeling to bother with fabricating an expression. Immediately, the boy lets go of him like he's scalding water, stammering out a forced apology.

“Why?” Ivan asks. “I think you should do it again.”

“What – no! You freak!” he shouts, turning away from Ivan. “Go away!”

He's already running away before Ivan can react. He's left blinking in his metaphorical dust cloud, confused and somewhat disappointed. Ah. He really thought he was getting somewhere.

“What was that?” A voice asks from behind him. Ivan doesn't need to turn around to see that it's Sua, the dripping judgement in her voice enough to identify. Instead, he stares at the boy’s retreating back in faint awe. “Stop harassing people.”

“It's not harassment,” Ivan replies distantly. He presses a hand to his face, so hard it hurts, and those beautiful colorful sparks race across his vision again like fireworks. He can't help the manic grin that spreads across his face. “I'm making a friend.”

Sua sighs. “...Boys are weird.”

Sua’s just jealous that she and Mizi don't have their passionate relationship. But wait…oh. Ivan blinks, realizing that the boy never actually gave him his name.

It's okay. Friendships are supposed to come slow and steady.

***

Friendships come slow and steady, but for once, Ivan doesn't have the strength to wait. The next day, he stalks the entire gardens for a fluffy silver head, heart picking up once he spots him under the shade of a large tree, staring at a notebook. Ivan creeps up the side of the hill, making sure not to be seen, and hides behind the tree. Wouldn't it be funny to scare him a bit? Would he scream? Curse? Hit him again? 

It probably shouldn't excite him as much as it does, but for some reason Ivan’s stomach does weird loops at the uncertainty. Curiosity, he tells himself, it's definitely curiosity.

He doesn't jump out immediately, preferring to prolong the wait. Attentively, he watches as the boy’s deft hand writes – no, draws, fluid lines and attentive details far more controlled than his age would suggest. He’s talented. It seems the more Ivan learns about this boy, the more fascinating he becomes.

“What are you drawing?” 

“GOD DAMN,” the boy shrieks, pencil flying into the abyss. He whips around, eyes wild, and Ivan feels chills down his spine when they lock eyes. “You!”

“Me,” he replies blankly.

“What are you – I told you to get lost, loser!”

“I’m not a loser,” Ivan says, a little miffed. “Who were you drawing?”

The boy snaps his sketchbook shut, his face going red from top to bottom. Ivan furrows his brows, confused. Why is he hiding it? It was really good…

“N-nothing!” he says, voice high and squeaky. He hides the book in his arms like he doesn't want Ivan to even see the cover. “How long were you watching me?”

“I just got here,” Ivan lies. He tilts his head, trying to recall what little he saw of the drawing. “Were you drawing a girl? Hmm…” he hums, scanning the other children in the garden in search of the person who could've been the boy’s reference. His eyes catch on bright pink hair, a radiant demeanor, sprawled out on the grass next to his judgemental acquaintance. The two of them are as close to opposites as can be, an angel and a demon. “Maybe Mizi?”

The boy’s eyes widen. He's so red, steam is coming out of his ears. “Shut up! No I wasn't!”

“Sua, then,” Ivan says, a bit of disbelief leaking into his voice.

“Ew, what? Of course not.”

“Aha! So you were drawing Mizi,” Ivan smirks, nodding his head. “That makes sense. I don't know why anyone would ever draw Sua.”

“Huh? When did I say that I was drawing M-Mizi? Why would I even want to draw her?” The boy stammers out, a mile a minute. “I mean, I’d rather draw her than Sua, but I swear it's not like that! She just has an interesting color palette, okay? Cool bone structure or whatever, it's not like I like her, got it?!”

Ivan blinks at the boy, smile rising. This is the most he's ever said to him! Clearly, his friendship campaign is a complete success! 

“W-why are you looking at me like that?”

Ivan swallows a teasing statement about the boy’s weird little defensiveness over Mizi, seeing as their interaction is going so well. Instead, he plainly states, “You're a good artist.”

The boy blinks. “Oh,” he says, the tension leaking out of his stance. “Thanks…I guess…”

Ivan sidles up to him, dropping to his knees and leaning forwards until his nose practically hits the other’s. The boy scrambles back, but Ivan ignores his protests of ‘personal space.’ From what he's seen from Sua and Mizi, friends like being close to each other.

“You never told me your name,” Ivan states. “My name’s Ivan.”

The boy sputters, trying to push away Ivan’s face in vain. “I know that, idiot, you already told me!”

Oh. Ivan’s heart pounds as he realizes the boy remembered his name. He was more than prepared to keep reminding him until it stuck in his mind, but this makes things much more efficient. 

“...Till,” the boy mutters, not meeting Ivan’s eyes. “My name’s Till. Happy now?”

Till. What an unusual name. Ivan’s smile is so wide, he thinks his face might split apart.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Can you draw me next, Till?”

The boy – Till – just hits him half heartedly on the head with his sketchbook.

“No way!”

***

Ivan's pretty bad at making friends. Sua told him that the other kids have a little game of theirs: whenever they see him coming, they rush to hide so he doesn't see them. That clears up a lot of his questions, like why the Garden always seems so empty, and why the few people he does see giggle and point at him.

He doesn't really understand why. He's practiced his smile in the ponds, and it looks…passable. Not normal, but passable.

The worst part is when they pretend to tolerate him, calling him their friend, only to leave him behind. Ivan can't distinguish between the real smiles and the fake ones. Why are people so difficult?

Well, it's not like he cares that much. 

Ivan is used to being alone. 

(Sometimes, though, in the middle of the night when his dreams and thoughts muddle together, he wishes he could find someone who could tolerate him. Anyone. They could be the meanest person in the whole world, and he wouldn't care).

***

Ivan’s never had a friend before. Sua doesn't count – the only reason why she could stand him is because she has even more screws loose than Ivan himself, and he's been told that his lost screw count is already nearing the hundreds.

To think that the living banshee herself could find a best friend like Mizi – it's incredible. At first Ivan had thought that Sua must have bribed her or something, but no. It turns out that Mizi actually, like actually, likes Sua, messed up personality and all. 

He’s happy for her. Smiles come more naturally to her now, all soft looks and yearning eyes. And Ivan has never wanted anything before, except…he can’t understand why someone like Sua could have that, and he couldn't.

That's where Till comes in.

Ivan thinks his life could be split into two parts: Life Before Till, and Life After Till. Life Before Till wasn't so bad. He was probably the most pampered child in their academy, courtesy of his amazing lack of thoughts. Life was easy for him when he did what his masters said and avoided what they condemned. 

If Life Before Till was easy, then Life After Till is incredibly hard. Till makes everything a pain in the ass. It’s like he sees the rules carved into their lives and deliberately chooses to do the opposite out of pure spite. He does what their masters condemn and doesn’t do what they say to do; Ivan half thinks he must have some sort of genetic defect, like one of his chromosomes got turned upside down – or maybe his puberty-induced rebellion has come in way too early and much too intense. 

Numerous times Ivan finds himself having to clean the scrapped up pieces of Till off the floor after a solid beating, only nudging him a little with his foot before sighing and picking him up. Even still, Till only groans and complains and tries to slip out of Ivan’s grasp – to do what? Lick his wounds alone? 

Ivan has no idea what’s wrong with him.

That’s another thing that Till makes challenging. Not only does he lack self preservation, he is also not inclined to making friends. Till forces Ivan to struggle for every reaction he painstakingly pulls out of him, whether it’s surprise, or embarrassment, or anger…mostly anger. Friendship sure comes in different shapes and varieties, Ivan wonders, looking at Sua and Mizi’s mutual adoration and then at his and Till’s…uh…mutual destruction. Perhaps that’s too kind of a description for it, he thinks, as he blankly watches Till punch him in the face for the third time that week.

Maybe stealing his sketchbook and drawing mustaches over every portrait of Mizi was going too far, Ivan thinks. But if Till doesn’t want him to do it, then he should stop giving Ivan such a devastated look on his face once he finds out! It’s so difficult to resist!

Till is the opposing force to their (epic) (life-changing) (spectacular) friendship, and Ivan is their number one proponent. Ivan has never wanted much in his short life, but now he realizes that when he wants something, he really wants it. He has a working theory that he wants it so bad because Till makes it so challenging. It adds a little spice to his life. Something to work towards.

So Ivan bothers Till. A lot. Steals his stuff, beats him up, anything to make Till look at him. It’s always varying degrees of annoyance, and Ivan is starting to realize that he’s never seen Till without his brows crumpled up. 

Ivan’s never really had a friend before, but he thinks he’s been doing a pretty good job. 

He’s not much of a chatter, but for all that he lacks with words he fills with his presence. And yes, Till may say too many ‘go away!’ and ‘get lost!’s for his liking, but he’ll get over it in due time, and soon they’ll be attached to the hip; inseparable. Ivan once read a psychology book on using flooding to get used to something, and while Ivan wouldn’t exactly like to consider himself a ‘trauma,’ he’s sure similar concepts apply. 

After all, even Sua made a friend. Sua. Clearly, she had to have used similar methods to charm Mizi, because her speaking skills are even more sorrowfully lacking than Ivan’s. 

When Till pushes him away, Ivan comes back. 

When Till gets annoyed, Ivan bothers him more. 

When Till gets hurt, Ivan puts him back together. 

Something’s seriously wrong with him to want to get hurt all the time. But everyone in the Academy has a few screws loose, so Ivan can’t fault him for it. He has to give Till this – his issues are definitely the funniest of the bunch.

Ivan’s always been a weird kid with no friends. Sua’s told him as much, not even to rile him up, just as a fact. And he’s been fine with it for as long as he’s been alive, because at least being unliked and having no dignity feels better than being starved and beaten. But Till is slowly starting to show him otherwise. Till makes Ivan’s vision brighter, makes his world fuller – and slowly, Ivan is finding that he can’t go back to the monotony of Life Before Till.

Coming back to the present, Ivan reels back from Till’s sharp punch, laughing his lungs out. He turns around and, one hand fisted in the taller boy’s collars, hurls him into a nearby pond.

Till spits out a mouthful of water. He’s drenched head to toe, water droplets trailing down his face, and Ivan feels so alive.

“What’s wrong with you?!” Till yells.

Ivan is someone who doesn’t know how to think for himself. So, instead, he starts to think for someone else.

Isn’t friendship wonderful?

***

“What is wrong with you,” Sua deadpans, looming over Ivan’s shoulder like a dreadful ghost.

Can't she mind her own business? She has her own best friend to attend to, Ivan thinks sourly, as he finishes pouring glue into Till’s conditioner bottle. “It’s a present,” he hums. 

“I always thought you were weird, but now you're acting really weird,” Sua sighs. “Can’t you just leave the poor boy alone?”

“No can do,” Ivan says, shaking up the now-glue filled bottle to make it look more believable. “He's my friend.”

“Ivan, I don't know who taught you about socializing, but clearly they didn't know a thing,” Sua scoffs. “Friends don't beat each other up, and they definitely don't do…whatever you're doing right now.”

Ivan stops shaking the bottle, deeming it mixed enough. He places it back onto the shelf and turns to Sua with a bored stare. “Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’?” Sua says, exasperated. “That's what you would do with an enemy, not a friend!”

You don’t? “What do you do in a ‘friendship,’ then?”

Sua’s eyes narrow in thought, like she actually wants to give him a proper answer. Her eyes go distant and all gooey and sappy, and it's clear she's thinking of a certain bubbly pink haired girl. Gross. 

“A friendship is…mutual respect,” she reminisces, voice going soft and serious. “A friendship is basking in someone’s else's warmth, knowing that you can tell them anything without judgement. It's comfort and it's love.”

She seems really serious about this. Ivan hums in thought, trying to imagine him and Till like that, and for some reason the back of his neck gets all hot and itchy.

Nope. That doesn't feel right at all.

“Sounds kind of boring,” Ivan replies.

***

The next day, Ivan’s door is nearly snapped off its hinges with the force of Till’s kick, said boy howling and nearly feral from anger. Ivan bursts out laughing from the way his soft silver hair is now stuck into several matted peaks on his head, thinking that he looks absolutely hilarious. Of course, he's quickly shut up by hands around his neck and furious, teary accusations.

Ivan can't breathe from the force of his laughter – Till’s chokehold barely registers. He nearly cries tears of joy.

By the time they've had their fill of scuffling, Till’s left with only faint trembles and sniffles, and Ivan pats his back and offers him a thumbs up. Surprisingly, this doesn't set the younger boy off like usual. Instead, Till lifts his head, giving Ivan the most pitiful look he's ever seen in his life.

Ba-dump.

He looks stupid with his watery eyes and porcupine hair, but Ivan’s never seen someone so spectacular.

“You're unbelievable,” Till sniffles, wiping at his eyes. “...do you think I’ll have to go bald?”

Ivan only smiles and pulls him to his bathroom, ignoring his protests and the way he very rudely drags his feet. He dunks Till’s head under the faucet and runs the water all over his face, smiling down at his drowning expression. 

“Gurhkhh – What are you doing? Bastard!”

Ivan runs a hand through Till’s crunchy, glued up hair. “Shut up,” he says cheerfully, proceeding to gently drag out pieces of stuck glue from his silver strands of hair, making sure not to pull too hard.

Sometime into the night, Till falls asleep to the sound of running water and Ivan’s soft humming. When the sun comes up again, Ivan rouses Till from his deep slumber to proudly present his squeaky clean hair, now fluffer and shinier than ever.

***

“Drawing Mizi again?”

“GAH! How do you even find me in these places?!”

“I saw your shoes at the base of the tree. Rookie mistake.”

“You're crazy, Ivan. God, why can't I just have some alone time for once?”

“I won't let that happen. You know, it's about time you drew me, hm? What do you think?”

“Asking me more isn't gonna make me want to do it more, moron!”

***

“What are you mumbling to yourself over here?”

“Go away, Ivan.”

“A flower? Oh, did you crush it?”

“Shut up! Why was that your first thought? I just found it like this, okay?”

“...Okay….”

“Stop giving me that look! You know what – see? I'm cheering it up. Like this.”

“...”

“Cheer up. Cheer up. Cheer….hey! Why do you look like you're about to send me to the mental hospital?!”

“...Wow. I didn't know a person like you could have this side to them, Till.”

“What does that mean?! Did you just come here to mock –”

“Does it work?”

“-- Huh? Oh. I mean, I don't know. I guess it's better than nothing.”

“...Cheer up…?”

“Bastard, you sound so unsure. Say it with some conviction at least!”

***

“You’re bleeding. Who'd you pick a fight with this time?”

“Fuuuck, not you again…it's no big deal.”

“Do you want me to find the people who did this?”

“What? No! It wasn't even anything important. Just a bunch of dudes rating the girls, fuckin’ horndogs.”

“Oh. Did they rate Sua last?”

“First, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and they didn't give Mizi her proper placement, can you believe it?! I mean, I'm glad they're not being gross about her, but she shouldn't be getting any lower than a 7. Objectively! Don't give me that look, I'm talking objectively! You have eyes, don't you?!”

“...Wow, Till. I bet she’d really appreciate your valiant argument.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“‘My knight in shining armor! Thank you for defending my honor!’ Is what she's going to say when she finds out.”

“Fucking – watch it, Ivan! I'll beat you too, don't think I won't!”

“Haha! Your face is so red right now!”

***

“Class, we have a student transferring into this class this semester. Please welcome him, everyone.”

“Hi. My name's Ivan. Nice to meet you all.”

“Why don't you take a seat next to Till?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have got to be kidding me…!”

“...Hm? You're not happy to see me, Till?”

“...He’s following me…he's gotta be…”

“What'd you say? Till? It's okay, I know you missed me.”

***

Ivan’s understanding of himself comes to a crescendo on one fateful day – well, actually, it's more like a completely normal day where Till gets uneventfully beat up, as per usual. At this point, Ivan has started to keep it on his calendar. 7 am, wake up. 12 pm, eat lunch. 2 pm, check to see if Till needs medical care.

Having friends means sacrifice. Like the A+ friend that he is, Ivan valiantly spends some of the time that he could be using on napping and reading onto checking up on his best friend in the whole wide world. Yeah, that's right – Ivan was born generous.

Finding Till is like a little game of hide and seek. Ivan's never played it with the other children, too lazy to bother, but he's seen it before. Only, it's much more fun with Till, as it always is, because his discovery is its own little surprise. How beaten is Till today? Is he ‘just a scratch’ beaten or ‘to a pulp’ beaten? 

Truly, it makes one’s heart race.

On this particular day, Ivan finds Till stumbling through the hallways, for once not hiding himself away in some shadowy nook. His leg is all purpled and bruised, which explains the way he's leaning against the wall to slowly make his way to his room. Ivan sighs. Friendship really is a sacrifice.

“Till,” he says, jogging to the limping boy. He picks up Till’s arm and throws it over his shoulder, bearing the brunt of his weight. The taller boy has to awkwardly lean over him, but it's at least better than the wall. “Stop picking fights.”

He feels more than sees the irritated eye roll. “Mmph.”

Ivan’s gaze flickers over to Till in confusion. For some reason, not only is his usual collar in place, but their captors suddenly decided to give him a muzzle too. Makes sense for his scathing mouth, but for some reason, it makes his blood boil hot with irritation.

“I told you to stop talking back to them,” Ivan chides.

Till glares at him. Obviously, he doesn't appreciate Ivan’s sage advice.

“Well, at least it's nice not to have you insulting me for once,” Ivan smiles, a bit wry. “I kind of see the alien’s point of view…”

Till elbows him hard in the side, and Ivan laughs. “I'm joking! I like your nasty mouth, Till. Don't be angry!”

Till’s ears are burning red. Ah, so angry, but yet so cute! What Ivan wouldn't give to hear Till call him a dumbass motherfucking son-of-a-bitch cunt right now, or whatever other foul language that regularly escapes his mouth. The complexity of his insults only increases by day, and Ivan enjoys it a little too much.

“Don't worry, Till. I can help you,” Ivan says, “you’ll be back and cursing in no time, so don't worry.”

The two of them pass Till’s dorm, and Till turns to him with wild, accusing eyes, jabbing a finger behind them. Ivan smiles, “Nope. We've got to go to my room for this, okay?”

Till reluctantly hangs his head, allowing Ivan to manhandle him into his room. Ivan sits Till delicately on his bed, mindful of his injuries, and fumbles under his bed for something. 

“Ah, where'd I put it…?”

With his short arms, he’s barely able to drag out the large box, falling back when he does. A large plume of dust billows out and makes him sneeze suddenly, and he looks up to Till, who’s looking skeptical.

“Why do you look so suspicious?” he asks, a little pleased. “Do you not trust me?”

Till shakes his head immediately.

Ivan laughs. “Ouch,” he says monotonously. “I'm reconsidering helping you. Clearly, you don't appreciate it.”

His words have no bite to them. Ivan clicks open the box, revealing rows and rows of screwdrivers, wrenches, and various other tools, and picks out the smallest ones. He stands up and moves to the back of Till’s head so fast that he misses the way Till’s eyes widen in disbelief at its contents. 

Ivan purposefully extended his last few stays at his Unsha’s lab so he can nondescriptly take a peek at his manuals. He’s caught views of some blueprints here and there, and luckily, he thinks he finally knows enough to piece together the full picture. The collar is simple; he works on that first, fulling realizing the way it must be pressing on Till’s bruises. It's attached at the end with a little clasp, which when opened, gives way to various tiny little wires. From the blueprints, he knows that there's one wire that triggers the locking mechanism, and another that triggers the alarm. He'll need to disable the alarm before the lock, and they should be reattachable, so…

“There!”

The collar falls off Till’s neck and into his awaiting hands. Wasting no time, Ivan moves on to the muzzle. This one is a little more difficult than the last, since it's more advanced technology with a disciplining focus, but he's sure he can extrapolate –

“Ah,” Ivan says, heart almost dropping to the ground as his hands yank away from the now-moved muzzle. Till has spun his head around suddenly to look at Ivan with dumbfounded eyes, and Ivan’s heart is doing that weird looping thing again. 

“Head forward,” he reprimands, moving Till’s head back into place. “If I mess this up, you might get electrocuted, so be still for me.”

For all of Ivan’s bolster and teasing, he doesn't actually want Till to die horribly, so he's practically dripping with sweat by the time he finally figures out the circuits. If he knew he'd be doing something like this, he would've brought a pen and paper too. Luckily, he's such a genius that he doesn't even need it.

“Phew,” Ivan sighs, wiping sweat off his brow once the muzzle finally and safely clicks off, no sparks in sight. “No need to thank me. I –”

“Where did you get that?” 

“Huh?” Ivan blinks. Till’s voice is raspy with disuse, and he's massaging his throat with a grimace. “Oh, you mean the toolbox? I didn't steal it, if that's what you're asking. Do you take me for a delinquent, Till?”

Till rolls his eyes for the third time. “You're not a delinquent, you're a menace. And yes, I do think you're capable of stealing. You little liar.”

He flicks Ivan on the forehead, and he blinks, confused. “I help you with my generous heart, and this is what I get?” he complains. “...I saved up for it. Unsha gives me gifts sometimes, so this was my last ‘birthday’ present.”

Ivan smirks. “I told him I was getting into mechanics as a hobby. I guess he just wasn't expecting me to be this much of a genius,” he says smugly. “...You think I'm a genius, right, Till?”

Till looks down, fiddling with his now deactivated devices. Ivan leans forward in an attempt to see his reaction, holding in his breath. 

“...Well, you definitely surprised me today,” Till mutters, sounding like it was forced out of him. “Considering how you usually act like you're braindead.”

Ouch. Well, it’s a half compliment from Till, so he’ll take it. 

“I'm confused, though,” Till continues, rubbing the back of his neck. “You never get collared. Why risk your neck to learn this?”

Sometimes, Ivan swears Till must have a room temperature IQ. Does he have to spell out everything? Does friendship mean nothing to Till? 

“I didn't learn for me,” Ivan smiles, pulling the side of Till’s cheek. “I learned it for my friend who likes to talk back too much for his own good.”

“Y-your friend? We're friends?”

Below freezing IQ. “Mmm, maybe.”

“What is that supposed to mean, you bastard…?” 

Till pushes Ivan’s hands away, a look of confusion and something else on his face. He suddenly stands up on shaking legs as he stumbles his way to Ivan’s door. Meanwhile, Ivan slides off the bed, rearranging the tools in his toolbox according to size. 

“Remember to come see me before morning roll call. I need to reattach your devices so you don't get in trouble.”

Till stands in his doorway long enough that Ivan completes his reorganization before he takes another step. Is something wrong? Does he need his wounds patched too? Ivan’s already reaching for his first aid kit when Till speaks.

“...Thank you,” he whispers, voice low. “You're not so bad, Ivan.”

Ivan drops his first aid kit to the ground. The only thing he can hear is his defeating heartbeat, and wow, it's never raced this hard, ever.

“Till –”

But Till’s already run off, leaving only Ivan with his pumping heart and burning face. Ahh, he's so pathetic, isn't he? One little not-insult from his friend and he's already contracted cardiac arrest. Ivan slides to the ground, clutching at his chest.

Ivan’s friendship quest: success. Ivan’s sanity checks? …Might not be passing them this time.

***

The truth is, Ivan knows a little about love, which is crazy because he has no family and no friends. The only thing he has is his feral pet Till and the judgemental Sua, who he unfortunately has to see on a regular basis because she also has no friends, and therefore he’s slightly better to talk to than her dorm room wall. 

He must have sinned in a past life, because hearing her vent and angst about feelings makes his brain want to leak out of his ears. Never in his life has he wanted to learn such things about Sua, but alas. Like clockwork, at least once per week, she drags him into her room for a way, way, waaaay too detailed breakdown of her unstoppable yearning for Mizi. What happened to keeping the youth’s innocence? If you ask the youth in the room (which Sua never does), he'll tell you resolutely that no, he does not want to hear about how good Mizi smells or how sweet she is or how much Sua wants to hug her. It's gross!

“If you like her so much, then just tell her,” Ivan offers for the tenth time that week.

“It doesn't work like that, Ivan,” Sua pouts. Actually pouts. Who is this person and how did they manage to replace the demon, Sua? And is it bad that he sort of wants the demon to come back? “I'll ruin our friendship.”

“You talking to me about this is ruining our friendship.”

Sua shrugs. “I'm fine with that.” 

Ouch. Way to make a guy feel loved. 

“Here, let me put it like this for your small brain,” Sua huffs. “Would you ever consider telling Till your feelings?”

“What feelings? My feelings of disdain?”

“You're actually stupid,” Sua facepalms. “No, I mean your…” she leans forward and whispers a word to him, eyes darting around like it's a dirty secret, “...how you like him.”

“Huh? You mean on Till? I don't like Till,” Ivan stammers, hiding his red neck from Sua’s judgy gaze. “...But, well. Hypothetically, if I did like him…I’d force him to eat dirt to assert my dominance over him,” he muses. “Hypothetically, of course.”

Sua just stares at him. Oh no. He's revealed too much of his master plan.

“I feel bad for this poor kid.”

Ivan beams at her. “Don't worry. Till’s perfectly safe, because I don't like him. Not one bit.”

“You're a terrible liar, you know? Also, something's seriously wrong with you. Did your parents teach you nothing?” Sua asks, and before Ivan can remind her that he doesn't have parents, she's already rambling on about something or other. “Listen up, Ivan, because I'll only say this once. Love, like friendship, is mutual respect. You hold your lover and comfort them when times are rough, you stay with them when they're sick and expect them to do the same for you. Sometimes you kiss or whatever…but you definitely, in no circumstances, beat them up. Got that?”

“Mhmm, yeah.”

“You're not listening to me, are you?” Sua chides, pulling on Ivan’s ear. “Why do you even do this to yourself? Can't you even spare a thought towards a potentially happy life?”

Ivan hums, trying to think of a life where he and a silver haired boy (not Till, of course, why would he ever like that dummy?) love and hug each other all the time, and he starts to feel a bit warm around the collar. It doesn't sound too bad, but it doesn't feel like them. Well, maybe Till has that potential in him, with the way he looks at Mizi, but Ivan? Definitely not. 

Someone like him could never love like that. His love is weird and twisted, just as messed up as his personality. Ivan crawled his way up from the depths of hell, unloved, some screws loose, and now he’s picking up the broken pieces and making truly horrific artwork with them. Even he isn't cruel enough to include Till in his abstract masterpiece. 

“Don't you want to win him over, Ivan?” 

“Not really,” Ivan shrugs. “Hypothetically, even if I did have feelings for him…I think I'd rather take them to the grave.”

***

There's another reason why Ivan would rather throw himself into a boiling pit of lava than accept his feelings, and the reason starts with an M and rhymes with ‘easy.’

If Ivan is a master of drawing out Till’s negative expressions, then Mizi is the sole master of drawing out his positive ones. Love, adoration, happiness, admiration…you get the drift. Ivan might actually vomit if he lists out any more.

It's not that he's jealous. Till doesn't belong to him, after all – and Ivan is perfectly content with what he has right now. So what if Till thinks he's an annoying pest? It's true. Ivan is an annoying pest, who owns nothing except for the skin on his shoulders. And he embraces it!

“Draw me,” Ivan pouts, leaning against Till’s side. They're in their usual spot in the garden, on a hill under the shade of a giant tree. Till is yet again drawing Mizi. Predictable. Doesn't he want a change from time to time? 

Till scoffs, no real force behind it. “The more you ask, the less I want to do it.”

Ever the rebellious soul. Ivan is starting to think he's going to have to use some reverse psychology on this kid. “Oh. Then don't draw me, I don't care.”

“Okay.”

Ivan groans, flopping on the ground with a pathetic whine. “You're impossible! You've already drawn her a million times. C'mon, try something different, Tiiiill.”

“I can't,” Till says softly, something in his voice making Ivan look up in curiosity. He's looking down at his sketch with the softest look he's ever made, cheeks pink and eyes gentle. It's a look of yearning, of faraway promises. 

He looks…in love. 

“She's beautiful…” Till whispers.

No, Ivan thinks, the first time his inner voice has spoken in years, you're beautiful.

Ivan bites his lip hard to keep from screaming. His stomach is simultaneously twisting itself into knots and dropping to the center of the earth, and he feels like he might be sick. What's going on? He's never felt like this before, and he's known about Till’s little obsession for as long as he's known Till himself. It was supposed to be funny, extra ammo for Ivan to tease him with – not – not like actual ammo, shot straight into his heart.

The truth is Ivan knows that Till isn't actually happy most of the time, not even when Ivan tries to take some of his burden and help him forget. The only times Ivan has ever seen Till smile is when he’s looking at Mizi.

Mizi hasn't ever talked to Till before. She's just…there. And yet, her silent presence makes Till happier than all of Ivan’s efforts combined.

Ivan should really stop being surprised. 

He closes his eyes and is unpleasantly met with a vision of a smug Sua, who looks especially evil in his mind.

“You like him,” she mocks.

Maybe he does, somehow. Till may be an infuriating liability who’s prone to getting into trouble on the best of days, but he makes every day worth getting up for, even if it's just to see his face when Ivan sneaks bugs into his food.

Ah, Ivan has never felt like this before. It's scary. 

“Ivan? Are you good? You're being quiet for once.”

Ivan breathes in. And he breathes out.

It's okay. Nothing changes. Ivan is still the annoying pest who deserves nothing but the skin on his shoulders, and he's already accepted that a long time ago.

“I'm fine,” he replies, sitting up again with a wide, fake grin on his face. “Draw me?”

*** 

When Sua walks in on him staring blankly at the wall, she simply walks past like this is just a daily occurance.

“Finally accept it?” she says, voice detached.

Ivan nods helplessly.

He doesn't even care that she's rifling through his expensive branded shampoo bottles. He'd give her all of them if it meant he could peel off his skin and turn into someone else. 

“Go to sleep, Ivan,” Sua says, flicking off his bedroom lights. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she sounded caring. “You'll learn to live with it.”

***

All in all, Ivan has to give himself kudos for acting so normal in the face of his (embarrassing) (childish) (MASSIVE – er, he means, normal sized) crush on Till. It all comes down to the fact that he's used his secret tactic: giving up. He truly is an expert at the subject. Throwing in the towel when things get tough just comes instinctively to him, this situation included – after all, if Till likes Mizi so much, how could he ever spare a glance at Ivan?

Ivan has to give Mizi a thank you present or something. ‘Thank you for saving our totally platonic friendship,’ is what he would write on the card. She is single handedly keeping Ivan’s weird thoughts at bay, what a beast!

If Till thought he was annoying and violent before, then he hasn't seen the worst of it by far. Ivan turns it up a notch, two notches, three. For some reason, seeing his distressed face is extra exciting now, and he believes it's because it's reaffirming how Ivan definitely does Not Have A Crush On Him and Doesn’t Care About Till Like That (™).  After all, what kind of schoolgirl with a crush would like to see their idol angry? Take that, universe! Ivan is a man, after all!

Ivan’s teasing of Till’s own crush on Mizi is fierce and unrelenting. No, he doesn't stop even if Till is bright red and begging for him to shut up. Does it hurt? Not one bit. In fact, it helps him cope with his own pathetic feelings by reminding him that hey, Till is just as pathetic as he is!

They really are a match made in heaven…Um. Wait, no! Bad Ivan, bad!

Give up, give up, give up, Ivan, why is he actually thinking he has a chance?! Him and Mizi are literally opposite ends of the ‘human’ spectrum! And besides, why does he even like Till anyways? He's loud, and rude, and never says anything nice, and he's scrawny, and he can't follow directions even if his life depends on it, and –

“Are you awake? Hey, I'm talking to you.”

“Huh?” Ivan says intelligently, blinking his eyes open to see Till’s (beautiful) (sparkly) teal eyes looking angrily down at him. He almost slaps himself for his traitorous thoughts, but he manages to stop himself before Till thinks he's psychotic and schizophrenic.

“Oh. Didn't see you there,” he says plainly.

“You punk! Why was that so delayed? Also, stop staring at me, you're creeping me out!”

See? He's so mean. There's really nothing to like about this wannabe hooligan. “Rude,” Ivan complains. “You're the one who woke me up in the first place.”

He looks up at Till’s face, which is now becoming a very faint shade of pink. Ivan quirks up a brow at him, a silent command. Hurry up, loser.

“H-here,” Till stammers out, thrusting a bundle of something at him, so fast Ivan can barely catch it.

Ivan blinks, looking down at his outstretched palms at a flower crown made out of red poppies. It's intricately made, each bud purposefully arranged to bloom on the outside. He remembers Till used to make these all the time when they first met, and it looks like his muscle memory remains intact.

Ivan brings the crown to eye level and inspects it thoroughly, humming in amazement. Till really is good with his hands, a natural creative. He guesses that’s part of why Ivan finds him so fascinating.

“You want me to give this to Mizi…?” He guesses, wry smile on his face. Something like this is surely fit for a girl as pretty as her.

“No, stupid. It’s for you,” Till says, sounding a bit put out. “...Thanks for getting rid of that annoying collar everyday.”

Ivan’s eyes widen, his heartbeat pounding rhythmically in his ears. Then, he feels warmth spread through his body, his lips twitching upward, and he feels an euphoric joy that he hasn't felt in years. 

Ah. This isn’t good. After all he’s done to get rid of these shallow feelings? Why is Till always doing this to him? It's just a gift from a friend, calm down, it's not that serious.

“Hey, don't just look at it, say something!” Till says, a familiar irritation in his voice. “I swear to God, if you stomp on it again…”

Stomp on it? Oh, Ivan forgot that he used to do that all the time when they were younger, destroying each one of Till’s creations just to get a rise out of him. That's why Till stopped making them. 

It would be fun to fight Till again, he thinks. But Ivan's also grown older, and with that comes a certain level of awareness that he's learned from trial and error. It's totally not because he grew soft from his stupid crush. 

Definitely not.

Ivan reaches up with trembling hands, putting the crown delicately on the top of his head. He feels like he's going to explode from happiness. With a smile so wide it's splitting apart his face, Ivan looks up at Till with adoring eyes.

“Do you think I'm pretty, Till?”

Till’s face explodes with red. Ivan has to laugh. Amazing response, Ivan, truly amazing. After all, there's no better way to get on Till’s nerves than insinuate that he could possibly find a person like Ivan appealing, which would never happen in a million years. Oh, he can't wait for the ensuing fight. They haven't beaten each other up in months!

“Um, well,” Till says, avoiding his eyes. Here it comes!

“...You're…fine, I guess.”

Ivan’s smile freezes on his face.

…Huh?

Huh?

Huh???

“...Say that again?” Ivan breathes.

“Hell no! Say what? I didn't say anything! You're fucking ugly, Ivan, enjoyyourgiftgoodbye!”

And then Till is giving him a taste of his dust with how fast he runs down the hill, and Ivan watches him nearly trip and smash his face into the ground from afar. What is even going on? This isn't a part of the script? 

Till is just that kind of person, Ivan tells himself. The kind who gets easily embarrassed and tomato red, the kind that says nasty things because he's too shy to be soft, the kind who’s all too willing to take beatings because he never compromises on his morals. He's absolutely ridiculous and has too many issues to count on both hands, but for some reason, Ivan likes that. He likes Till. 

If he's lucky, maybe Till likes him too…? Or at least thinks his company is bearable?

(Shut up, Ivan’s thoughts).

***

A few weeks of blissful limbo is all he gets from his delusion before all his hopes get thoroughly squashed. 

The academy is in a state of emergency lockdown because of the meteor shower, but Till and Ivan are too far out to return in time. Instead, Till, ever the rebellious preteen, starts walking in the opposite direction. Of course, Ivan follows him.

The red light from the meteors is ethereal. Beautiful. Yet the only thing Ivan can see is Till’s back, the sky lighting his hair a soft pink.

I'll follow you to the ends of the universe, Ivan thinks.

They approach the end of the Garden, and for some reason, there's a hole in the chain link fence big enough for them to squeeze through. How lucky is that? 

It feels surreal. Sua once told him that in life, you could technically do anything. Free will is an amazing thing, yet Ivan hardly exercises it himself.

Maybe it's time to start.

He doesn't waste time speaking, only holding Till’s arm in a loose grip as he runs, runs from the beatings, the fear, the rules and the cold hard walls that they call Home. Ivan never once cared about the way he was treated; but when faced with the option of freedom, he's starting to realize that he might've cared more than he thought.

And then Till’s hand slips from his grasp.

“Till?” Ivan whispers, turning around to see that pink tuft of hair already walking away, abandoning him. Leaving him. That’s it? No explanation? No debate? No fight?

…He’s really okay with never seeing Ivan again?

All those years of companionship and yet, Ivan’s still stuck looking at Till’s ever retreating back. Always leaving him behind. 

They're friends, and they're enemies. They're equals, and they're opposites. They know each other best, but they don't know each other at all.

Ivan had it all wrong. Till would rather go back into the maw of the prison that beats him everyday than experience freedom with Ivan. He guesses that's understandable. 

It's funny. So freaking funny, and as Till walks away, Ivan laughs and laughs and he doesn't admit to crying, even as tears prick at his eyes. Oh, Till! Always surprising him, always unpredictable. 

Ivan has never felt this way before. The first person who’s ever tolerated his presence, and now Ivan’s so deeply attached it scares him.

Nothing good has ever come out of wanting something. He likes to think he’s never wanted anything before, but he'd be lying. He wants so many things that he knows he'll never deserve, like a sinner chasing after salvation. As he watches Till disappear over the hills, leaving only him against the fiery sky, he can't bring himself to be surprised.

The more Ivan wants, the more he knows Till will leave. He knows. He knows. He knows.

So why does it still hurt?

***

When Till sees him in class the next day, he punches Ivan in the shoulder.

“Huh? Why?” Ivan says in disbelief, holding his arm.

“You idiot!” Till hisses. He leans in close and whispers violently in his ear, and Ivan tries really hard not to shiver. “You had your chance, dumbass. Why'd you come back?”

Ivan just looks at him and smiles. Ah, one of this guy’s many faults: lack of IQ. Why does he like him again?

“I forgot something important at home,” Ivan replies.

***

“What's this?” The banshee herself mutters, helping herself to Ivan’s belongings as she so frequently does. “Self-help books? Really?”

“Stop being nosy,” he says petulantly.

“...How To Make People Like You 101?” Sua reads, brows furrowed. “The Science Behind Facial Expressions?”

Ivan looks up from where he's fiddling with a waterlogged shock collar, meeting her questioning gaze. He shrugs. “They’re helpful,” he justifies. “I've gotten a lot better at smiling. See?”

He shoots her a small, friendly smile, the one he's practiced every day according to the book’s diagrams. People often say that his regular smile is a bit off-putting, but he's sure he can do a proper one with enough practice.

“...Good job,” Sua says, looking a little put off. Maybe he needs to keep working on it? “No one’s been saying stuff to you, right?”

“Stuff? What stuff?”

Sua shakes her head. “Nevermind. Just, tell me if people are being weird, okay?” she says. She often says strange things like this. “Maybe this is good for you, though. You can finally stop being a creepy little brat.”

“Mm. Now if only you could stop being an evil judgemental witch…”

“I am going to destroy you, Ivan.”

***

“Why do you like Mizi?” 

Ivan absentmindedly asks this question to Till, leaning over and finding him drawing the girl yet again. By this point, he knows that Till’s already filled several sketchbooks with the girl’s profile alone, which is impressive and also worrying.

He's not asking out of jealousy – even he's not that weird. Instead, he's only asking because he's curious.

Ivan already knows why Sua likes Mizi – a little too much, unfortunately – but even if he wasn't her predetermined venting buddy, it’s clear in her actions the depth of her emotions. The two of them have been friends for years. They practically live in each other's pockets.

Till, though? Ivan would be impressed if he could even say ‘hi’ to Mizi without stuttering and turning red. Not that Ivan, himself, knows Mizi that well either. There's only a few things he knows about her:

Number one: She’s pretty.

“Well, she's pretty, obviously…” Till mutters, distracted.

Number two: She’s nice.

“She's kind.”

Number three: She’s a “ray of sunshine” (Sua’s words).

“...And she shines like the sun,” Till sighs, lovesick. He polishes off his sketch with a gentle hand and holds it up to the light, proud little smile on his face.

Ivan blinks. Oh, he must be a master of predictions. Is that really all that is necessary for this level of devotion? Some surface level knowledge?

He doesn't understand. Till isn't any of those things: not pretty, not nice, and Ivan would sooner compare him to a rabid dog than sunshine. But Ivan likes him anyway.

Life really does favor the fortunate, doesn’t it? How lucky for Till. For all his problems, at least he knows to love the right kind of person.

Chapter Text

Ivan's never really talked to Mizi before, even though he and Sua always have their weekly debriefs. It's kind of weird, not knowing someone but also knowing so much about them at the same time. Contrary to popular belief, he doesn't tune Sua out when she rants. He's a good friend, thank you very much.

So…here's his situation. He's never once spoken to Mizi before, but he knows her favorite food, how she folds her clothes, her frankly baffling past roommate stories, and he knows that not only one, but two of his friends are head over heels in love with her. Which, by the way, is really weird. He doesn't even know who to root for at this point.

(Sua seems like the logical choice, but he knows she'd be insufferably smug afterwards, so he's inclined to give it to Till).

All this leads up one specific sunny day in Spring, where Ivan is – as per usual – lying in the grass, cloud watching. Usually he does this with Till, pointing out all the weird things his messed brain conjures up about the shapes of the clouds, and Till will say something like, ‘I don't see it. Where are you even looking?’

Alas, Till is unavailable today, too busy writing a song. The silence is almost deafening. Ivan doesn't know how he did it before, relaxing in silence instead of angrily muttered curses. Although, this does give him the perfect chance to properly admire his surroundings for once, which is when he spots her.

Mizi.

The bright spot of pink hair is impossible to ignore. Ivan half considers going up to her and striking a conversation out of sheer boredom, but his laziness wins out. At least, that's what he tells himself until he sees her continue walking. And walking. And walking.

“Hey!” he calls out, jogging to her on autopilot. “Where are you going? We're already pretty far out.”

Maybe she's forgotten that going near the borders is against the rules? Mizi freezes, turning around and giving him an embarrassed smile.

“Heh…you caught me, Ivan,” she chuckles nervously.

Ivan tilts his head. Oh? So she knows his name? “Caught you?”

“Um, don't laugh at me, please?” Mizi says, rocking back and forth on her heels. “I actually wanted to go to the border. Uh – not to do anything wrong, I promise! I just heard that there's a certain type of flower that grows near there.”

“And you need that flower…why?”

Mizi blushes a little, scratching her cheek. She really is quite charming – Ivan sees Sua and Till’s shared vision. “Well, the flower’s supposed to be really beautiful, and, uh, I kind of sort of want to give it to someone…?”

She pauses, face going entirely red. “I probably sound stupid right now, don't I? Yeah, it was a dumb idea, I don't even know why I –”

“I don't think it's dumb,” Ivan interrupts. “You want a gift for someone. That's a nice thing to do.”

Mizi perks up. “You think so? Oh, thank goodness! I know I'm making it sound weird, but this is really important to me, you know?” She looks down and smiles at the ground. “ She’s important to me.”

She?

Ah. Good job, Sua. Please don't force Ivan to attend your ‘getting closer to Mizi’ celebration parties again.

“Going there is dangerous, though,” Ivan muses.

“You think so?” Mizi quickly deflates again, which is frankly depressing. “I mean…I guess I could figure something else out…”

Ivan shakes his head. “It’s fine. I'll take you there,” he smiles.

“R-really?! Thank you so much!” Mizi gushes. “But you're not worried or anything? I mean, I'd hate for you to get wrapped up in a problem.”

“It’s only once. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Mizi laughs. “You're right! We'll be in and out, nobody's going to know what hit them,” she giggles nefariously. “We’ll be like ninjas!”

“What's a ninja?”

“Huuuuh? You don't know?” Mizi gasps. “A ninja is kind of like a sneaky warrior that uses ninja stars. What's ninja stars? Oh! Ninja stars are…”

She proceeds to give a long and convoluted description of Japanese history which makes absolutely no sense (what is Japan?), but is somehow still engaging. She has that kind of draw to her, he supposes. Like when she speaks, you can't help but listen. 

“You seem really dedicated to this,” Ivan says, baffled.

“Oh, I just read a lot,” Mizi giggles. “My owner is a big reader, so sometimes she gives me copies of books that she’s finished.

“That’s nice of her.” Surprising, for a pet owner.

“Yeah! She’s actually really into human history, for some reason. What about your owner? Do they give you things? I know Sua’s mostly just gives her pretty clothes and stuff like that.”

“All the time,” Ivan says. “I just need to file reports on things that I want and give justifications on why it’s useful.”

”Seriously? You need to give a whole essay for things?” Mizi says, jaw dropping. “That’s crazy! I don’t know if I’d be able to do it – I can already barely tolerate the stuff that school assigns us.”

“Really? I don’t think it’s that bad…”

Before he knows it, they’ve already arrived at the Garden’s border, the large chain link fence looming up above them. Usually the distance is quite a walk, but somehow he and Mizi swapping stories made time fly by. 

“It’s a lot taller than I was expecting,” Mizi says, eyeing the endless steel chains nervously.

“They don’t want us to climb it,” Ivan says, “Even though the fence is electric, so I don’t know who’d be climbing it in the first place.”

Mizi laughs and looks around, looking a bit lost. “Um, hold on…I’m sure the flowers were supposed to be here, but I — oh! There they are!”

She starts jogging, a big smile on her face, which quickly drops into one of shock. Ivan, trailing behind, sees why.

The flowers are behind the fence. 

“Oh,” Mizi says. “Well, that’s not what I was expecting.”

There's way more than Ivan expected. A whole field, right outside their confines. They come in all different colors – red, blue, purple, orange – all incredibly vibrant and lush. They really are very pretty.

“Maaan, this sucks!” Mizi whines, fisting her hands in her long pink hair. This is probably the first time Ivan’s ever seen her not smiling. “And we came so far, too. Shoot, uh, well, maybe if I just —“

She starts to stick two fingers through one of the holes in the fence, groping for one of the nearest stems. Ivan’s heart swoops like he’s just jumped off a 30 story building, and he quickly grabs Mizi’s wrist and yanks it back.

“What are you doing?!” He says, alarmed. “Didn’t you hear me say it’s electric?”

“Yeah, I know, but —!” Mizi starts, then deflates after seeing Ivan’s panicked face. Her face grows a little pink out of embarrassment. “…I’m being stupid again, aren’t I?”

“Sorry, but yeah.”

Mizi chuckles self-consciously. “I’m so sorry for dragging you all this way,” she sighs. She must be frustrated, but somehow, there’s not a trace of annoyance in her voice. “I mean, all this for a stupid flower? Who even cares about flowers anyways? I bet I can find a way better present for her, it’s fine!”

Ivan tilts his head, trying to see if she really means that or not. “You sure?”

“I mean, they are really pretty, but…” Mizi says, looking at the field of flowers forlornly. “Definitely not worth getting electrocuted for.”

Ivan furrows his brows, thinking. It's difficult for him because it's been a while since he last had coherent thoughts, but he definitely knows that there's another way. He remembers fiery comets and carefree laughter, broken promises and cold rejection, and he forces himself to gulp down a lump that mysteriously appears in his throat. 

“What if I told you that I know another way to get them?” Ivan asks. “Without getting electrocuted.”

“You do?” Mizi asks. “How?”

Her resigned eyes suddenly switch to ones filled with fire and determination. Ivan probably shouldn't be doing this, no, he definitely shouldn't be doing this. And yet, his traitorous legs still take him to that place – the one that's been forever immortalized in his memory. 

***

There's many things in Anakt Garden that are hidden very well. Most people don't know about them, just because they don't know how to look. Ivan, though – he's always looking. Observing. Wandering. 

One of these things is a hidden hole on the outer border, a split down the chain link fence that appeared after a particularly bad thunderstorm. Even their handlers haven't noticed it. The fault is too small, almost invisible. It's only accessible if someone pries it open, which is impossible with bare hands, and even then only a child’s body can fit through the opening.

The only people who know about this are Ivan, the genius who discovered it, and Till, the ungrateful brat who’s lucky that Ivan took him under his wing. No, he does not wince from that memory. He's not embarrassed at all, okay?

Ivan trails a stick along the chain links, looking for that one spot that bends unnaturally to outside force. When the fence finally gives under his jabs, he brightens a little, turning to Mizi.

“Here,” he says, offering her the stick, “hold it open using this.”

Mizi, dumbfounded, nods with wide eyes. She grabs the stick and pries the broken flap open, creating a little gap that Ivan can easily slip through without risking electrocution. 

“How do you even know this?” she asks, sounding astounded.

Good question. For someone who's undeniably lazy, he does know a good bit of secrets. Maybe that's why he's the one who knows them – because he'll never act upon them. 

“Luck,” he shrugs.

“I don't even know what to say,” Mizi breathes. “You're so cool, Ivan.”

He freezes from where he's leaning down to look at the flowers, feeling the back of his neck get all hot again. 

Cool? She thinks he's cool? That's crazy…no one’s ever said that before…

“Are you sure you should be down there, though? Shouldn't I be doing that? I mean, it was my idea, after all,” she says, worried. 

“No,” he says, pointing at his neck. “I think the collars can detect if you've crossed. I'm the only one without one.”

Mizi reaches up and touches the cold metal around her neck. “Ah…looks like I'm only here to force you to do things. I'm so sorry!”

“I don't mind,” Ivan hums. He snaps one of the flowers off its stem, a young lavender blossom that fades into pink near the center. The flowers don't look anything like the ones in the Garden. They're large and puffy, beautiful in their imperfection. So nobody can blame him for rifling through the field and plucking out another flower, right? It'll be a personal keepsake, right? And if the flower happens to be electric teal and laced with silver, that doesn't mean anything, right???

His traitorous mind wanders again, imagining a red face and sputtered curses, a funny looking expression that fades into a shy ‘thank you.’ Maybe if he were lucky, Till would let him brush the flower back behind his ear, and hold on, why’s he even thinking about this?

“Ivan?”

He snaps up, feeling a little childish, and remembers to shoot Mizi one of those highly-practiced smiles that he likes to think he's mastered. He holds up the lavender flower so she can see.

“What do you think? It looks like her eyes, right?”

Mizi’s jaw drops open in shock. “Y-you knew it was Sua?!” she squeaks.

“Yeah,” Ivan says, confused. “She talks about you all the time.”

“She does? Oh my god…” Mizi says, covering her bright red face. It's endearing, and for some reason, Ivan really wants to hit Sua right now. “What does she talk about? Nothing bad, right?”

“Of course not. She adores you!”

Mizi can't seem to stop herself from smiling. He's happy for her, but she really doesn't even know the extent of it. “Ahh, I'm so happy!” she squeals. “Suaaa!”

Ivan trudges up the small hill, offering the flower out to her. Mizi eagerly takes it, and her eyes flicker down. “Hmm? You got another one?”

Ivan startles a little, looking at the teal flower still limply clasped in his hand. “Oh, this?” he says nervously, shoving it in his pocket. “It’s nothing.”

Mizi smiles encouragingly at him. “You like someone too?”

If it were anyone else asking, Ivan would reject that statement with his life, but Mizi’s looking at him too earnestly for his usual level of hubris. “Mmm…something like that,” he mutters, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, not sure if the feeling is pure enough for ‘love.’

“Aww, I'm so happy for you, Ivan!” Mizi smiles. “Love is a beautiful thing. I'm rooting for you!”

Her eyes twinkle, a million stars in them. Her entire aura is so bright and untouched. Ivan blinks, his eyes a little sore from her radiance.

“Thanks,” he says honestly.

Mizi giggles. “I'm the one who should be thanking you. Now, come on! Head back in here!”

She sticks her free hand out from under the chain links, beckoning him to come back into the boundary. A silly movement; an afterthought. It’s so sudden, Ivan can't even warn her before –

“Ghrk!” Mizi chokes, her collar suddenly constricting against her neck and flashing a harsh, vibrant red. “What –?”

She lets go of the fence, and Ivan hesitates from the other side, unable to get back in. “You crossed the boundary,” he realizes.

Mizi’s eyes widen in terror as she tries to pry at her neck. “Oh my god,” she gasps. “That’s –!”

ALERT. ALERT. ALERT.

Ivan can hear the staticy warning of the Anakt speakers from all the way over here, the knowledge of their doom imminent. He looks at the sky, and yep, there’s the distant figures of flyers already, as if they were lying in wait for just this moment.

“We're screwed,” he sighs.

***

There's an upside and a downside to everything in life, no matter how good or bad it is. If you are offered a feast, you obviously get to gorge yourself on food, but you might also get indigestion. If you have no parents, you may have to fend for yourself for a bit, but you'll also grow up to be more self-sufficient. Such is life.

In this situation, Ivan consoles himself with the fact that he now has more information on the capabilities of their collars, which brings him one step closer to his dream of reverse engineering it and making an alien-collar so he can turn the tables and enslave them instead. The downside? Oh, it's not so bad. It's just that they've been forced to their knees in the auditorium, displayed like a public flogging.

You know, the usual.

He's just annoyed that they went around and rounded every person in the academy to view said public flogging. What in the world is the purpose of this? Do they think the students have nothing better to do? Now he's going to lose what’s left of his horrid reputation! As if saying goodbye to his human rights wasn't hard enough!

Ivan’s eyes float past the crowd, barely registering his whispering peers, and land on Mizi, who's crouched on her knees beside him. She looks faintly nervous and teary, but she's holding up fairly well. She turns to him and mouths a ‘sorry’ at him with guilty eyes. She's been doing that the whole way home, and it isn't as if Ivan even blames her. After all, he's the one who came up with that stupid plan in the first place.

He shakes his head at her, trying to keep it subtle.

“Do you know why you all are gathered here today?” an alien announces to the crowd, all regal lines and flowing robes. Ivan thinks this guy might be their principal, but he never cared enough to get his name. 

The murmurs in the crowd get louder.

“That's right,” the alien continues, despite getting no answers. “These two were caught outside of Anakt’s borders. This is a punishment of the highest offense; one that we've never had to deal with before. Anakt prides itself in the obedience of its pets, after all.”

This guy talks too much. Ivan tracks his pacing boots with his eyes, meticulously planning his final touches on his alien-collar, now equipped with extra spikes. 

“What better way to show you all what not to do than a demonstration? A performance of the consequences of what'll happen if you don't behave?”

The alien reaches down and tugs at Mizi’s long, pretty hair, getting it all tangled in his slimy hands. Mizi hisses in pain and he uses her hair to throw her to the ground like she's merely a piece of trash. Hmm, Ivan’s going to add a cancer inducing ray into the collar too, why not? The more the merrier, right?

Someone in the crowd gasps. Ivan looks down, noticing Sua and Till’s matching looks of horror as they push to the front of the audience.

“Do you have anything to say for yourselves, rule breakers?” The alien spits, disdain in his voice. “If it's plausible enough, we might even consider letting you off with a light sentence.”

Huh? Ivan hadn't expected this. If he did, he would have come up with some believable story, but now he's going to have to think on his feet. Shoot! Think, think, Ivan, what's plausible in this scenario? The truth is way too far fetched. Ah, how about this? He kidnapped Mizi against her will and –

“I'm sorry, sir,” Mizi says finally, her voice shaky but firm. “It was me who –”

Time stops. Ivan’s blood freezes. Mizi! he panics. What are you doing?!  

Is she really going to tell the truth? Is she planning to say it was all her fault? No, no, no, that’s the worst possible explanation they could possibly give! 

Mizi is just a regular pet. Ivan’s also a pet, but he's a special one. The one with no collar, the one who gets anything he wants. If he takes the fall, sure, he’ll get a beating – but they won't have the guts to get rid of him. If Mizi takes the fall, though…?

…They definitely won't be as generous.

Ivan’s eyes flicker over to the crowd, and he sees Sua’s terrified eyes, Till frozen in fear. Mizi’s loved, he knows that. She’s a good person.

Time moves unnaturally slow as he makes the decision, although he doesn't actually get a choice because the answer is so damn obvious. As the next word starts to fall out of Mizi’s mouth, Ivan interrupts.

“I could have made it!”

It comes out much louder than he intended, effectively silencing the whispering crowd. All the eyes turn to him, and his heart starts loudly pounding in his ears, unused to this kind of attention. C'mon, Ivan, channel your inner Till! Become a desperate and cornered animal! Make them believe it!

He turns to Mizi, rearranging his expression into one of great anger. Clearly, it works, because she jumps back, startled. “It wasn't for you useless bitch, I would've had my freedom!”

So far so good. Mizi’s looking at him, horrified, obviously helping him sell the bit. “Ivan, don't do this,” she whispers.

“Shut up! I was so close, I could taste it! I should've never asked for your help,” Ivan spits. “Your collar ruined everything!”

Oh god, he should never act again, this is actually atrocious. The principal goes to stand in front of him, radiating frigid disgust. Ivan starts to sweat. He tries to direct his thoughts towards him through telepathy: believe me, believe me, believe me…

“Say that again?” The alien asks. “Once more for the crowd.”

Ivan smirks despite the sweat pouring down his back. “You heard me. This place is hell, and I'd rather die than stay here for a second longer,” he says. Ah, it's time to make up random stuff again. What would Till say? “I refuse to be your slave. I want to be free!”

“You'd rather die than stay here, you say?”

Ivan stares at him and nods.

“Well, today's your lucky day,” the alien says gleefully. 

Perfect. 

He takes it back. Ivan is an excellent actor.

Unfortunately, he doesn't get much time to celebrate before he's unceremoniously smacked in the face. Ivan nearly breaks his neck with how strong it is, and his eyes widen as blood starts to trickle out of his nose. Till hits him like this often, but nowhere near as hard. The force of his slaps drastically decreased after their first meeting.

The ringing of the hit echoes through the auditorium, deafening in the silence. It hurts, but Ivan doesn't mind, because the pain means that…

…he’s won.

The alien kicks him hard in the side, and Ivan forgets to hide his crazed smile. He barely even feels the sharp crack that goes up his arm, and he falls to his side from the force of the kick. The alien kicks him again in the stomach, forcing Ivan to curl up on himself as pain shoots up his body. Aha, aha, haha! This is brilliant! 

“What's wrong with you?” the alien asks angrily. “Why are you smiling?”

Wow, even the aliens think he's weird, that's crazy. What the hell is wrong with him? 

Ivan curls into a ball as the principal apparently calls up all his little buddies to partake in the joy of beating up their student. Till once taught him this stance, just in case he ever got into a sticky situation, and to be honest Ivan never thought he'd need to use it. Now though, with his arms guarding his head, he is incredibly glad that his friend gets beat up a lot.

How does Till do this all the time? Ivan feels like he's about to split open, guts spilling all over the pristine marble floor. If Till beating him up makes him feel alive, then whatever this is makes him wish he were dead. 

A particularly strong kick has him spasming and coughing on the floor, and little spots of red spill out of his mouth. It tastes like iron. Delirious, Ivan thinks that this is bad. The blood is supposed to be inside, not outside.

Someone pulls him up by the arm and gives him a firm kick to the face. Ivan falls to the floor with a shuddery gasp and tries futilely to crawl away, unable to take it anymore.

God, he's so freaking weak. A few kicks and he's done for? He’s such a spoiled bastard. Till goes through this every day and more.

He's dragged back by his legs for more, and this time he can't even protect himself because he can't feel his limbs anymore, so he just lies there and takes it. It's a success, he tells himself, it's still his win. This is the best possible outcome. It isn't like he's scared of death, he isn't, he isn't, he isn't.

…He really hopes Mizi isn't watching this.

Wait, isn't there a whole crowd here too? Great. Just great.

Ivan looks up in hopes that they've dispersed but nope, still there. He almost forgot Till’s here too, at the front of the crowd no less. His face is screwed up in a cross between horror and shock. Stupidly hopeful, Ivan wonders if Till is worried about him.

Ivan reaches out a weak hand in a sad attempt to reach him. Even with his blurry vision, he can recognize Till anywhere. 

His angel.

Save me, Till. Please…

His head is yanked up by a large hand, claws twisting in his matted hair and drawing thin pinpricks of blood. His arm drops to the ground, limp, as he tries to draw slow, rattley breaths.

“See what happens when you break the rules?” The alien says, his voice barely cutting through the ringing in Ivan’s ears. “Remember, there is no ‘freedom’ waiting for you on the outside. Anakt Garden is your freedom.”

Ivan’s eyes flicker down to the crowd, at the swathes of the students’ hopeless faces. He's never really thought about it before, but being a pet really is cruel, isn't it?

He's dropped to the ground suddenly, and his vision starts to fade. As his hearing joins his sight in ‘things that he once had but now are rapidly disappearing,’ he catches the end of a hushed conversation between the aliens.

“We need to cut this short. Did you forget this is Unsha’s pet?”

“It can't be…that one is supposed to be obedient, remember…?”

“It is, look at its neck…”

“...No collar…”

His last thought before passing out is something along the lines of, ‘Ah. Privilege is a wonderful thing.’

***

He comes to none the worse for wear, except for the part where he feels like he's been mowed over by Unsha himself and promptly broke every bone in his body. Unlike most pets, Ivan’s scraped by avoiding beatings instead of looking for them, so this is definitely a pivotal moment of his adolescent life. Maybe this is when a boy becomes a man?

“You are ready to be discharged, Ivan.” One of the medbots whirs, scooting to his side. It's an oddly high tech hospital, with a lush bed and various contraptions scattered around, but Ivan supposes it's just because the aliens couldn't be bothered to tend to their pets themselves. “Diagnosis: Bruised ribs, fractured wrist. Exercise caution when carrying heavy items.”

That's it? Wow, he really is lucky.

“Thank you,” he says, unsure about how to reply to a robot.

“You are ready to be discharged, Ivan.”

He lifts his hands up in front of his face, and sure enough, one of them is wrapped in a thick white cast. Ivan sighs. His right hand. How is he going to write his reports now? Is he going to have to learn to be ambidextrous? 

“You are ready to be discharged, Ivan.”

Or…is he even going to be allowed to write reports again? After this stunt, the chances that he'll be allowed any of his previous privileges are undeniably low. He really nuked a decade’s worth of hard work in one day, huh? 

“You are ready to be discharged, Ivan.”

There’s a tightness around his neck, and Ivan suddenly realizes it's a collar. His heart beats erratically as he reaches up and brushes it with his unhurt hand, as if checking to see if it's –

“You are ready to be discharged, Ivan.”

– God! Why can’t this thing let him have a crisis in peace? 

“Okay, okay, I'm leaving,” Ivan mutters under his breath. Way to make him feel unwanted, even in a hospital of all places. He stands on shaky legs and stumbles to the door.

***

“Ivan!”

Suddenly, a bouncy pink bundle slams into him, arms around his chest. Ivan blinks, confused. “Mizi?”

“I'm so glad you're okay!” she says, tears in her eyes. Apart from a few scratches on her cheek, she looks in fine health, and Ivan releases a breath of relief. “You shouldn't have – I mean, I was the one who –”

Ivan shakes his head. “It’s alright. I'm fine, see?”

He holds up his bandaged arm to show her the excellent medical attention he received, but she only takes one look at him before bursting into tears.

“Huh? Mizi, what's wrong?”

“I'm sorry,” she hiccups. “I-I’m so sorry!”

It’s then that the door to the waiting abruptly slams open, revealing a shocked-looking Till. He has an expression on his face like his whole world is crashing down around him, and it would be funny if Ivan weren’t so shocked himself.

“...Till?” he breathes, heart starting to beat irregularly. He feels Mizi let go of him as she turn around, confused, to the door, but the only thing he can think about is –

Till came to wait for him.

He had thought Till being worried about him was just some far-fetched dream, but is it real? Actually? Ivan doesn't understand why, but his face splits into a wide grin as Till stalks forward, eyes shadowed. 

“So you do care!” he smiles, feeling giddy. “Don't worry, your Ivan is all patched up and ready to be discharged, but a hug wouldn’t hurt –”

SMACK.

The sudden hit to his face has him suddenly reeling backwards as red hot pain laces down his body. It's a hard slap; not at all like Till’s usual lackluster hits. For a moment, Ivan’s vision whites out, and he collapses to the floor in a heap. 

“Guhh…?” Ivan chokes, the familiar taste of iron filling his mouth.

“What do you think you're doing with her, you bastard?!”

Till grabs Mizi and shoves her behind him, covering her with his body as if Ivan’s going to jump up and attack her. His eyes look hunted, eyeing him warily. 

“N-nothing…?” Ivan coughs weakly. “Till, I wasn't –”

“Bullshit! I heard what you said on stage!” Till shouts. “Don’t you think you've hurt her enough? I never thought – I – You were tricking me this entire time, weren't you?”

Ivan doesn't even know what to say. Instead, he stares blankly at Till, unable to comprehend. D…did he really believe all those stupid lies Ivan said onstage? Wow. Just how bad did he think Ivan was?

Even after all those years of Ivan trying so hard, still, Till doesn't have enough trust in him to not think of him like a monster. Why does this always happen? Is he really that unloveable?

Ignoring the sharp pains in his heart, Ivan smirks. “You're so gullible,” he sighs. His stupid Till.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Till bristles. “You're so weird! I should've never been friends with you!”

Owww ow ow ow, why does that hurt so much? Ivan laughs lightly, curling back involuntarily. He doesn't mean that. This is just a misunderstanding. Once Ivan explains it all, they'll go back to how they were before, because they're best friends. That has to mean something, right?

Ivan’s a good friend. Right?

“Yeah, big mistake,” he says instead, and oops, it feels like he's accidentally said a bit of the truth instead of the argument-mitigating stuff. Damn, he's always putting his foot in his mouth.

Till’s eyes flash with anger, and all of a sudden he's raising his leg above Ivan's prone body, ready to give him the second beating of a lifetime. Ivan may or may not whimper at the sight, except he definitely doesn't because he's not afraid of some scrawny kid who totally hates him now because Ivan’s dumber than a pile of rocks. 

At least he's already in the hospital.

Just before Till’s foot hits his bruised and abused body, he's stumbling to the side, Mizi’s arms locked sturdily behind him.

“What’s wrong with you?!” she shouts in a panic. “Can’t you see he's already hurt!?”

Till whips his head around at Mizi, cheeks reddening. “What? But he hurt you, Mizi!”

“That couldn't be farther from the truth!” Mizi replies. She roughly pushes Till away and walks quickly to Ivan’s side, helping him stand up on weak legs. “If you were really his friend, you'd realize that he was obviously lying. I messed up, and he protected me.”

She sounds so defensive and passionate on his behalf, Ivan’s eyes can't help but widen. “Mizi –”

“Come on, Ivan, I’ll help you walk,” she says softly, leading him slowly down the hall. She shoots one last scathing look over her shoulder, where Till’s still frozen behind them.

“What are you looking at?” she says, cold. “Don't you have anything better to do than beat up your injured ‘friends?’”

Ivan turns around, looking helplessly at Till. He looks absolutely mortified, and traumatized to boot. When he meets Ivan’s eyes, he startles and runs out the door.

Ivan wants to yell after him, but the words won't find their way out of his mouth. He feels bad for him. He must be distraught at this terrible interaction with his one true love.

***

“What is his problem!?” Mizi grumbles, steam nearly coming out of her ears from anger. “I'm so mad right now! Ivan, why do you associate with these lunatics?”

Contrary to her heated tone, she’s very gently cleaning Ivan’s cheek outdoors, using small dabs of antiseptic. It stings against his bruise, but he doesn't react, already used to it.

“Till's not that bad,” Ivan defends. “He just has issues.”

“Does he usually beat you up, then?” Mizi glowers. 

Ivan shakes his head, then stops and thinks. “Well…I guess he does. But I usually start it, so,” he shrugs.

At Mizi’s incredulous glance, Ivan hurries to explain. “Don’t worry about it, Mizi. I'm sure he didn't really mean it. He just didn't understand what was going on, that's all.”

She dabs at his cheek a little harder, flinching when Ivan hisses. “Sorry,” she mutters. “Still, he shouldn't have acted like that. Hitting you was way out of line after…that.”

Ivan grimaces, thinking of how heartbroken Till would be if he knew his beloved has this sort of opinion of him. “Till is complicated,” he says. “The beating you saw me get is probably just normal to him.”

Mizi falls silent, an unreadable expression on her face. Ivan hopes she doesn't hate Till just because of this. Yes, she might not return his feelings, but he'd like him to at least have an honest chance to be friends.

“We're not like you and Sua,” Ivan tries to explain. “I'm too – we’re both a little messed up. But Till is stronger than me. I mean… he at least tolerates me most of the time, so.”

Ivan thinks he's been a little too honest around this girl, but something about her just seems safe. Feelings that are all jumbled up in his head somehow become clear around her. 

“No,” Mizi finally says, taping some gauze on his cheek. “You're strong, too. What you did for me back there,” she gulps, “I can't thank you enough.”

“...It was nothing.”

“No, Ivan, don't say that. I – we just met, and you're already here protecting me from my own idiocy,” she says, pink hair spilling in front of her face. “I never think things through, and you paid the price.”

She seems bothered. Ivan sets a hand lightly on her shoulder. He tries to think of something helpful to say, but the only thing he can muster is, “We all make mistakes.”

“Not ones this stupid, though.”

“Hm, debatable.”

Mizi laughs, voice thick. “I know we barely know each other, but you're a good friend, you know? I see why Sua likes you so much.”

Flustered, Ivan looks around to make sure she’s talking to the right person. “Me? Sua doesn't like me,” he says futilely.

“Well, she'll never admit it out loud,” Mizi snickers. Suddenly, her mood becomes somber, eyes turning to the ground. “I really am sorry, though, for everything. All of that just for nothing,” she sighs.

She must have dropped her flower back at the border, when they were getting taken back to Anakt, Ivan realizes. Suddenly, he recalls something and reaches into his pocket to grasp at full petals.

“Here,” he says, presenting his own teal flower to Mizi. It's a little battered from everything that happened, but it's still in remarkably good shape. Alien flower genetics must be durable. “Take mine.”

Mizi’s eyes widen. “Ivan – I can't.”

His brows furrow as he shoves the flower more forcefully at her. “Take it. I know it's not the right color, but it's better than nothing.”

“No, no,” Mizi stutters. “I can't take any more from you. You've done enough for me and more.”

She pushes his hand away, but he clasps her hand between his own, pleading with his eyes. He doesn't know why, but the idea of giving this to Till now gives him a queasiness in his gut, the side of his face hurting. 

“Mizi,” he pleads. “Just take it.”

“Why?” she asks, “I thought you were saving it for your special person.”

Ivan shakes his head, smiling sharply. “My person barely tolerates me,” he explains. “You can make someone happy with this. Please don't let it go to waste.”

It's such a shame. The flower exactly matches Till’s beautiful eyes, wrapped in silver, like his angelic hair. Objectively, the guy’s nothing special, but Ivan still thinks he’s prettier than ten of these flowers combined. 

Mizi looks down at the flower, and he can tell when the dots click together in her head. “Oh, Ivan…”

Too bad Ivan’s the last person he'd want to get this sort of present from. Maybe in another life, the beautiful and kind Mizi would set her sights on another, giving this flower to its rightful owner. Unfortunately, it looks like in this timeline, these feelings would be forever lost, missing a vessel.

Mizi gently takes the flower from his hands and ruffles his hair as she stands up. Ivan vaguely feels like she's pitying him.

“Hang in there, alright?” she says.

***

Him and Till are no longer on speaking terms. 

It's fine. They fight often, scathing words and annoyed tussles, over the smallest of things. How is this fight so different? 

Till doesn't come to talk to him, but maybe that's because Ivan hasn't left his dorm much since The Incident. He can't blame him – it's because it would be awkward, right? Maybe Till wants Ivan to go find him instead?

He does try. Going out, that is. It doesn't really work, though, since Till is nowhere to be found, and the students who see him instead whisper and snicker when they see him. He doesn’t mind, but the attention irks him enough to give up admittedly pretty early.

Maybe Till’s mad that Ivan would just give up like that. He should've put more effort into their friendship. After all, without Till, he has no one…

It's funny how attached he's gotten. Years of being alone, and now after just a taste of someone putting up with his lunacy, he's addicted. He can't go back to Life Before Till anymore. 

It's not like Till has any obligation to him. Ivan knows that already. Till is bright, honest, true to himself – everything Ivan is not. He's always been scared of the day Till finally realizes he can do better than the trash that always floats around him, begging for scraps of attention, because once he leaves, Ivan will be forced to let go.

Ivan’s used to being left behind. It never gets easier.

(Still, he delusionally waits at his door, waiting for a knock that never comes).

***

Ivan’s never actually worn a collar before, so the new feeling around his neck is foreign and uncomfortable. The cool metal constricts every time he swallows, and it makes his skin itch. 

He makes it a week until he gets a really realistic dream of being strangled by the pressure. Upon waking up, he rips out of bed and picks up his pliers with his unbroken hand. 

“Say goodbye, you little bastard,” he says emotionlessly, leveling the pliers to open the hatch.

It's difficult to see the back of his neck in the mirror while working with only his left hand, so he's basically leaving it up to luck to make sure he doesn't get electrocuted. He's already come to terms with that fate, as long as he can get this thing off –

The clasp snaps apart, and he lets out a sigh of relief as he rubs his aching neck. Half of him is proud of his own dexterity; the other is slightly disappointed he gets to see another day. 

He leaves the collar on his bed, making sure the circuits are still connected so that the tracker remains on. Breaking the collar would make things a lot easier, but he can't have his signal suddenly going silent after all of that. One beating is more than enough for him.

Once he triple checks that everything is fine, Ivan leaves his dorm for the first time in days. It's dark outside, late enough that everyone else has to be in for curfew. He should probably be sleeping too. They have classes tomorrow. 

Ivan steps outside and breathes in the fresh night air. 

…Or maybe he can take a little walk before returning. 

Moonlight lights up the garden, grass soft against his bare feet. It's freeing to be outside when no one else is. Strange, but peaceful. The Gardens are never really quiet – even though no one wants to talk to Ivan specifically, he often sees people on the edges laughing, having fun, playing. If he's being truly honest with himself, he'd say that he’s envious to see everyone so carefree.

It always puts a bit of a damper on the Garden’s beauty. But here, alone, he's starting to truly appreciate it.

Ivan starts to run. For some reason, he's itching to move, to be free, to do something other than rotting in bed and lamenting his useless life and unlikeable personality. Who even cares? It's not like he's that special, he may be a mistake and a freak and a weird little messed up monster, but at least he's alive! He may have blown up the only good thing that's ever happened to him, but at least he’s still here, heart beating, breath racing. Isn't that what he wished for all those moons ago? 

Wind rushes through his hair as he chases after the full moon blindly, the cool night air a balm to his flushed face. Even though he messed up badly, he's still free. He's still alive. 

Maybe he really has gotten selfish, Ivan thinks, laughing maniacally. What happened to that poor little boy, living on the streets alongside the rat infested trash? When did he learn to want so badly? 

Let go of his wants. Let go of his expectations. Let go of his love. 

A person like him doesn't deserve any of that.

Ivan slows to a stop, breathing heavily. He hasn't worked his body this hard since his last scuffle with Till, and it feels good. The faint spikes of overexertion helps him remember that he's still alive. Oh, and his bruised ribs certainly help with that too.

His vision swims a little. 

Ohhh. Wait. He was bedridden for a reason…

Ivan gasps as he stumbles towards the nearest tree trunk, falling on it as he blacks out for a short moment. It's okay! It's okay, that’s just an instance of momentary weakness. He's totally fine to walk back home. Wait, but where even is he? He hasn't been keeping track of where he was going. Isn't he near the border? Then where'd this tree come from? He thinks he'd remember such a huge tree –

It’s just then that the tree decides to cave in on itself, its rotten bark collapsing under Ivan’s weight. He yelps as he’s suddenly swallowed by darkness.

***

“What…?” Ivan mumbles as he comes to, trying to sit up. 

A spike of pain laces up his wrist, and he inhales sharply, trying not to scream. His arm’s been buried under the rubble of the rotten tree, which – oh. Now he remembers. He fell…inside of a tree.

Great. Just great! Tears prick at his eyes as he gingerly hauls pieces of rotten bark off his broken hand using his free arm. As if things couldn’t get any worse. 

If only Till could see him now. Ivan bets he'd be sooo happy.

What is he even doing? Ivan feels like he's done a complete 360 with his life, coming from the rotting slums and now returning into a rotting tree. It's dark and smells funky, like rain and old, damp parchment, which isn't as bad as the other smells he’d witnessed in his childhood but still sets his skin on edge. 

He finally gets his arm free, and the hot tears that he was trying to hold back come spilling out at the wicked pain. God, it feels worse than when he first fractured it. How is he going to explain this one away?

Well, he'd come up with some excuse on his long walk home. Standing up, he goes to step through the suspiciously Ivan-shaped entrance, but before he can leave, he notices something very wrong.

“...Stairs?”

It's dark, but the moonlight vaguely illuminates the silhouette of a spiral staircase leading down into the abyss of the tree, way below ground level. Ivan blinks. Then squints. Then rubs his eyes. 

Still there?

Maybe he's finally lost it. Maybe the pain’s caused hallucinations. Ivan cautiously steps down one stair, foot trembling when he realizes that it's tangibly at a lower altitude. 

This…shouldn't be here. Stairs don't grow in trees, as far as he knows.

Ivan steps down another stair. 

He should go back. Yeah, he should definitely be in bed right now, especially with the way he's already on thin ice.

He steps down another stair.

His arm hurts like crazy. Really, if he was smart, he'd go back to the infirmary.

He steps down another stair.

…Well. If he's in and out of this place fast enough, then it’ll be okay, right? 

It's probably a dead end anyways. He'll just go to satisfy his curiosity, and then he'll run home, and he'll get to live his boring life again. Lucky him.

***

…It’s fifteen minutes of walking down stairs before Ivan begins to wonder if he's made a mistake. 

The moonlight’s long gone, and he wonders how far down he really is. It's pitch dark. He can't see anything. If there's a sudden drop at this point, he’ll just have to kiss his life goodbye.

Something about the atmosphere is creepy. He's never been afraid of the dark, but he half expects there to be someone waiting for him at the bottom, ready to gnaw his face off. Ivan shivers from the cold drafts of wind blowing from the depths. What is he even doing? He should go back before he gets hurt –

“Oomph!” 

A wall? Ugh, his face…Ivan rubs his forehead from where he ran straight into a solid dead end. So this is where the stairs lead.

Ivan skirts his hands across the wall, trying to map out what's in front of him with the sorrowful absence of sight. There's bumps and grooves in the wall – it’s likely made of wood. Why would anyone bother to make so many stairs just to lead to nothing?

He only needs to feel for a little longer before hitting a protruding part of the wall, and he gropes it for a bit before realizing it's a handle. A door, then, not a wall. That makes more logical sense. 

Ivan jiggles the handle, trying to open it, but it's jammed. He hisses, hitting his good shoulder against the wood more forcefully, trying to force it open.

He didn't walk down hundreds of stairs for nothing, he thinks, ignoring the pain as he uses his body as a battering ram.

Open. Up!

It's lucky that time has weathered the door to a soggy and rotting mess, because Ivan’s lackluster hits somehow manage to pry the hinges open. The door creaks as it drags along the floor, and he stumbles into a clearing as moonlight once again floods his vision.

“Woah…” he breathes, eyes alight by millions of stars in the sky. This is…not what he was expecting. 

Soft grass pads his feet as he looks around at the large clearing in awe, at the open sky and the huge tree in the center, its foliage dappling the moonlight that streams through and hits the floor in rays. He's extremely below ground, with the tree only touching surface level. From above, it probably looks like part of the vegetation, perfectly hidden.

Anakt Garden sure has a lot of secrets. 

Ivan approaches the tree. It’s knotted and mossy. Probably ancient. He trails his hand along its surface, turning slowly around its diameter, until he comes face to face with a giant eye.

…That’s not right. 

An eye? 

Before he can have his second mini panic about hallucinations, the eye blinks slowly at him, the moon reflected in its huge emerald iris. The bottom half of the tree splits open, revealing rows and rows of gleaming white teeth, and, oh, the tree must have been part monster all along. 

Maybe it’s sleep deprivation, but Ivan doesn’t move an inch when the head of the monster rises up, the ground practically shaking with the movement of such a titan. Under the cool night air, it looks almost…ethereal. Calming.

The monster looks down at him, as if curious. It opens its huge maw filled to the brim with very scary, sharp teeth, and roars at him, hot air flying all over his face. Is it going to eat him? That would be upsetting. Well, at least nobody would find out afterwards.

When it stops roaring, Ivan blinks. What is he even supposed to say to that? Is this where he’s supposed to beg for his life?

“...Hello,” he says. After all the other unexplainable things that have happened to him recently, what’s one more? He’s done being surprised. “I feel like I should run away, but I’m tired after walking down all those stairs.”

He sighs and slides to the ground, back to the tree. Looking at it now, he feels a bit of sympathy for the thing. The tree has grown so firmly around it, it’s likely that it’s been here, alone, for quite a while.

“Are you lonely, too?” he wonders.

The monster’s eye follows him, unmoving. 

“My name’s Ivan,” he introduces. “What’s yours?”

It still doesn’t move. He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. Is he really that desperate that he's resorting to finding company with a giant monster tree that also may or may not want to eat him? Life sure is looking grim. 

“Do you even understand what I’m saying…?”

The monster huffs, nodding its head forward. Ivan’s eyes follow it as he crawls towards the patch of dirt that it gestured to, astonished to find some symbols carved into the surface. He looks back at its head and notices that one of its hands is barely free from its wooden cage, its clawed finger covered in dirt. 

This monster can write? It can understand human language? Surprised, Ivan leans close to the writing, squinting his eyes at the unfamiliar symbols. It looks nothing like the hangul that they teach at the academy. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, genuinely a little remorseful. “I can’t read this.”

The monster blinks once and lowers its head. Is it sad? Can horrifying monsters with hundreds of teeth be sad? 

“It’s okay,” he says, taking a scrap of paper and a pencil from his pocket and trying to replicate the letters as best as he could. He’s lucky that the on-hand sketching that he keeps for Till is still coming into use, even during their hopefully-very-brief no talking period. “I’ll look for a dictionary and come back later. How does that sound?”

There’s silence.

“...Is that a yes?”

Well, it doesn’t lunge out and crush his head in between his jaws, so it’s probably okay. Ivan nods and pats the large tree trunk in what he hopes is reassurance. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he says. “Cheer up?”

The monster’s sad looking eyes finally close as the first rays of light start to peek out near the horizon. Ivan gasps. The time! He needs to go, right now!

“Bye! I’ll be back, promise!”

***

He’s just finished sprinting back home when the sunset comes in full force, reds and oranges bleeding into Anakt Academy’s sterile marble floors. Coughs wrack his body in full force as he feels like his body is about to give out from exhaustion, his ribs sore and aching. 

Turns out several flights of stairs and a long distance run is not considered ‘a little walk before bed.’ What was he even thinking? 

Ivan hurries past winding corridors, the cafeteria, and Till’s bedroom, hoping and praying that no one is also up at this time. Morning check-ins are always insanely early, and he needs to put his collar on still. He winces, clutching at his pounding wrist, hot flashes of pain finally setting in after the adrenaline’s worn off. Agh, that stupid collar! Why did they have to go and put it on him now?

Ivan finally turns the corner to his dorm’s hallway, and abruptly freezes as he spots someone crouched outside his door. His heart drops for a moment, thinking that it's one of his instructors looking for him, but then it stills when he realizes it's Till. Then he realizes that Till’s at his door , and then his heart drops all over again. 

He pads towards him, peering at the muttering boy and trying to discern what’s happening. Till’s crouched in front of his handle, working at the lock with a long pair of paper clips and cursing madly. What? Does he need Ivan for something?

“...What are you doing?” Ivan asks quietly.

Till startles, paper clips clattering to the floor. “You!” 

He jumps up and leans toward Ivan, a nasty look on his face that is oh-so-familiar. “You idiot! Do you even know what time it is?”

He goes to grab at Ivan’s collar, and embarrassingly, Ivan flinches so hard that he nearly falls backward, protecting his face with his good hand. Not now, Till, Ivan will fight with you another day, o-okay? His poor body has been through enough!

 “...Ivan?” 

He lowers his hand to see Till now stepping back from him, that same distraught expression on his face. “I wasn't –” Till stumbles, eyes wide. “Look, I – I didn't mean to –”

On any other day, Ivan would be ecstatic that Till’s come to seek him out for once, but today he's in a very tight time crunch. 

“...Do you need something?” he mumbles, exhausted. “If not, you should go to roll call, Till. Try not to get your face beaten in.”

Perfect response to the person he's been thinking about for the past week. 

Ivan unlocks his door, fumbling a bit with his left hand before shoving the door open and picking up his collar. He holds the pliers in his teeth as he struggles to hold the collar in place, come on, hurry up –

“Dumbass. Only you would try to do this with a broken wrist.”

Eh?

Ivan shudders as cool, slender fingers properly seat the collar on his neck, a gentle hand removing the pliers from his mouth. He hadn't even noticed that Till had followed him into his room, but it kind of excites – er, it confuses him. 

“But you don't know how to reattach it,” he states, baffled.

“Do you think I'm stupid or something?” Till scoffs, no heat behind it. “You've done this for me a thousand times. I know the gist of it.”

“Ah…please, I'm too young to die…”

“I’m not going to electrocute you, moron!”

Ivan can feel Till moving the pliers around the collar, feeling for the right wire to disconnect. For all his jabs, he's actually not scared at all. Even after all they'd been through, Ivan would still willingly leave his life up to Till. 

“Where were you?” Till mumbled quietly, a snap telling him that he's gotten the first wire correct. “When I didn't see you up at ass o’ clock like usual, I almost got a heart attack. You can't be playing like this anymore, after all that other crap you pulled.”

Ivan’s glad that he's turned away from the other boy, so that he doesn't see the way that his eyes light up. “You were worried?”

“What kind of question is that? Yes, idiot. How can I not be when you turn up looking more shit than you already usually do?”

Ivan laughs softly, hand ghosting over his bruised ribs. Yeah, he’s sure he looks terrible – even more than usual. He wonders if he should tell Till about what he's seen today, but decides against it. He doesn't want the other boy wrapped up in a potential mess.

“...It’s not important,” he replies. “I just couldn't sleep.”

“Mhhm,” Till replies, sounding unconvinced. “Well, don't do it again. If I spot you hurting yourself, I'll kill you myself, got it?”

Ivan would be okay with that. “Yes, sir.”

The collar locks on, and Ivan rubs at the familiar weight. He never thought he'd be happy to put this annoying thing back on.

“You're a fast learner,” he says, smiling gratefully at Till. “I'm surprised.”

Till rolls his eyes, looking a little proud. “Don't mention it,” he says. “You should come up with a faster way to do that. Those wires are tiny.”

Oh. Well, if Till wants him to do something, then this will jump straight to the top of Ivan’s to-do list, right after ‘pick up ancient language dictionary’ and before ‘avoiding another beating.’” Ivan nods seriously before turning away and fast-walking to the hallway.

“Wait, Ivan!”

“Huh?” he turns around, looking curiously at Till who’s grabbed his good wrist and also happens to be profusely sweating. There's an intense look on his face, like he's constipated. “We’re going to be late.”

“I know. I just – wanted to say…” Till pauses and takes a deep breath. “Sorry. For hitting you.”

Oh. He means their little argument? Ivan freezes, not having expected an apology whatsoever. That's just not what people do often, to him. 

“We fight all the time, though?” Ivan tilts his head.

“Y-yeah, but not like that,” Till replies, shame filling his voice. “I don't know what came over me. I was freaked out by Mizi, but that wasn't any excuse to hit you when you were hurt. I – I know how bad it feels. And I – you –”

“Calm down,” Ivan tries to sooth him, surprised. It looks like he's more bothered by this than he expected. “Till, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“But it is! Stop just making me try to feel better!”

He's agitated. Ivan darts his eyes around, trying to think of something to say to make Till not hate him. 

“It didn't hurt that much…”

Wrong thing to say. Till’s eyes get all shaky and wet, sniffling loudly. “Listen, I had this whole speech written down before this, but I totally forgot what I was gonna say,” he laughs weakly. “I said a lot of nasty things, but I didn't mean any of them, Ivan. You're fucking weird, and creepy sometimes, and you stare too much – but I don't regret being friends with you, okay? I'd never.”

What? 

What? What? What is this?

Ivan backs away, heart pumping so fast it feels like it's about to burst. He needs a moment to cool off, or else he's going to say something he regrets. What is happening right now?

It's like God personally came down and blessed him. Maybe this is the real hallucination?

“O-oh,” he says, intelligently.

Till deflates, looking abashed. “Or, if you're not cool with it, I guess we don't need to be friends anymore…”

HUH?!

“No!” Ivan shouts, grabbing at Till’s hand like he's going to run away. “I mean, no, of course we're friends. You're not getting rid of me that easily!”

Till’s eyes widen a bit before a smile starts to bloom over his face, like a fresh flower at sunrise.

“You're really weird, you know that?” he says giddily. 

Ivan beams at him. “Yeah. But you're the one who still likes me, so you're waaaay weirder.”

“Hey! Not true, and you know it!”

Chapter Text

“What's wrong with you? Why are you smiling like that?”

Sua’s words pass right through Ivan’s ears and disappear as if they never existed at all. He's too busy feeling like a king amongst mortals; he doesn't listen to the opinions of mere peasants.

“Why are you two so late? Are you trying to get in trouble?”

Did she come over here just to be judgemental again? And here Ivan was relishing in a week of solace, no pseudo-friends breaking into his room to use his body washes. 

“We were just talking,” Ivan explains, glancing at Till, who violently nods next to him. Technically, that is what they were doing. Whether or not he was doing something before isn’t important. 

Sua narrows her eyes at the boy standing behind him, and from the corner of his eye he sees Till jump in fear. “Till…” she mutters lowly.

“What?” Till stutters. “I didn’t do anything!”

Till really glows when he’s panicked, doesn’t he? Before Ivan can come up with something appropriately witty and funny to say, an aura of pure pink fills his vision.

“Ivan!” Mizi squeals, going in for a hug, before catching herself. “Oh, eheh, I probably shouldn’t do that, right? How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay!”

Ivan eyes the way Mizi sidles up close to Sua’s side, the older girl looking down at her almost reverently, a small blush on her face. He wonders if the flower worked or not. After all that bother, it better have done at least something.

“Okay?” Till scoffs. “You would be if you’d stop getting into trouble…”

“Isn’t that a bit hypocritical?”

“It’s different for me! I choose my fights wisely.”

Mizi’s eyes dart between the two of them, confused, before lighting up. “Oh! Did you two make up? I'm so glad!”

Ivan smiles while Till grumbles and looks away. It's typical that he's acting nonchalant in front of Mizi when he was saying such cheesy things just a couple minutes ago. At least he seems to have made up for his ‘transgressions’ in the girl’s eyes, though. Mizi’s stopped eyeing Till with suspicion, instead regarding him with…relief?

“I’m sorry for not checking up on you, Ivan,” Mizi apologizes, abashed. “I was going to, but my guardian had me isolated out of worry. Sua told me Till would take care of you, though.” She nods at the other boy. “Thanks for that.”

Till blushes right to the roots of his hair. “H-huh? But, I didn't…”

“You didn't?” Mizi says, mood darkening.

It's true, Till didn't come visit him for quite a while after he was released. But is he really going to say that to Mizi? Why does he always put his foot in his mouth around her?

“Yeah, Till’s great,” Ivan reaffirms, trying to cover for him.

“D-dude!”

“Did you know he makes his own music? Pretty cool, right?”

“How about you stop talking right there?”

“That is cool!” Mizi gushes. Sua’s grip on the girl tightens as she glares at Ivan for some strange reason. 

Till pulls at the neck of his shirt, face completely red. “Oh. Y-you think so?”

Oh. Maybe that’s why. Locking eyes with Sua, Ivan makes a vague gagging motion, trying to convey his utmost distaste for Till’s sickeningly obvious feelings.

Before he can say something to break up the awkwardness, they're already at the front of the line. Mizi goes first, scanning in her ID at the front, then Sua, then Till. By the time Ivan’s up, he’s the last person in the room. 

The clerks who scan them are always behind glass. There's a little booth for them, separating them from the pets. Ivan slides his ID under the glass and waits for them to scan it.

“Ivan,” the clerk says, its giant, singular eye looking boredly up at him. “You have permission to skip class today. Your guardian would like to speak with you.”

That… doesn't sound good. 

Ivan nods slowly and walks away, a furrow in his brows.

Unsha wanting to talk with him was never an ‘if,’ it was a ‘when.’ Although his guardian is usually punctual, this time Ivan waited long enough that he was hoping he never found out.

Wishful thinking.

He steps into the cold hallway, changing his usual path to the classrooms as he veers to the side door, which leads outside. The laboratories, where guardians meet with their pets, are in the basement level of the academy – a temporary location created out of convenience by Anakt to save on interstellar travel. Apart from his regular assessments, he’s barely called down there nowadays.

“Woah, hey! You're not going to class?”

Ivan turns around to see Till at the end of the hallway, jogging towards him with a look of irritation on his face.

“What's this? You were waiting for me?” Ivan grins.

“Not answering that,” Till says, rolling his eyes. He roughly grabs at his shoulder. “Now is not the time to be skipping. Have I been rubbing off on you? Why are you the delinquent, now?”

“You think so low of me. I have a reason, you know!” Ivan pouts. “My guardian’s asking for me.”

“What? Seriously?” 

“Mhmm.”

Till stares at him incredulously for a bit. “A-and you're not scared?”

Ivan tries to smile reassuringly. “It'll be fine. Unsha’s pretty okay. Um,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head nervously. “He probably just wants to talk about…you know.”

Till’s eyebrows scrunch up in the way they do when he's worried about something. Or mad. Or both. “Tell me if he causes you any trouble, okay?”

“What trouble? I don't talk back like you, dummy.”

The worry flies out of Till’s expression. “Fine then. Die for all I care,” he grumbles, walking away.

“Till! I was joking!”

***

The elevator to the basement is cold and metal, and also happens to take half an eternity. Ivan wonders if the drop is really that long or if they designed it to move really slowly to invoke a feeling of encroaching doom on its occupants, because if so, it's effective. Pathos-forward architecture is something you don't see everyday.

Just when Ivan is starting to hope that he'll be trapped in elevator limbo for the rest of his life, the door opens with a cheerful ding, completely at odds with his morbid expectations.

…Into the darkness he goes. 

Sighing, he makes the long trek of endless mazes, trying not to make eye contact with the various experiments and malnourished children barely hidden behind frosted glass panels. A lot of the guardians planning on sending their pets to Anakt keep their main selection and breeding work here, just to save a couple of cents. It makes the place feel uneasy to visit for current students – looking into the dull, hunted eyes of kids, glassy like a faint memory. 

Unsha’s lab is at the very end of the hallway, tucked away in the far right corner. It's about a ten minute walk if Ivan walks normally, seven if he walk-jogs as fast as his short legs can go without getting out of breath. With the way eyes seem to be following him down this hallway, one could guess which method he usually chooses.

He doesn't know much about his guardian, but the one thing he did know is that he's filthy rich. By the time he gets to Unsha’s lab, he stares up at the huge, metal doors, trying to work up the nerve to open them. It's not that he's afraid. He's just…contemplating.

Like ripping off a bandaid. He sucks in a deep breath, scraping the door open. 

It's almost comical how tall the whole place is compared to him. The tables, the chairs, the doors, the torture – um, correction technology. It's clear that this place was designed for Segyeins like Unsha and his bodyguards. Which, speaking of Unsha and his bodyguards, they just so happen to be surrounding him right now.

What a lovely surprise.

Ivan stares dully up at Unsha, who’s sitting at his desk at the far back of the lab, looking down at Ivan with an unreadable expression. Nearly all of his expressions are unreadable to Ivan – normal human faces are bad enough, but Unsha’s…well, putting it lightly, his face looks more like an abstract artwork than an emotion.

Pinning Unsha’s sides are his two bodyguards, almost twice as massive as he, nearly rock-like in their immovability. Ivan sees them so often that he's started calling them the two goons in his head. Goon 1 and Goon 2. The names help him with the fact that their presence is utterly terrifying.

“Why don't you take a seat, Ivan?” Unsha says, nodding at a seat that's a more reasonable height from the ground behind him. His muffled voice is grating to the ears, just like all the other Segyeins. “I believe we have a lot to talk about.”

Ivan does as he's told, sitting down without a second thought. 

“I received news about your little…outburst,” Unsha says, voice low and gruff. “I have to admit, it came as a surprise. A lifetime of no issue, and now this?”

Unsha narrows his eyes.

“Quite suspicious, if you ask me. But no matter. I suppose every pet must have their time of turmoil sooner or later – I'm only glad this is the worst you've done compared to Urak’s pet.”

“I doubt you're dull enough to try something like this again,” Unsha says, peering down at Ivan like a question.

He nods his head, trying to look remorseful.

“Good. However, I can't let you off just that easily. You've caused me a lot of trouble. Your principal, Tessle, is notoriously difficult.”

Tessle? That's his name? It sounds laughably bad. 

“Tell me, Ivan. Am I your guardian?”

“...Yes, sir.”

“Half-right,” Unsha answers. “I am legally your guardian, but for all intents and purposes, I am your owner. You are owned by me. That means everything you do is a reflection of myself – the good and the bad. And to be honest?”

Unsha leans forward, sticking his grotesque, fatty mouth in Ivan’s face. “I'm not seeing a lot of good.”

Ivan breathes in heavily. 

“Let's evaluate you. Average looks. Average build, a little on the shorter side. Passably obedient. All things considered, you don't have a lot going for you.”

“But I wouldn't have spent time on you if I didn't know you were worth the investment,” Unsha finishes. “I am confident that I can mold you into who I want you to be – a winner of the Alien Stage. You will be my most valuable possession, Ivan.”

He stands heavily from his desk, then, each of his steps pounding on the marble floor. Unsha motions for Ivan to follow him, and he does, flanked left and right by Unsha’s huge bodyguards. They take multiple twists and turns in his expansive lab, so much larger than Ivan had realized. When they come to a stop, it's in a smaller room, the lights sterile and bright. There's a lone contraption in the center – a chair with numerous straps and two dangling hooks attached to the sides. 

“Go on,” Unsha motions. “Let's first fix that blank face of yours.”

Ivan steps forward without protest, sitting in the chair as Goon 1 and Goon 2 busy themselves with attaching the hooks to the corners of his mouth. It pulls his lips in an uncomfortable facsimile of a smile, but he's not dying, so at least there's that.

“This is only the beginning. Once you heal from your injuries, the real training will begin,” Unsha says coldly.

His heavy footsteps echo as he and his goons file out of the room. Unsha doesn't look back.

“Trust me, I will make you perfect.”

Ivan watches him leave. Drool spills out of his mouth, and he lets it drip down his shirt, unable to move.

It's going to be a long afternoon.

***

“Where were you today?”

Ivan rubs at his sore cheeks, running his tongue along the blisters he could feel forming on the sides of his mouth. He squints at the shadowed silhouette in his room, and when he flicks on the lights, he's surprised to see that it's Sua, sitting in his chair like it's her own.

“Do you need something?” he asks, voice rough. “I've run out of shampoo.”

She scowls. “No, I'm not here for – forget it. Also, you have plenty of shampoo left, you liar.”

“...So you were here for –”

“No, I wasn't,” she huffs, voice final. “Why are you saying it like I only use you for stuff? You make me sound like a villain.”

Ivan flops on his bed, looking suspiciously up at her. Hmm? Is she insinuating that she might actually talk to him not because he’s useful, but because she actually…likes him?

“So you’re here because you like me?” he smirks.

Sua’s face twists into one of disgust and horror, like she's just bitten into a sour lemon, and Ivan’s heart sinks – or, um, no it doesn't. He doesn't care.

“Don't get ahead of yourself,” she bites out. “...But, well. You're okay company sometimes.”

“You look like you're about to burst a blood vessel.”

“Be quiet! I'm trying to say that I –” she sucks in a deep breath, pained. “I… appreciate… what you did for Mizi. Back there.”

Ivan blinks. A thank you was the last thing he expected from Sua. He thought she hated him, same as Till.

“Wow. You're even more emotionally constipated than me,” he says instead, trying to mask his surprise. “All of that just for a thank you?”

“...I regret saying it already.”

“No take-backsies,” he sings. 

Sua shakes her head at his childishness. “You confuse me, Ivan,” she sighs. “You always act like nothing bothers you, but then you go and do stuff like this. You don't even know Mizi, and still, you…”

“I know enough about her,” Ivan replies, swinging his legs in the air. “I know you care about her, and Till cares about her, too. That's enough.”

It's enough to make her more valuable than me, is what he leaves unsaid.

***

Unsha’s fit the ‘training’ sessions in between his afternoon vocal lessons and dinner. 

It's a large block of time. Ivan can't understand what the point of sitting in a face-stretching contraption for hours on end happens to be, except to dry out his mouth enough that he can barely speak, let alone sing.

His teachers aren’t very pleased. He doesn't know how to tell them about the situation.

Please, it's not because of me! I'm being forced to learn to smile because I'm not good enough at it on my own! Have mercy!

What a joke.

On the upside, Till’s been an extra good friend lately by lending him some of his water during dinner. Every time Till passes Ivan the bottle, he has to resist the urge to squeal. And if he happens to lick the rim thoroughly every time, well…please don't tell anyone. He has to take what he can get, okay?

Typical Ivan-creepiness aside, his free time has been down in the dumps, which is to say, nonexistent. His lunch is his only free time to speak of, so of course, he skips it. 

He has things to do. Despite the hecticness of this week, he hasn't forgotten about the… thing he had discovered. The piece of paper he had written down the monster’s phrase on is now old and weathered from constantly opening it and folding it up, and yet, Ivan still doesn't know what language it's written in.

It's kind of crazy. He's been going to Anakt’s library consistently for at least a week, combing through their language section, but none of the books match the symbols on the note. He's probably three quarters of the way through at this point, but there’s been no leads whatsoever. If this continues, maybe he should just teach the monster hangul instead…?

Ivan sighs as he sets aside yet another book on Cryllic languages. A total bust. He's basically cleared out this section of languages with nothing to show for it. 

He opens his note again, peering at its symbols. They're completely different from any language he’s ever seen, although he's only familiar with the ones used on Anakt. That's the thing about languages…if there's a lot of them on a single planet, imagine how many there are in a galaxy. 

Ivan looks up in despair at the miles and miles of bookshelves, all on different languages used light years away. He hasn't even dared to wander from Anakt’s section. 

Goodness. If he’s looking for a metaphorical needle in a haystack, then he hasn't even gone through an inch of the hay!

He’s about to call it quits and spend the rest of his hard-earned break bothering Till when he crashes into someone on the way out.

“Mm…?” 

Ivan stumbles back, dazed. There's a dull thud as the book the other kid was carrying falls heavily to the ground.

“Watch it!” the kid hisses. He has sandy blonde shoulder-length hair, and Ivan swears he's never seen him in his life. “W-wait, aren't you that weird kid…? Uh. Sorry, nevermind.”

Ivan glances down, feeling a little hot near the ears. So he's weird, huh…? Well, it could be worse. 

He catches sight of the fallen book. It fell on its spine, pages splaying open to somewhere near the middle. His eyes widen when he catches a glimpse of the lettering on the page, pulling out his note and bending down to get a closer look.

“Hey? Excuse me, that's my book.”

It's a one-to-one match.

“What language is this?” Ivan asks suddenly, making the other boy jump and scoop up his book defensively.

“It's – ! Look, I'm not like – into this or anything. I just picked it up on a whim!”

He's starting to back away. In a panic, Ivan grabs his wrist, staring deep into his eyes. 

“Please,” he says, trying to be polite. “I need to know where you got that book.”

Why does this guy look so scared? He's just asking a question… “O-okay, okay! I'll tell you. Just let go of me!”

Ivan releases his vice-like grip and stares up at him expectantly. The guy trembles even though it's not that cold in the library. Strange. 

“It's not even a real language,” the guy grumbles. “I just got it because I like the cool dragon pictures, but for some reason, they made up a language too.”

What's a ‘dragon’? Confused, Ivan tilts his head. “What do you mean, it's not real?”

“Well, obviously they aren’t. Everyone knows dragons are made up.”

The guy’s looking at him judgementally, like he's slow. And maybe he is, because he’s never heard of this stuff before.

“So, where'd you get it?” he presses. 

“It’s the next shelf over, in the ‘fantasical and extinct languages’ section…”

***

Unsha’s hired a communications and etiquette teacher for him.

When Ivan steps into the lab and isn't led over to the ‘smile correction machine,’ he almost smiles all on his own. Finally! His pain and suffering is over!

Little does he know, it’s only just starting.

“Imagine you see someone you don't know drop their pencil on the ground. How do you react?”

This is too easy. Why does he even need this useless training?

“I'd pick it up, and..”

The gentle looking alien leans forward, eagerly awaiting his answer. Clearly, it’s going to be impressed by his forward thinking.

“...I'd keep it for later use.”

The alien stares at him. 

He stares back.

Maybe it's too impressed to answer. Ivan knows how the world works, after all. In this cruel life where he can lose everything he's ever cherished in an instant, he has to fight tooth and nail for everything little thing he can get.

“No,” the alien replies emphatically.

…Or, maybe not.

“It seems I have my work cut out for me,” the alien sighs. Somehow, he feels bad for it.

***

When he eats dinner nowadays, he does so while carrying a big deck of flashcards.

“What are those?” Till asks, shoveling his face with chicken soup. Ivan would tell him to chew with his mouth closed if he wasn't so cute.

“Chew with your mouth closed,” he says monotonously. Good thing Till’s not that cute.

Till proceeds to eat even more grotesquely than before. Wow, his face really is a tragedy. Ivan has to turn away so Till doesn't see his blush.

“I resent that,” Till grumbles. “Lemme see.”

Instinctively, Ivan angles his body towards the other boy, showing the small text he had written down on the cards. 

“Scenarios and reactions,” Ivan explains. “Till, what expression would you make if someone tells you that their grandparent recently died?”

“What kind of question is this?” Till asks. “Well, maybe something like this –”

He proceeds to scrunch his eyebrows and widen his eyes, mouth dropping just slightly open. It looks concerned. Oh. That makes sense. Ivan had been thinking more along the lines of ‘sympathetic smile.’

“Wait wait wait, hold that face,” Ivan hurries, pulling out a pencil and drawing a very crude stickman with that expression on the back of the card. Diagrams help with memorization, right?

He turns the card around to show Till, whose face drops like a rock. “Like this?”

Till starts to laugh. “Hah! Oh my god, Ivan, I'm so sorry – haha! That's terrible!”

Ivan pouts, heart fluttering at Till’s laugh. “We're not all born talented.”

“No! No, I mean, it's good for a beginner –? No, I can't lie to you like that, it's just bad,” Till cackles, clapping Ivan on the shoulder. “I'll teach you, okay?”

Oh? Till wants to teach – him? 

“Wait, really?” he breathes, smiling giddily. “Promise?”

“Well, duh! I can't just let you waltz around embarrassing yourself.”

“You just don't appreciate my artistic talents. I’m more into abstract stuff.”

“Okay, okay, whatever you say.”

Ivan grins at him. Dinner with Till is his favorite part of the day for a reason.

He flips the card around, trying to mimic the other boy’s expression. He still needs to study for tomorrow, after all. 

“My grandparents just died…” Ivan mumurs to himself. He furrows his brows, confused. “Till, what's a ‘grandparent?’”

***

“I told you I’d be back,” Ivan says, smiling widely. He's proud of himself for number one: finding this place again, and number two: discovering a complete dictionary of ‘dragon’ terms to hangul. Not only that, but he’d just gotten his cast taken off! The nurse said that he healed ‘freakishly fast.’

Life’s really been on the up and up. 

He plops down on the ground, right next to the monster’s huge head. It opens one of its emerald eyes to peer at him curiously. Under the moonlight, it feels like he's been transported to a different dimension.

“You…do remember me, right?” Ivan asks. 

Slowly, it nods, rustling the tree branches tangled in its wild mane. Ivan perks up.

“I found a dictionary for translation,” he explains, holding up the thick tomb in his hands. “Some guy said this is some sort of…dragon language? I'm not sure. He also said that this language is made up, so he's probably not a reliable source of information.”

The eye blinks at him.

“Do you mind writing your name again?” Ivan tries. “I promise I'll get it right this time.”

The monster-maybe-dragon picks up a giant claw and carves those same symbols into the ground again. Truthfully, Ivan’s already done his homework– he's already translated the words he transcribed on his notepad into hangul, but it doesn't hurt to double check with the expert.

“Hmm, let's see,” he mumbles, flipping open his dictionary. It's helpful that the syllables almost correlate exactly to hangul, which makes it easy to look up. “H-Y-K-E-L. Hykel. Is that correct?”

The monster-maybe-dragon-known-as-Hykel nods its giant head. Ivan mentally cheers and outwardly sort-of smiles in relief. He's a freaking modern era genius.

“Nice to meet you, Hykel! My name's Ivan. Oh…wait…I think I already told you that,” he pauses, smiling sheepishly. “Are you really a dragon?”

Hykel nods its head, writing something else in the ground. Ivan crawls towards the words, translating them while humming softly. 

Not segyein, it reads. 

“Not Segyein…huh. I don't think I've ever met another species outside of humans and Segyeins,” Ivan muses. “Is that why they have you here?”

Trapped.

Trapped? Ivan looks up at the winding, giant oak tree, and the way that it curves and twists around Hykel’s scaley, snake-like body like a thoroughly tied knot. They're so intertwined, it's no wonder that Hykel can't get out.

“Why did they trap you?” Ivan asks. “They've trapped us here too, for entertainment. Is that the same reason?”

War.

“Ohh…I see. Completely different reason.”

Ivan does not see. In all of his very brief history lessons squished in between rigorous musical training, nobody has ever spoken about a war. “How long have you been trapped here?”

The dragon is still for a long while, as if thinking. When it finally carves the words into the earth, Ivan nearly faceplants into the dirt.

“A thousand years?” he gasps. “That’s insane! Are they ever gonna let you go?”

Hykel puffs out a breath of hot air at him like a laugh.

No.

“Well, do you want to be free?”

Yes.

Ivan stands up suddenly. “Okay! Okay, I can do that!”

He turns to the dragon and points a small, confident finger at its giant emerald eye. 

“I promise you, by the time I graduate, I will free you, Hykel,” he says, eyes burning with determination.

He has no idea why he's feeling so passionate about a monster he literally just met. Maybe it's because he likes to feel useful. Maybe it's because the way it's intertwined with the earth, against its will, is cruel. Maybe it's because the way it's trapped reminds him a little of himself.

Whatever it is, Ivan’s never been one to give up on something halfway through. 

***

His injuries are mostly healed, so it's time for his third phase of training: physical training.

“There's three things that I need you to work on,” Unsha says. “Your face, your personality, and your body.”

S-say that again? Don't those parts make up his whole self?! 

“Nothing about you is really exceptional,” Unsha says, only digging the nail in deeper. “You're not beautiful like Nigeh’s pet, charismatic like Shine’s pet, or musically talented like Urak’s pet.”

Okay! Some remorse wouldn't hurt!

“But you know what you can beat them at?” Unsha muses. “Strength and stamina.”

…Just what does this guy plan on doing with him?

“Pure physical prowess!”

What. The. Hell?

So Ivan finds himself here. On the treadmill for an hour straight everyday, at a sprinting pace, so fast that it's all he can do to not go flying off. 

Is this really how people work out? How do they not cry everyday thinking about it? Ivan hasn't been given water in the last thirty minutes, and he has thirty more left to go. He's actually seeing visions dancing at the edges of his eyes.

It's like he's been descending further and further into hell. First, the smiling machine, awkward but perfectly manageable, then the etiquette lessons, super embarrassing and a little irritating, and then finally: this.

Is this the definition of agony…?

Ivan would tear up if he hasn't used up all of water already on sweat. His legs feel like they're going to tear off his body with how sore they are.

Please, he regrets ever complaining about the smiling machine! Bring him back! He’ll do anything!

“Haaah…hnnh…hhah…”

His breathing is faltering out. Unsha, he's going to die right here, and it'll be all your fault, don't you feel bad? A ten minute break in exchange for his left pinky, how does that sound?

In a desperate act of self preservation, Ivan goes to pull the plug on the machine that he was told would make it stop instantly, followed by a very thinly veiled threat that if he were to pull it, he'd regret it immensely. Whatever! He doesn't care anymore, he already regrets his life enough! Give him your worst, Unsha!

Right as he’s about to taste the sweet, sweet flavor of salvation, Goon 1 grips his arm and yanks it back, almost making him lose his pace and go flying into the distance. 

“10 more minutes,” it gruffs.

Ivan feels tears drip down his cheeks. Oh. So he does have some water left in him, haha.

Why did you even buy me if you hate me so much? Ivan wonders.

Just throw me away already…

When he's done, Ivan physically can't make it back upstairs. He collapses on the cold hard floor of the lab and passes out instantly.

***

When Ivan comes to, Goon 2 prodding at his limp body with a distant, “school’s starting,” he may or may not tear up in pain.

His legs feel like they were torn off, blended up, and then reattached to his body as slush. Trying to drag himself to his feet only earns himself more frustrated tears and hobbling steps, every move feeling like fiery death. 

He looks up at Goon 2 and shakes his head slowly, pleading to every god that may be out there that this inanimate looking thing actually has emotions. Sadly, no.

“You have to go,” Goon 2 says, almost a sigh. It picks him up by the arms as if he weighs nothing, lightly dropping him off at the entrance of the lab. 

Then the door is abruptly slammed in his face.

Why does Anakt hate him…?

Halfway through walking down the long, long, waaay too long hallway of laboratories, he gives up and just starts sliding across the floor like a worm. This time, instead of him trying to avoid eye contact with the malnourished children hiding behind glass, it's them who eye him with faint shock and distaste. Oh, how mortifying it feels, getting a taste of his own medicine.

***

Going to school is another endeavor itself. If acting normal was hard for him before, then it's one hundred times extra hard to do so when it feels like his legs have been broken in twenty different places. He literally has to stumble to class like some sort of infant baby. 

Mizi and Sua give him worried looks at roll call, but Ivan expertly dodges their questions. Then they're off to beautiful, glorious music lessons, where they get to sit down. 

The classes aren't the problem. The issue is changing in between classes, especially up and down the stairs. He can tell the other students are annoyed by his slowness, but he can’t do anything about it.

Ivan's aware that nobody really likes him all that much. He doesn't know how to react properly to jokes, has a creepy looking stare, and now there was that whole fiasco with the principal, which definitely didn't help his reputation. Luckily, most days, it doesn't bother him that much, since people tend to avoid him rather than confront him.

Of course, he also knows his luck is absolutely terrible, so when a group of rowdy boys his age stop him at the top of the stairs, he can't bring himself to be surprised.

“I'm getting sick of your slow ass,” a guy with spikey black hair chuckles. “What are you doing hobbling along the halls like an old lady?”

His little lackey cackles. “Careful, dude. He might've been beaten by the principal again!”

Ivan winces. He didn't realize that event was so widespread.

“Not fair that you still don't have to wear your collar after all of that,” the guy frowns, gripping at the front of Ivan’s shirt. He stumbles forwards and almost crashes into him from the force. “Ew! Not too close, you weirdo!”

“Let go of me, then,” Ivan says emotionlessly, getting even closer. Clearly this guy won't stand his ground. Ivan just wants to get to class.

“D-dude, get away! I think he's going to kiss you!”

“Huh?! You gross little –”

Ivan’s eyes widen as the guy suddenly throws him bodily away from himself instead of just stepping aside like a normal person. As he loses his balance and falls heavily down the stairs, the only thing he can think is:

I miscalculated.

It seems as though Anakt harbors a lot more hatred than he realized. 

He lands sharply on the floor, the wall stopping his descent. It hurts. Badly.

With great force, Ivan tries to stand up, but his legs give out from under him and he nearly faceplants into the ground again. The only thing he can hear is his own heavy breathing and the faint ringing in his ears. That can't be good. 

At a loss of things to do, Ivan crawls his way to the corner and leans against the wall, watching as the guys who pushed him walk away without a glance back. He would laugh if it wasn't so pathetic. Why is he the bullied one? Isn't he supposed to be privileged?

All the missing collars in the world can't make up for his ugly face, his nasty personality, his weak body. He can’t cover up his past even with a million pristine white uniforms and carefully curated smiles.

Sorry, Unsha. Some things aren't worth fixing.

Ivan closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see the other students’ disgusted faces as they pass by him. He doesn't need flashcards to know what they're thinking, because, well, actions speak louder than words – and not one person stops to help him.

***

“You weren't in class today. Again. What gives?” Till grumbles, setting his food tray down heavily next to Ivan. He doesn't know when this became their “assigned seats,” so to speak, but nobody will sit next to Ivan except for Till, who always does it without a second thought even though Ivan makes it a point to be as annoying as possible. 

He must not have very many friends, either.

What once made Ivan feel happy now makes heat race along his neck out of shame, extremely aware of the empty table save for the two of them. Is the reason why Till has no friends because he hangs out with the school’s freak? Does he choose Ivan because he wants to, or is it because he has no other choice?

”I didn't feel like it,” Ivan dismisses. No, he’s not going to tell Till what happened, thank you very much. It's way too uncool.

Till’s jaw drops. “What’s this new attitude?! I'm supposed to be the delinquent between the two of us, Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes.”

“Well, move over for the new big boss.”

Till mutters curses under his breath and jostles Ivan’s arm with his very sharp and bony elbow. Ivan almost drops his fork. Is there ever a moment where he isn't recovering from a multitude of injuries?

“I hate it when you get like this,” Till glowers. Cute. “Seriously, I can tell you're bullshitting. Spill!”

He just won't let go, will he? Luckily, Ivan’s prepared the perfect half truth for this scenario. “Fine,” he pouts. “It’s because my guardian made me exercise too much last night.”

Till’s scrutinizing expression dissolves into one of relief. “Oh, that's it? Isn't exercise supposed to be good for you?”

“Whaaat?” Ivan plays it up. “Not for me. You know I'm lazy.”

“Tch, ungrateful brat. If only you knew what a true harrowing experience is like, you'd be thanking the gods!”

He smirks. “Yeah, we all know you're the trouble finder.”

“Damn right.”

The rest of dinner is painfully uneventful, just according to plan. Till shovels food into his mouth like it's going to be taken from him at any moment, complaining about boring music assignments and the teacher’s stifling of creativity and his annoying roommate, who honestly doesn't sound all too bad but must just be a scapegoat for Till’s deeper issues. It's alright, Ivan can relate. He doesn't even want to know about what Till says about him when he's not around, but as long as he doesn't know, he can continue making fun of him to his face and bragging about the fact that Ivan has a single bedroom and Ivan can choose his own music.

“You’re terrible at making me feel better,” Till grumbles.

“I am,” Ivan smiles. He's terrible at a lot of things. “If I'm so bad, then why don't you go sit with the other kids? Hm?”

“Good question.” 

Ivan’s heart drops. “You've had enough of me?” he asks, and he means for it to sound teasing but it just ends up sounding a little sad.

“Definitely!” Till scowls, but he doesn't make any move to stand up. “Whatever. I'm already here, so…”

“You'll stay?”

“Sure. I don't have anywhere else better to be.”

And it's like the clouds have parted.

…Till, I like you a lot.

Selfishly, Ivan wishes that Till will never find someone better to spend time with. He wants to keep him forever, rolling around in the slums of the bottom of the barrel kinds of people, because Ivan has finally found someone who won't leave him alone and now it's like he can't live without it. He doesn't care that he's not liked by anyone. He doesn't care that he's not talented. As long as Till’s with him, well, he doesn't need anything else.

“Of course you don't,” Ivan says instead. “You don't have any other friends.”

“Huuuuh? Stupid Ivan! Fine then, I'm leaving right now!”

Ah…that seemed to be Till’s final straw. Ivan watches him pick up his empty tray angrily and slam it into the trash can with a heavy heart, smile frozen on his face.

Did he say something wrong?

He looks down with empty eyes and slowly rolls his food around, appetite gone. Ivan’s always putting his foot into his mouth, after all, and though Till’s anger is better than his indifference, his absence still leaves a chill in the dining room.

Ivan's not hungry anymore. He needs to do his exercises. 

***

“It's come to my attention that this method of exercise is considered potentially dangerous for humans.”

Ivan stares blankly at the hologram that displays Unsha’s face, sitting heavy and still behind a massive oak desk and a cityscape in the background. It takes every part of him not to reply with, ‘no kidding?’

“However, I have medical staff on hand at Anakt, so we may proceed if you get injured.”

Huh? Seriously? What kind of a plan is that?! 

“I want you to be able to sing the entirety of Anakt's school anthem while running by the end of the week.”

How is that even possible? Do you think he's superhuman??

“Failure to do so and…hm. We'll double your routine next week.”

Don't you think that's a little too harsh???

“Good luck.”

Goon 1 promptly shuts off the hologram, leaving Ivan staring at the wall like an idiot. Well…it can't be that bad, right? Ivan's been through a lot worse. Years of having absolutely nothing to his name, and right now, he only needs to get through an hour. Easy. Yeah, easy.

He stands up numbly and allows himself to be led to the treadmill. Just don't think too hard about it, Ivan. This is a small price to pay for food and a place to sleep. Be grateful.

***

After chugging a mega gallon of water and crawling his way back to his room, Ivan’s less than pleased to see a lump on his bed, someone making themselves way too comfy in his sheets. Mildly irritated, he flips on the light, ready to kick them out and pass out in their place. 

“Sua, get out of my –”

“Ngghhgh, light, turn it off.”

That's not Sua’s voice.

Ivan blinks and does as he's told, stunned into silence. He walks cautiously to his bedside, eyes barely adjusting to the darkness, and lifts the blanket off the dark silhouette like he's uncovering a wild animal.

“Till?”

The other boy turns over heavily, and Ivan can't see him clearly in this lighting but it's clear he’s hurt from the way he struggles to move himself. Ivan's confused. Why is he here instead of his own room?

“Ivan?” Till slurs. “Why’re you here?”

“...It’s my room.”

“What? Where the fuck even am I?”

Till scrubs the sleep out of his face vigorously and tries to pull himself up, but just ends up falling back onto the bed with an oomph. Ivan watches him like how one might look at a bug under the sun. 

“Just how bad of a concussion did they give you this time?” he asks.

“You know,” Till sighs, “the usual.”

“So you're braindead now.”

“Not any more than you.”

Ivan smiles. “You shouldn't insult the person whose bed you're lying in. Get up, Till.”

“Don't wannnaa,” Till whines, burying himself even further in Ivan’s blanket. His stomach slightly swoops at the sight. In annoyance, of course. “Your bed is way comfier than mine.”

“So where do you want me to sleep? The floor?”

“Yeah, leave the bed to the injured.”

Ivan kicks a box out from under his bed, almost tripping from exhaustion but managing to catch himself on the bed frame at the last second. “You’re such a big baby,” he huffs, throwing Till's blankets off and ignoring his weak protests. He forcefully grabs Till’s face and turns it to him, brows furrowed in focus. “Let me check you over.”

“Stoop – grabbin’ me –”

So demanding. Can't he see Ivan’s trying to do something here?

“Then behave,” he rolls his eyes, flicking on a flashlight to roam over Till’s battered body. It's worse than he thought. He’s got a nasty black eye, the purple bruise already spreading down his cheek, but a cursory glance at his pupils reveals no concussion, thank god. Ivan may be Till’s self-appointed paramedic, but he's not that knowledgeable.

“What's wrong with your guardian?” Ivan grumbles, mostly to himself. He unwraps some gauze and starts to wrap Till’s scraped knee, the blood there still wet and congealed. “Doesn’t he know that bruised goods aren't marketable?”

Till sighs. “I'm not marketable, Ivan. Sold for half price, remember?”

Ivan bites his lip to keep from saying something he'll regret. Those aliens are damn blind. 

“You don't have to do this,” Till says quietly. “Let's just go to sleep.”

Ivan makes a face that he knows Till won't be able to see, putting some burn cream on big dots of hot branding all over Till’s skin. “Be patient. I'm almost done.”

“ACK – Ivan, just leave it! That stings!”

Ivan forcefully holds down Till’s legs. “Hold still. It'll hurt more tomorrow if I don't treat it today.”

“Whatever! It’s nothing I haven't gone through before.”

He's really loud. Ivan wants him to be quiet for once, just sit still and look pretty so Ivan can finish this up and go to sleep. 

Luckily, there's one thing he's learned from people watching Sua and Mizi that might do the trick. Ivan leans down until he's face to face with Till’s burnt and bruised leg, pressing his lips softly against the raw skin. 

“EUGH! What do you think you're doing?!” Till screeches. 

Ivan pulls back when Till almost knees him in the face. Okay, this did the opposite of what he wanted. Mission abort.

“I don't know,” he admits. “I saw the other kids doing this in the Garden. I thought it would help make it hurt less…”

“How would that possibly – t-that’s unsanitary! You put your lips on my bloody leg!”

Ivan wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, smearing clotted blood and gooey burn cream all over himself. What, does Till think that he's “unsanitary”? Maybe he thinks Ivan's too dirty to put his mouth on him.

“I was trying to help,” Ivan rushes to justify. 

“Well, stop.”

Ivan droops. Sighing, he drops his stuff to the ground, too tired to deal with putting it away. His whole body is sore and hurts like crazy, and if Till is satisfied enough with his care, well, Ivan isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Okay,” he says. “Scoot over.”

Surprisingly, Till does, even lifting the blanket so Ivan can slot himself into his right side. His bed is big enough for two and as soft as a cloud, and it holds his tired body just right. He's so happy that Till hasn't kicked him onto the floor in disgust.

“Good night,” he hears Till whisper. 

Ivan makes sure to lie on his side, so Till is the last thing he sees before going to sleep. He wishes he could stay awake longer to look at him, but he's exhausted enough that he's out like a light.

***

He's awakened unpleasantly by dawn’s first rays of light and, in contrast, very pleasantly by Till’s sleeping face. Hmph. All that bolster, and look who he crawls to every time he's hurt, hmmm? Ivan can't help but smirk fondly at the other boy, a rare moment where his face isn't twisted in some sort of angry/distressed/generally unnatural expression. What an amazing day!

He promptly tries to get up and immediately falls off the bed.

What the heck? Ivan tries to push himself up again, but he only manages halfway before falling to the ground again, his legs unable to support his weight. He's sore like he's never been sore before, the pain moving up from his legs and into his hips and back. He wasn't in this much pain yesterday…

“Mm, what's that sound?” Till says, voice thick with sleep. Ivan hears some rustling, and then a head of wild silver hair is peering down at him. “Pfft, did you seriously fall off the bed?”

“No. This is just – a more efficient way to start the day, don't you know?”

“I don't. Why don't you enlighten me, O wise one?”

Ivan forcefully slams his hands on his chair and lifts himself off the ground, tendrils of pain shooting up his shaking legs. In the corner of his eye, he watches as Till swings his legs off the side of the bed and proceeds to slide sadly to the ground.

“I see you're trying my technique,” Ivan teases.

“Shut it,” Till replies, sounding a bit miffed. “Fighting words for someone who's walking real funny right now.”

“You're the one walking funny.”

“I’m not even walking!”

Ivan successfully makes it two steps before his knee buckles and he sinks to the ground slowly, staring at the carpet like it personally betrayed him. 

“We're not getting to class,” Till realizes. “Guess we're skipping.”

“Won’t you get in trouble?”

“Ivan, I'm already in a lot of trouble,” Till laughs. “Shouldn't you be worried about yourself? You've skipped so many classes already.”

“I'm fine. The teachers love me.”

“...Okay, no need to brag.”

Years of being quiet and sucking up have served him well. Though right now, Ivan can't really be all too triumphant, because the only thing he can think of is: how is he supposed to exercise now? Shoot, he's really going to have to accept the doubled routine, isn't he? 

Ivan gives up and falls heavily to the ground. Ah, so much for being a good student. He's been in and out of class so frequently that he doesn't even know what's going on anymore, and his singing assignment hasn't even been practiced halfway due to how badly he sings while running. He can already see himself slipping from his teacher's good graces. These past few weeks have been…well. They’ve been unusual.

“Why are you smiling like that? What's so funny?”

Ivan can't help but laugh out loud at the confused look on Till’s face, and he knows he must look crazy but he can't seem to stop. It’s probably the culmination of despair at what he’s about to go through combined with the hilarity of that fact that he and Till are now bonded in an inexplicable way: broken legs. Yaaay. They're so alike…they’re meant to be!

In a sudden surge of affection, he throws himself bodily over the other boy, forcing him to the ground with a soft oomph. Ivan rubs his face all over Till’s worn and soft shirt, feeling, for once in his life, happy.

“What's up with you?” Till asks, sounding concerned. He brings a small hand up to Ivan’s shirt collar and tugs gently at him. “You got brain damage for real?”

“No, silly,” Ivan giggles, looking up at Till mischievously. “Let's do something fun today.”

Till huffs out a small laugh. “Like what? Rolling around on the floor?”

For a creative, this guy has a horrifying lack of ideas sometimes. Smirking, Ivan crawls up Till’s torso, knowing that he has an offer he can't refuse.

“Teach me how to draw.”

“Huh,” Till says, raising his eyebrows as if surprised. “Actually…sure. Let's do it. You got pencil and paper?”

***

“Better! It has a sort of, uh, charm to it. But…” Till says, examining Ivan’s latest and greatest work. “You know you can draw something…other than me, right?”

Ivan looks down at his various works, scattered around him haphazardly in piles of papers, all of which contain some sort of impressionist-like interpretation of Till’s face. He's been getting steadily better…he thinks.

“Why?” Ivan asks. “I like your face.”

Till scowls and flushes lightly. Quickly, Ivan takes a mental screenshot to draw later. “Don't say stuff like that!”

Ivan smiles. “Sorry. When you make really ugly expressions like that, how could I not want to capture them?”

Till lunges for him. Ivan casually rolls out of the way, leaving him to fall sadly to the floor. “Go die,” he says, looking impressively murderous.

“No, I don't think I will,” Ivan says. “Besides, you're one to talk. Half your drawings are Mizi!”

“No, they aren't!” Till barks, furious.

They both turn to Till’s side of the paper pile, roaming their eyes around the stack, two of which are trees, three are landscapes, and a whopping ten are Mizi. Ivan was being generous.

“You know, two thirds really isn't that much,” Till deadpans. “I just like drawing people.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It's true! Human anatomy really is the most interesting part of drawing, mmhm.”

“Yeah?” Ivan says. “Then why don’t you draw me? Add some variety to your drawing diet.”

Till clicks his pen rapidly on the carpeted floor, irritated. “Nah, don't feel like it.”

Ivan reels back in mock hurt. “Is my anatomy not ‘interesting’ enough for you?” he asks, rolling over on his side and hitting a pose. “How about now?”

“You look stupid.”

“Mm, mean. Till's mean.”

Till’s eye twitches wildly as his scowl darkens fiercely. Oo. So scary. He picks up his pen like it personally hurt Mizi herself and brings it viciously to a new sheet of paper. 

“Fine,” he spits, rapidly sketching something on the paper with enough force to poke a few holes in it. “There. Happy?”

He thrusts the paper in Ivan’s face, and it takes him a moment to realize what he's looking at. It's a rough sketch – hardly even any effort in its fast strokes, but somehow, it's still recognizable as Ivan. 

Huh? Him? Till really drew him?

“Till!” Ivan gapes, a euphoric grin spreading across his face as he holds the paper reverently to his chest. “This is me?”

“Well – duh! Who else could it be?”

Ivan looks back at the paper, half nervous to see if he had just hallucinated the drawing, but yep – it really is him. His unstylish bowl cut, his weird looking teeth. Till really is talented. It looks just like him!

“Wowww,” Ivan beams. “You made me look so handsome!”

“Huh? Dude, it looks like shit.”

“How could you insult my treasure like that!” Ivan gasps, offended. “I'm hanging it on my wall.”

“Alright, sure you will – wait! Are you actually doing it?!” Till screeches as Ivan moves to grab a piece of tape, lunging at his ankles. “Don't you dare!”

“Why? You made it for me, it's mine now!”

“Yeah, well, I'm taking it back! Hand it over you little –”

It's just then, with the two of them rolling around on the ground like animals grappling desperately for a crumpled, mediocre half-done sketch that the door creaks open quietly. Ivan, on the ground, one hand holding his prize and the other smashed against Till’s face, watches as the other boy turns towards the door and immediately blanks in horror.

“Hey, Ivan, I've got your homework for today – oh.”

A soft, melodic voice calls for him outside his door, and Ivan turns over, faintly curious. It's Mizi. Which is weird in and of itself because she's not really his friend, so why is she standing outside his door right now, carrying a tablet in her hands and looking really, really confused?

“Am I interrupting something?” she asks, smiling awkwardly.

“Not at all,” Ivan replies, nonchalant. Slowly, painfully, he manages to stand and hobble over to her. “This is what I missed? Thanks for bringing it over.”

“Ah, it's no problem! But are you alright? I haven't seen you in class for a couple days…”

She noticed? Feeling a little warm, Ivan self-consciously rubs the back of his neck. “Uh-huh. I'm fine, it's just stuff with my owner – I mean, guardian.”

Mizi immediately brightens. “Oh, okay! Thank goodness. I was a little worried, you know?”

Eh? Why? 

Slightly suspicious, Ivan nods with a tight smile. He shoots a quick look at Till, who's still crouched, shellshocked, on the ground. He's looking at Ivan with a mixture of confusion and extreme anger/jealousy/envy/bitterness.

“What about you, Till?” Mizi asks, peeking over Ivan’s shoulder. Immediately, Till’s face spasms and starts turning bright red, which is both worrying and extremely pathetic. “You weren't in class, either.”

“O-oh! Uh, yeah, I'm fine too, it was just a couple of beatings,” Till stutters.

Mizi looks horrified, which is understandable. Jeez, this guy is a complete wreck.

“He means he did a couple of drawings instead of coming to class,” Ivan rushes to cover for him. 

Silence.

“Till’s an artist,” Ivan adds lamely.

“Umm…I swear he said something completely different…”

“Did he? Maybe you should get your ears checked,” Ivan says with a smile. He starts to close the door on her, trying to protect her from Till's travesty of a mouth. “Thanks again for bringing my missed work!”

“Oh, uh, yeah! Of course!” Mizi says, bemused but still cheerful. She's about to turn around and leave, but ironically, the gust of wind that occurs from Ivan’s insistent push of his door draws some of the scattered papers over to her feet. Huh, they probably shouldn't have loosely just thrown them all around the floor, he thinks distantly. 

Oh.

Hold on.

Wait a second. Papers. Sketches…two thirds…

Mizi goes to pick up the overturned paper. “Ah! Here, your paper –”

She pauses, looking at the drawing with a shocked look on her face. Is that one of his terrible drawings…or one of Till’s?

Please say that's a tree drawing or a landscape drawing.

Ivan gulps, turning back and meeting Till’s panicked gaze, a look of understanding shared between them. Damn, the odds are not looking good, are they?

And sure enough –

“Is this me?” Mizi gasps, holding the picture at an arm's length, jaw dropped. What's that expression? Does she like it or not? Wait, is this considered ‘creepy’?

She takes a peek over Ivan’s shoulder to look at Till, and he hears a faint dying noise from behind him. Ivan sees the exact moment she sees the rest of the drawings scattered on the ground, a whopping two thirds of them probably painfully familiar.

“Are…all of those me?”

Yep. Definitely creepy.

Ivan has half a mind to slam the door right in her face for a lack of a better option to do, but a quick look back at a mortified Till makes him reconsider. Till seems to like Mizi a lot. It would suck if she were to think he were weird, just like it kind of sucks that Till thinks he's weird…

“Till, did you –”

“You know, I'm something of an artist myself,” Ivan suddenly interrupts. 

Blatant lie. If she were to take one more glance at the floor, she would easily see the clear disparity in skill between his drawings and Till’s, but still, his mouth babbles on. “Till was teaching me how to draw. Isn't he such a great teacher? I'm pretty good, aren't I?”

Mizi blinks at him in confusion, giving him a lost little smile. “You drew these?” she asks. “W…why’d you draw so much of me?”

“Why not?” Ivan blankly deadpans. “You're the first person I could think of.”

Silence again. Ivan begins to sweat. Why is he always doing this to himself? He should've just let Till take the fall and learn a little life lesson that obsessive crushes are mad suspicious. Now, because of his wrongdoings, Ivan’s the one who Mizi thinks is weird! Which, granted, he is weird, but he thought he'd be able to hide it a little better at least so he can finally make more than one friend, but he guesses that's basically an impossible task, so maybe quitting while he's ahead isn't so bad after all?

He's about to bid adieu to social companionship entirely when Mizi suddenly squeals and grabs onto his arm.

“You're such a good artist, Ivan!” she gushes. “I look so good! You could be a professional, you know?”

Uhhh, what? “What?”

“You've got everything, you know! You've got a great voice, you're smart, you can draw, and not to mention super cute!” Mizi giggles, leaning down to his height and pulling at Ivan’s cheeks. He feels his face burning, because what is going on right now? “You're basically perfect!”

What?! T-This wasn't in the flashcards!

“Thanks,” he says dumbly. 

She winks very unsubtly at him and nods her head hard towards Till, who is currently making his hair stand on end from what is definitely a murderous glare. What, does she think she's helping him?! Mizi, stop! You don't really understand the complexities of what's going on here!

“Can I keep this?” She asks, holding the paper. 

Uh, it really isn't his to give, but Ivan's so flustered that all he can do is nod. She beams at him and claps him on the shoulder hard enough that his knees nearly buckle out from under him.

“Awesome!” she says. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see you.”

The door closes.

What. In. The. World?

Ivan barely has time to turn around before Till is pouncing on him, yelling like he's destroyed his entire life. With no explanation himself, Ivan just stands there like he's made of cardboard.

“You think you can just take my stuff for yourself, you punk?!” Till screeches, shaking him viciously. “That could have been me! You fucking prick! Playing with Mizi like that, I'm gonna kill you!”

This guy is actually crazy! Starting to laugh, Ivan pushes Till’s furious face away from himself, because honestly it is kind of funny. And sad. But mostly funny.

“Hahaha! You're such a loser!” Ivan giggles.

“Take that back, you –!”

“Why? You want me to call Mizi back here to clarify that you were actually the one drawing her like a creepy weirdo?”

“What the fuck?! No! You're the weirdo, freaking useless, no good, stupid, stupid, stupid Ivan!”

***

Ivan honestly to God thinks that he was born being genetically gifted at absolutely nothing, which checks out because the aliens who made him were useless lumps of junk who's only motives consisted of getting rich quick on the pet human trend. Clearly, they weren't doing a very good job of breeding, because if Ivan was their greatest money maker – well. That doesn't bode well for the rest of their stock, does it?

He hears the factory in the slums, the place he spent the first few years of his life, went bankrupt just a few months ago. Thank God. That place was practically infested, and the products they made progressively began to have so many defects that their ‘pets’ started to look more like aliens themselves. One eyed, six fingered mutants whose only purpose in life was to be stared at and thrown away.

He's lucky that the only thing a little wrong about him is his brain. All things considered, the fact that he came out human shaped is already a miracle, so Ivan doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking about what's wrong with him and instead only enjoys being able to walk on two legs and see and smell and taste. Live in the moment, one might say.

…Well. He guesses that's not really the case anymore.

The thing is, being surrounded by other kids his age makes him more aware than ever of his defects. Nobody else in this school could probably understand what it's like to be so haphazardly made, pieced together by aliens who were probably following a suspicious, third party instruction manual – the freaking ripoff version of a regular person. And he's the lucky one. The one who got away with looking human, at least.

In the end, though, everyone can tell that something's a bit wrong with him. It leaks through the cracks every time he smiles at something he shouldn't and every time he says something off putting (which is every time he opens his mouth). It's like every time he does something, even if he's following what someone else does, he's only imitating what it's like to be a human. And not only that, but he's also doing a shit job at it.

Let’s be real. One friend over twelve years of life that still gets mad at him every few seconds is not a great track record. 

HOWEVER, if there's one thing Ivan believes in, it's that everything can be fixed with enough effort. After all, that's how he managed to find his one friend, Till, by relentlessly bothering him until he gave in, so of course it has to work again! He may have a weird personality, but he can fix it! He may have a weak body, but he can fix it! He may have no friends, but he can fix it!

…So he gets to work. 

Sleep isn't as important as studying, so he cuts it out. Neither is lunch, so yeah, that's going to. Showering? He makes a stand for himself and a long distance pointer so he can look at flashcards while doing it. Perfect. He's a genius.

Working out is more of an endeavor. Of course, Ivan can't make the first deadline, so his routine is doubled. He can't make that one either, so it's doubled again…and then again. Obviously, at that point, it's practically physically impossible to do, so…

Hard work. Hard work. Hard work, Ivan thinks desperately, as he eyes the clock like he's gonna make it suddenly speed up. Damn!! He's still on hour three of eight! God, keep going Ivan, you've gotta win back Unsha’s good graces!

B-but is this even humanly possible?

Not even halfway through…he's gonna throw up…

***

“Dude. You definitely look like you shouldn't be in class right now.”

“Till…I'm dying…I can't do this anymore…”

“What the hell? Go back home, moron!”

***

Anakt Garden, as the best pet human training school on the planet Anakt (hence the name), boasts itself on the premier quality of their pets. Their mental health, physical ability, and unique skill sets are top notch across the board, enough to be sold for a premium. 

There's a couple of pet human schools scattered across the galaxy – even in their solar system – but Anakt is the only one specifically focused on music. It's no wonder. Segyein anatomy makes it nearly impossible for most species to produce melodies, so they've learned to use humans as a substitution for what they lack. That's why they created the show Alien Stage. Songs sung by dying men are the most beautiful of all, right?

He doesn't really see the point in watching something as gruesome as that. It seems counterintuitive. Regardless, guardians keep putting their pets in Alien Stage for fame and fortune, and pets keep going willingly for the slim chance of winning their freedom – hoards and hoards of delusional idiots.

Ehem – problems with society aside – Anakt Garden is a music school. They say there's other schools; ones for art, ones for sports, ones for hospitality…maybe even more. Ivan doesn't exactly know what they do, because his whole life has been full of music. Vocal lessons in the morning, music theory in the afternoon, more lessons in the evening, training at night. His whole life is more or less geared towards singing. And don't get him wrong, he likes singing just fine, but doing something 24 hours a day gets tiring.

That is to say, he's really sick of singing. 

Today, though, it all changes!

“What class are you gonna sign up for?” Ivan asks, leaning to the side and poking Till with the end of his pen.

Till scowls. “Not telling. Pick your own!”

Rude. Ivan looks down at his tablet and half considers circling ‘Art’ under the list of available elective courses offered at Anakt, knowing that Till would obviously choose that one, but decides to circle ‘Tech & Circuits’ instead. As much as he'd love to annoy Till for all hours of the day, his urge to bend all of Unsha’s fancy equipment to his will is stronger. He still needs to build his extra spikey, cancer inducing alien collar. No, he hasn't forgotten.

“What are you gonna do for your club?” Ivan whispers unsubtly.

“Are you incapable of having an original thought?”

Here's the thing. Ivan and Till’s class of pets have grown old enough to be moved to the secondary section of Anakt, and with that, they get certain privileges that they didn't have before in their primary section – for their mental well being, how considerate. Now, their standard ‘play time’ in the garden has been replaced with one elective course in school and one club outside of school, which may or may not be related to music. 

Ivan’s will definitely not be music. 

“We're not even picking our clubs until next week,” Till adds offhandedly. “How would I possibly know?”

“Huh? We're not?”

“Ivan, were you even listening to the teacher?”

Uh, oops. He was too busy trying to inconspicuously stay upright while having the deepest sleep he's ever had in his life. 

“Do you know what kind of clubs they'll be?” Ivan asks curiously. “Like art and stuff?”

“Yeah, or like music and writing… I think,” Till replies. “Oh, I heard from somewhere that Anakt just added a Robotics club. You like that kinda crap, right?”

If it were any other time, and not at this exact moment when Ivan just woke up, brain scrambled, from a life changing doze, he'd notice how Till makes sure to mention that in a very off handed and artificially absentminded way, almost like he doesn't want Ivan to realize that he actually pays attention to the stuff he likes and went hunting for a club he'd enjoy. Instead, this stuff flies so far above his head it might as well be rotating in outer space right now.

The only thing his brain fog allows him to think is this: 

How can he possibly handle a club? He's already gotta run eight hours a day. Soon to be sixteen. Wait a second, that means that in two weeks he's gonna be running thirty two hours a day, how is that possible? He's gonna be in cosmic freaking run debt!

Panicking, Ivan falls silent. He needs to find a solution to this. He’s gotta skirt around Unsha so that he stands corrected but also not offended, so he needs to do something related to exercise – like sports. But how can he do sports? He has no friends. If he stands any chance to replace that diabolical running, he needs to do something where people are forced to practice together every day, something like –

A club.

“You know if they have any sports clubs?” 

“Sports?” Till sputters, looking taken aback. “I – I didn't know you liked that kinda stuff…”

Ivan shrugs. When the teacher comes around handing out flyers for all the different clubs that they'll be picking out next week, he asks for one of every sports team they have. 

***

Nobody likes to know that they're wrong. Ivan’s used to it because he's wrong most of the time, but someone like Unsha? Ivan knows his type. That Segyein probably thinks pure gold leaks out of his ass.

Manipulating these kinds of people is easier than it looks. All you gotta do is plant some seeds of an idea into their head, cause some problem in need of fixing, butter them up incredibly well and voila – they'll be rolling all over themselves trying to say that it was their idea in the first place.

So, the next time he tries and epically fails to run for eight straight hours, he makes sure to drop a sports club flyer on the floor right under a security camera. He pins another to the corkboard in the lobby. And, for good measure, he lockpicks Unsha’s office door and slides one inside his desk cabinet as well. 

Goon 1 and Goon 2, as per usual, take their suspiciously long breaks outside. He understands that it must be boring to watch their boss’s useless pet running for his life, but he doesn't think that they realize that he can see them playing patty-cake through the foggy glass window. Is that supposed to be fun for them? What, are they children?

Whatever. Clearly, they find this exercise boring, and he finds it hellish. Win win for all.

Ivan allows his latest singing grade to fall a little lower than usual – enough to attract interest, not enough to risk punishment – and it's over. When he’s met with Unsha’s holographic image displayed against the wall the next time he goes down to the lab, Ivan knows that he's won.

“I see that you haven’t made your new deadline,” Unsha says, voice staticy. He must be several galaxies away right now. “This means we need to double your routine again, but I suppose that would cut into your class time, so let's hold off for another week.”

Ivan’s getting a bit better at reading the expressions on Unsha’s face. All of them are a little warped – hard to see under layers of blubber – but if he were to guess, right now he looks…thoughtful.

“Speaking of class, I see your performance has been dropping recently,” Unsha muses. “My wife has been worried that you won't be able to get into Alien Stage at this rate. Tch, what a bother. I've already been training you to do that, but it seems as though the results are only getting worse.”

He's grateful for his owner, really, but the guy knows absolutely nothing about humans. Why even buy one if he can't even bother to do some basic research?

“Cut down the time,” Ivan mumbles quietly, staring at the screen intently.

Unsha stares back, an unimpressed, hairless brow lifted.

“Excuse me?”

Pets aren't supposed to talk back to their owners. That's what he tells Till all the time, don't talk back unless you're itching for a beating, but right now – with Unsha a million light years away and Ivan on the verge of a mental breakdown, can you blame him for being a little cocky?

“You should cut down my exercising time,” Ivan repeats, voice firm. 

A man like Unsha has no sympathy, but he is capable of seeing reason. So, Ivan continues. “I don't have enough time to practice singing given my current routine. Either cut down the hours, or find a different avenue for exercise.”

Unsha scoffs incredulously. “I didn't realize you were such a talker,” he says. “Giving ultimatums, are we? What makes you think you have the authority to do that?”

“I don't, sir,” Ivan replies. “It's your choice.”

The ball is in his court entirely. If this were a game of strategy, it would be one where it's perpetually Unsha’s turn, given unlimited time and a comprehensive dictionary on combative techniques. The only thing Ivan could possibly hope to beat him with is a solid setup and a lack of self preservation.

Unsha blinks, surprised.

“...Correct,” he says. He then pauses for a long while. “Well, I suppose you know yourself best. I'll allow you to cut your routine down to six hours.”

Unsha has made his move. A safe one, neither taking Ivan’s pieces nor risking his own. But hell no is Ivan going to take this mediocre offer! Angrily, he prepares to make his own move, going straight for the heart of Unsha’s battalion.

“Exercising outside of class requires both time and funding,” Ivan replies, eyeing both Goon 1 and Goon 2. “But if you think this is best, then I agree.”

Shockingly, Unsha only hums pensively at this. “What are you insinuating? Is there a better solution?”

Ivan remains silent, waiting for Unsha’s mind to finally connect the dots.

“It would be best if you could exercise at school…” Unsha muses. “I know Anakt has a couple of sports teams. Are they open to new arrivals?”

There we go.

“I can sign up for a sport as a club,” Ivan informs. 

“Hm! Perfect. Well, if you do that, then we'll no longer have to do outside training,” Unsha says, and Ivan has to bite his cheek to keep from screaming in happiness. “Our next check in will be in a week. Keep working hard.”

The call cuts off, and Unsha’s face disappears off the screen in a flash. It might just be his imagination, but it looks like Goon 1 and Goon 2 also have a bit of a pep in their step when they walk him out the door.

***

Ivan is smiling maniacally when he opens his tablet to make his club selection.

“What's up with you?” Till asks beside him, voice already detached from how used to this he is. 

“I did it, Till!” he says softly. “I got my owner to agree to get rid of my exercises if I join a sport.”

Till looks at him incredulously. “Wait, seriously?” he says, mouth agape. “That’s great! How did you even…?”

“I’m just a genius,” Ivan says smugly.

“...Tch. More like a spoiled brat.”

Ivan doesn't reply, scrolling right past the list of clubs to immediately get to the sports section. “Which one of these looks the easiest to do?”

He holds up the screen to Till’s face, and the other boy squints as he leans in. 

“Figures,” Till sighs. “And here I was, thinking you actually liked sports. Nope. You just wanted to be lazy again.”

“I can't help who I am.”

Till rolls his eyes so hard they almost fall out of his head, but he still furrows his brows like he's giving the choice some honest thought.

“I don't know anything about these,” he admits. “Uhhh, basketball is the one with the hoops, right?”

“I dunno.”

“Bastard, it's your choice! You didn't research any of this at all?”

Ivan shrugs. Anything is better than all of that running, so he really couldn't bring himself to care.

“I know my roommate is signing up for a sport too…” Till muses. “I think he said football?”

“Football?” Ivan has no idea what that is, but it's something to do with balls…? “Is that easy?”

“Must be if Acorn’s doing it,” Till scowls. “He probably just thinks it’ll make him look cool.”

Oh? “Do you think it’s cool, Till?”

Till shrugs. “Sure. It'll get you all muscle-y, won't it?”

Hm??? Football will make Till think he's cool?

He's never circled something so fast in his life.

Chapter Text

“My name's Ivan. I'm trying out for the football club.”

The coach doesn't seem to be impressed. Actually, the coach appears to be one of the alien administrators that check them in during the mornings and give out tests in the afternoons, and from the way his three eyes blink slowly at him, it's clear that he doesn't appreciate having to stay extra late to watch a bunch of pets mess with balls. 

Ivan almost feels sorry for him. For a music school like Anakt, it must be above an instructor’s pay grade to do this random stuff.

“I know who you are,” the alien garbles out. Huh? Is he famous or something? “You played football before?”

“No, sir.”

“Your friends never played?”

“No, sir.”

“...Do you know what football is?”

Ivan smiles peacefully.

“Not really. Sir.”

Those three eyes, so different from his own, still manage to convey a strong sense of disbelief. Humans and aliens aren't really all that different in that aspect, are they? 

With a deep sigh, the alien defeatedly writes down his name on the clipboard he's holding. He points Ivan over to a corner of the grassy field, where he sees Till’s roommate try to kick the ball. It flies upward and somehow manages to knock straight into his own face. 

“Beginner tryouts are over there,” the alien says, sounding dead inside.

Acorn stumbles back, mumbling and cursing, stepping into a small puddle and slipping pitifully onto the wet grass. 

That's…unfortunate. 

“Thank you,” Ivan nods, also feeling a bit dead inside.

Walking over to the section of the court walled off for newcomers, he sees the state of his (hopefully future) teammates. It’s, well. It could use some work. By that he means he thinks the collective left footedness displayed in this area could break the mind of a weaker man. Ivan knows that Anakt is a music school with little physical requirements, but what is this? Can kicking around a ball really be that hard?

Ivan wanders over to Acorn, who’s on the ground still, looking up despondently at the sky. He doesn't know the guy very well, but he is Till’s roommate, the lucky – um, unlucky bastard. Part of him thinks he owes it to Acorn to show some comfort.

“You good?” Ivan asks, offering a hand to the other boy.

A certain expression passes over the guy’s face when he sees him, but before Ivan can properly analyze it and compare it to his flashcards, it's gone. Acorn sighs heavily, waving Ivan’s hand away and pushing himself up with a groan.

“What do you think?” he grumbles. “Why are you here?”

Ivan tilts his head, letting his hand fall to his side limply. “I'm trying out for the club.”

“Seriously?” Acorn says. “Great. Just great.”

Acorn thinks him joining is great? Hm! Maybe this guy isn't as bad as Till makes him out to be. He sounds a little irritated from falling in the mud, but surely he'll feel better if a familiar face like Ivan is trying out alongside him. Misery loves company, or something along those lines.

“I've never played before either,” Ivan says with a practiced smile, trying to make the other boy feel better. 

Acorn doesn't seem to hear him, too busy looking at his behind and looking miffed that the wet grass left behind nasty looking stains. “What are you talking about? I've played football,” he mumbles. “You know, during the games in the Garden?”

Oh! Yes, Ivan does remember. He used to watch those from behind trees all the time, wishing that he’d be able to join, but the games always mysteriously wrapped up by the time he worked up the courage to ask. 

Acorn shoots him a look. “Oh. Right…” He says. “Nevermind.”

Ah? What does that mean?

Confused, Ivan furrows his brows, something he learned recently during Unsha’s training. Maybe he should change the subject.

“So,” Ivan says, eyeing the solidly unkicked ball and Acorn’s now soiled pants. If he's played before, then what happened here? “Uh, has it been a while?”

Acorn doesn’t look happy. “It's harder than it looks!” he defends. “You know football is an alien sport, right?”

“Is it?” Ivan hums. “Oh, so you aren't doing bad, then. Are you supposed to fall down?”

“Um, no, that’s not…” Acorn says uncomfortably. 

“No? Isn’t it just kicking this around?”

Ivan nudges the football ball back to him, watching it roll gently across the wet grass and come to a stop at his feet. 

“It's way more complicated than that. You really know nothing about this, do you?”

“Hah, yeah,” Ivan laughs, unbothered. “I never really played any sports before. Is it true that it'll make you look cool?”

This startles a laugh out of the other boy. “Maybe if you're good!”

“I'm not.”

“Well, that makes the two of us,” Acorn says, a self-deprecating smile on his face. “To be honest, I only signed up ‘cause I thought I might have a chance with Sua if I wasn't so scrawny. Once I'm good, she'll be all over me, yeah?”

Huh? 

The statement hits Ivan like a train to the face. He blinks slowly, trying to process what was just said.

“Sua?” He says in a question. Does this guy really like someone like her? Is he crazy? Well, he definitely doesn't stand any chance at all. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

Life lesson from his etiquette teacher number one: sometimes lies are necessary.

Acorn immediately brightens. “Yes! I knew it!”

Before Ivan can properly mourn the death of the other boy’s dignity and taste in females, the coach blows his whistle and calls for all the newcomers to line up. Ivan takes his place beside Acorn, eyeing the rest of the trainees. There's only four of them – a sorry number for any other club, but since Anakt’s sports are notoriously bad, this is actually quite a fruitful year for the school. 

Maybe that says something about the quality of the team, Ivan thinks absentmindedly, watching the coach pace up and down the line of trainees.

“My name is Coach Zyzlebub,” the coach says. 

…Interesting.

“You can just call me Coach Z.”

Oh, thank goodness.

“We're losing three players this year,” he continues, looking absentmindedly at his tablet. “Center forward, right wing, and goalie. So that means that,” he looks up, assessing the lineup of newcomers, “we'll be taking all but one of you.”

Woah, way to spark competition. The other three boys look left and right at the other trainees, each probably thinking something along the lines of ‘I won't be the one left out, right?’ Half of Ivan is thinking the same thing. The other half, after seeing the state of the team, is hoping he'll be the rejected one.

“We'll just have you do some basic exercises and evaluate your practical scores based on that,” Coach Z says. “Dribbling and shooting. Ri, do you mind demonstrating?”

An older boy with artfully made blonde hair steps forward. “Yes, Coach,” he says with a smug smile. Ivan has no idea who this guy is, but with the way he carries himself, he feels like he should. He has the most impressive posture he's seen in his life.

Ri brings the ball over to where several small orange cones are lined up in the grass, kicking the ball effortlessly around the cones in a zig-zag motion. The other trainees ooo and ahh as he finishes the line and turns around to do it all the way back again.

“He’s so cool!” Acorn whispers, stars in his eyes.

Is it really that impressive? It doesn't look that difficult. “Who is he?”

“Anakt’s football star,” Acorn says. “Seriously? You don't know him?”

“No…”

“Dude. He brought us to quarter finals last year, remember?”

Ah, shoot. His lack of school spirit is catching up to him. Not that he could possibly bring himself to watch those pitiful games in any circumstance – he’s surprised they even had a singular viewer, to be honest.

“Oh,” he replies, eyebrows jumping as he watches Ri kick the ball into the goal. It has a good bit of power behind it, the ball rocketing into the goal head on. Well, the flashy player does have a bit of an allure to him. Maybe the school’s sports are better than he thinks?

“See?” Acorn says. “So. Cool.”

Ri jogs back up to them, a big grin on his face. He does yet another flashy kick with his foot, not enough to stop looking nonchalant, but enough to make the ball jump into his awaiting palms.

“Easy enough, right?” he smirks, jutting his thumb out towards the field. “Anakt’s on the up and up with me on the team. Do your best, newbies!”

Acorn looks positively enchanted. Well, Ivan can see why. An older, athletic, almost-adult has dared to bestow upon them his presence, and, apparently, he's also the star of the school. It's like a recipe to make new schoolchildren yearn for his approval.

“Alright,” the coach sighs. “You.”

He's looking straight at Ivan. “Yes?”

“You're up first,” he says, tossing a football at him. It lands in his hands, surprisingly light. He turns it around a couple of times just to feel the weird pentagonal shapes. 

It's just kicking a ball. It shouldn't be hard.

“Yes, sir!”

***

“So? How'd it go?”

Out of all people, he didn't expect to be accosted by Till as soon as their roll call finished. Humming, Ivan unlocks his locker and fetches his tablet and pen from the bottom shelf.

“What's with that scary look on your face?” Ivan giggles. “That worried about me, Till?”

Till slams his locker closed as soon as he's done taking his stuff out, and when Ivan turns to him in vague interest, his face is screwed up in a frustrated, constipated expression.

“Tch. Not even a little,” Till grumbles. “This is our one chance to get into a club, and that's it for the entire year! Shouldn't you be taking it more seriously?”

“Who says I’m not?” 

“Your face, idiot,” Till accuses. “You didn’t even know what football was before trying out. Don’t tell me you seriously still picked it?”

“I did,” Ivan shrugs. “It wasn't too bad. The tryouts were really easy.”

He's completely bluffing. The truth is, although football didn't exactly turn out to be extremely difficult, he did lose the ball twice when dribbling, which might have caused him to be docked points…if the coach had been paying attention. Instead, the tired alien had been glued to his tablet the whole time, looking at god knows what. Talk about unprofessionalism.

The person who definitely had the worst of it was definitely Acorn. Ivan winces just thinking about the solid ten minutes they all had to wait, watching him chase the ball across half the field just to dribble it around the small cones. Although this means Ivan’s probably guaranteed a spot, he still feels pretty bad for the other boy.

“The other candidates were pretty good too, but your roommate, he, uh…” Ivan pauses. “He struggled.”

“Yeah, he was telling me all about it last night,” Till sighs. “Said it was too hard. Still, if a green idiot like you could do it, it must’ve been hella easy!”

“What if I’m just a natural-born genius?”

“Pfft, as if. You think you’re the next Ri?”

“Wait, you know this guy too?” Ivan says, eyebrows shooting up. “Is he really that good?”

“Actually, I don’t know…I just see him around sometimes talking himself up,” Till shrugs. “I’m surprised you don’t know him. Football enthusiast my ass.”

“I never said I was an enthusiast; only a genius.”

“Sure, sure.”

“What, you jealous?” Ivan says with a cocky smile. 

“Jealous of what? Being touched in the head?”

“I see you’re getting more creative with your insults.”

“Hmph, they’ve always been creative,” Till says, perking up a little. “But you're not the only genius around here! Allow me to regale you with the story of how I crushed my opponents in music tryouts yesterday…”

“Ooh. You're getting a little cocky there, don't you think?”

“Shut up! Let me have my moment!”

Ivan laughs. “I will, I will! But is it really a surprise? Obviously, around someone like you, even a great performance would sound like trash.”

Till rubs the back of his neck harshly, face reddening. “You think? I mean, of course!” he sputters, looking pleased with himself. “They got to hear a sneak peak of my new song. Urak even let me rent out an electric guitar!”

“Urak being nice to you? Am I on Anakt’s second moon?” 

“He’s nice sometimes…” Till starts to say, then reconsiders. “Actually no, you’re right. He’s a fuckin’ ass.”

Ivan laughs. “Like master, like pet,” he snickers. “But what’s this about a new song? You never showed me. You know, your best friend in the whole wide world?”

“Who said you were my best friend?” Till fires back, brows arching. Ouch. “I just keep you around ‘cause I’m a nice guy like that. Anyways, the song’s not finished yet. I just played it at tryouts because I wanted to shock everyone a little.”

Ivan groans. “I’m so jealooouuus, Till. I would’ve come if I didn’t have the stupid football thing.”

“Idiot, that ‘stupid football thing’ is way more important!”

“Then can you play it for me again? Please?” Ivan pouts sadly.

“No! Wait until it’s done, you impatient brat!”

***

It's the next day. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and everything is perfectly well and good in Anakt, because Ivan knows he's been finally released from Hell’s dark depths and now he's here, back in regular Hell and not in super mega terrible Hell. His legs have finally started to recover from overuse (a whole two weeks after his last marathon), and he celebrates this by skipping his way over to the football field, happy and carefree. 

“What kind of idiot skips their way to practice?” he hears someone scoff once he reaches the rest of the team. “You that happy to play or something?”

It's that guy again, Ri. His blonde hair is looking particularly gelled today, is that some sort of new style? It has to be a good one if he’s managed to catch Till’s attention. 

“I guess so,” he says offhandedly. 

“Talk about a lukewarm answer,” Ri chuckles, ambling leisurely over to him from where he was leaning against the bleachers. “What’s your name, little guy?”

“I’m Ivan.”

“Nice to meet you, Ivan!” Ri says, smiling at him sharply. He seems like a nice upperclassman, though Ivan doesn’t know how to feel about being called ‘little.’ “You know who I am?”

“You’re…” Ivan begins, tilting his head to make sure he’s got the right person. “...Ri?”

“Bingo! Captain of the football team, winner of Anakt’s hearts,” Ri winks. “Don’t worry – I’ll ignore the hesitation.”

Ivan nods. “Nice to meet you.”

“It sure is,” Ri smirks. 

When Ri turns around and starts walking to the corner of the field where everyone else has gathered, Ivan has to jog to catch up to the much taller boy. The team’s huddled up in one of the corners next to a worn down wooden bench, where Coach Z is sitting, still as despondent as the day Ivan met him.

“Coach looks so excited at our first meeting, doesn’t he?” Ri whispers to Ivan, not bothering to hide his obvious facepalm. He sweeps an arm towards the group of huddled people, a grin on his face. “Anyway, this is the team. Anakt’s not got much in the way of sports, but hey, at least some of these guys aren’t too bad.”

“They look…” Ivan says, eyeing the various people standing around. They’re all older, taller, and usually would be the type of people he’d try to avoid on the streets. But hey, who is he to judge a book by its cover? “...Nice.”

“Well, that's one way to put it,” Ri huffs. He claps Ivan on the back suddenly and gives him a firm push to the side, nodding at the new students from tryouts. “Why don't you go hang with the kids over there? Coach is going to let us know who got in or not in just a bit.”

“Okay. Thanks for showing me around.”

“All part of being captain, shortie,” Ri winks, turning around and walking to the older players. 

What a generous guy, Ivan thinks to himself, absentmindedly walking over to the younger kids. No wonder everyone seems to like him so much.

He's half expecting to see the three trainees sitting in complete silence, nervous from the upcoming selection, but to his surprise all of them are chatting with each other, smiling happily. It makes him remember that he needs to smile too, and he pastes one on his face quickly. It's becoming more natural after his training. 

It must be a pretty good conversation, since nobody looks up when he approaches, not even when he's barely a meter away from their bench. Ivan tilts his head and evaluates the situation. Would it be rude to interrupt? 

“Hello,” he tries, injecting some cheer into his voice. “Good afternoon!”

Acorn flickers his eyes up minutely. “Oh, hi Ivan,” he says, directing his friendly smile up at him. Ivan smiles wider, mood brightening once he realizes that Acorn must be happy to see him. “And uh, yeah, good afternoon!”

“What are you guys talking about?”

“Nothing really. We just met,” Acorn explains. “This is Leaf,” he introduces, gesturing at a green haired boy sitting next to him, “and this is Oak,” he points at a boy with a brown buzzcut. 

“Nice to meet you. Ivan, right?” Leaf asks. 

“Mm-hm.”

“You kinda look familiar,” Oak chimes in, swinging his feet leisurely on the bench. “Nice shoes, by the way.”

Ivan looks down at his feet in confusion. He's just wearing the old white pair Unsha gave him a couple months ago, standard Anakt approved flats. “Thanks. I like yours too,” he adds, just to be polite.

“You mean this old pair? They're way too small now, but my guardian won't buy me a new one until I play a sport,” Oak huffs, irritated. “Talk about a penny pincher.”

“Aw, dude, lighten up,” Leaf snickers.

“Then what'll happen if you don't get on the team?” Ivan asks seriously. 

“Well then, you better get ready for my toes to be popping out the front of these shoes!” Oak says, pointing at his feet angrily. “Yeesh, they already feel like they're gonna burst through!”

“Eww, that's gross!”

“Yeah, can we please change the subject?”

The other two boys say that, but they're both laughing, not looking uncomfortable at all. Ivan's confused. So do they want the subject to be changed or not? He's guessing they probably don't want to talk about tryouts again, so maybe he should try something new…?

“Why do you guys have those names?” he asks abruptly. 

“Those names? What?” Acorn asks, looking surprised like he forgot Ivan was standing right in front of him. 

“Yeah, like Acorn, Leaf, Oak…” Ivan lists out, feeling weirdly nervous now that everyone's looking at him. Is commenting on someone's name rude? No, they just have to wait until he gets to the ‘punchline’ of his joke – people like jokes!

“It's like you guys are all one giant tree!” he finishes, smiling hard at the three of them. That should be a good one, right? He even used context clues for the setup and everything!

“Wait… you're right!” Leaf says, eyes widening in shock. Eh? He was supposed to laugh, not be surprised, but, well… 

“We do all have tree names!” Oak realizes. “That's crazy. I never met anyone who didn't make fun of my name before.”

“Oak is at least a passable name though. My name is Acorn.”

“As if Leaf is any better! My guardian probably only named me that because my hair is bright fucking green.”

The three of them are smiling, and Ivan continues to do so as they huddle together so closely that he can barely see in between them. His joke must've brought them closer together! But, why does it feel like he's now the one who doesn't get why it's funny…?

“They should call us the tree trio,” Oak snickers. “The three newbies of the football team.”

“That's the worst name I've ever heard,” Leaf replies.

“Hey, I don't think it's a bad idea!” Acorn pitches in. “Kinda makes our weakness a strength.”

“Tree Trio it is,” Oak says. “Two to one vote.”

“You guys have zero taste!”

It's then, as Ivan kind of zones out while focusing hard to keep a smile on his face, that Coach Z blows his whistle. He immediately walks towards him and looks around in confusion when none of the other team members make any move from their conversations, still whispering and laughing amongst themselves. Coach Z, looking more impatient than he knew a Segyein could look, blows his whistle again and sighs when everyone starts slowly sauntering over to the bare patch of grass where only Ivan is standing. 

“First meet of the season and club behavior is already like this,” Coach Z mutters under his breath. “Why do I even try with pets?”

He’s never heard a Segyein sound so annoyed before. Instinctively, it makes him uneasy, and he subtly looks left and right as every other team member takes their sweet time walking up. 

“What’s up, Coach?” Ri drawls, hands in his pockets. “Is it time to announce results already?”

“Yes,” The Segyein says emphatethically, a look in his three eyes like he’s about to quit his job right then and there. “You know, the announcement that you all came here for.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Coach Z sighs and taps his tablet open. “Anyways, so since we’re out three players, we’ll be selecting three from the four of you,” he says, pointing at where Ivan and the other newcomers are standing. “Oak, you’re going to be our new keeper.”

“Sick,” Oak nods.

“Right wing will be Leaf,” he continues monotonously. “Your track time is good enough…”

“Sweet…!” Leaf whispers under his breath, excitedly clutching at Oak and Acorn’s arms out of excitement.

“And lastly, center forward will be…”

Ivan glances at Acorn from the corner of his eye. For some reason, the other boy is already whispering giddily at his friends, stars in his eyes like he’s already been selected. Ivan twists his fingers together nervously, wondering if he'll be disappointed when he's benched. He can't logistically see any way Acorn could have possibly made it in – even though Ivan didn't do particularly great either, Acorn took nearly double the time to finish their drills compared to the other students. Surely, the other boy wouldn't resent him for taking the last spot, right?

“...Acorn.”

Coach Z clears his throat and squints at his screen. “Center forward will be Acorn?” he repeats, a hint of a question in his voice.

Ivan blinks. 

He turns around to where Acorn is celebrating with his friends, the whole team coming over to congratulate the new star player in the making, and he thinks…huh. 

That's unexpected.

Maybe he misunderstood the rules of football, or something. Maybe he should really have put more thought into choosing a club rather than wasting his one choice on a club that Till probably doesn't think is that cool anyway. Maybe he shouldn't have hedged his bets with Unsha so aggressively, because now how is he going to explain this away?

“Good job, little squirt!” he sees Ri grin from afar, ruffling Acorn’s brown hair with a vengeance. Acorn's beaming ear to ear, looking so happy that Ivan blinks again and shrugs to himself.

Well. It's not like he really cares that much. When it comes to passion, Acorn's definitely the one who deserves it.

“Congratulations to our new players,” Coach Z continues, not an ounce of excitement in his voice. “Ivan, you'll be our substitute in case we need one.”

Ivan nods. He supposes that doesn't sound bad. The benefits of being on a team, without the expectations of being actually good at the sport. Maybe if he plays his cards right, Unsha will never find out, and he can spend his newfound free time bothering Till instead!

There’s a lot of chatter behind him, and he turns around to look at the crowd of people surrounding Acorn, older members offering advice and the other new members gushing over how they’re going to be the best football players ever. They have their backs turned on him, and it feels like a faint wall, a feeling of awkwardness crawling up his skin. Ivan tries to catch Acorn’s eye through the gaps between broad backs, but it’s like he’s turning away every time Ivan glances at him.

“Alright, alright, enough celebrating,” Coach Z says. “We still have practice to get to. Everyone, on the track and do a mile.” 

There’s a chorus of unhappy grumbling as people begin to shuffle away. Ri leads the pack, groaning loudly and complaining about ‘working us so hard when club’s just began, stupid aliens!’ 

Ivan nearly has to do a double take when he hears such words directed at a Segyein. Has the master and pet system flipped overnight, or does he need to get a hearing test done? To talk to their handlers like that, this guy must be something else…

“I can’t believe I need to run a mile in these raggedy shoes,” Oak complains by his side. Ivan jumps a little, excitedly thinking he’s talking to him, but immediately deflates once he realizes he’s turned towards Acorn. 

“We’ll live,” Acorn laughs.

“No we won’t. I haaate running,” Leaf adds.

Ivan purses his lips, thinking of all those terrible long nights forced to his limit on the treadmill, and clutches at his elbow as his stomach begins to roll again. “Me too…” he mumbles quietly at the empty air, walking onto the track a bit behind everyone else.

“Hm?” Oak suddenly asks, turning around a little. “Ivan, did you say something?”

Oh. He didn’t realize they knew he was also there.

“No, it was nothing,” he replies, just in case they might be annoyed with him listening in. He kicks at the ground, waiting for Coach Z to give the signal. 

The good thing about his training is that short distances, like a mile, are now as easy to him as breathing. He used to run dozens of them, after all. That doesn't mean he has to like it.

When he looks up again, he’s surprised to see Acorn staring at him, his eyebrows furrowed into a confused looking frown. When Acorn catches his gaze, he immediately whips around, the back of his neck red. 

“Oh,” he remembers to say. “Congratulations, Acorn.”

Acorn grabs at his neck, his hand shaking. Maybe he thinks Ivan resents him for taking the last spot – silly. That couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Before Acorn has a chance to reply, Coach Z is already blowing his whistle, and a stampede of heavy footsteps and panting breaths drowns out any chance of Ivan hearing a response.

***

“Do we go sit over there once we're done?” Ivan asks calmly, pointing over at the bench where Ri has been lounging for the past minute. 

Coach Z looks up, unimpressed, from his tablet. “You're done? It's only been four and a half minutes.”

Oh…maybe he’s disappointed with his time. Ivan admits, it wasn't his best.

“You're sure you ran four laps?” 

Ivan tilts his head. “I did,” he replies, confused. Is that not enough? The other players are still on the track… maybe they're going above and beyond? “Do you want me to do another one?”

The coach stares at him for a long while, before shaking his head and sighing again. 

“No, it's fine. Just go sit down…”

Ivan walks over to the bench and plops down on the floor next to it, as Ri has made himself comfy on the seat and is currently stretched out over the whole surface. He must be really fast if he's been here for that long of a time.

“Doing the slackers shortcut, eh?” Ri chuckles, barely lifting his head. “First meeting and already feeling lazy?”

Ivan blinks. He didn't understand half the words that just came out of Ri’s mouth. “I don't know what that means.”

“Oh, no need to play dumb with me,” Ri grins. “I get it. Practice is totally useless.”

***

Turns out, football practice is child’s play compared to whatever training Unsha’s partial to. Ivan walks his way out of the field feeling a pleasant burn in his legs, nothing like the fiery rage of hell ripping through his tendons, and he leisurely stretches as he walks with a big smile on his face. He so made the right decision. He's basically a genius!

He can't wait to tell Till about this new development. He won the jackpot…through losing. Fortune sure works in strange ways.

In the evenings, he can usually guarantee that Till will be sitting where he usually does, under the tree on top of the Garden’s highest hill. When they first met, Till would occasionally try to hide from him in odd spots, but he quickly gave up once he realized that Ivan would always track him down eventually. That was his own fault. His hiding spots were always so lousy!

It’s because of this that when Ivan walks up the hill and doesn’t see the other boy sitting at his usual spot, he’s confused. Did he leave already? Or maybe he hasn’t arrived yet?

“Till?” Ivan calls out, circling the tree once, twice, three times, like the other boy will magically appear out from thin air. “Tiiiill?”

Has he really started hiding from Ivan again? He huffs, a little put out. He half considers wandering around looking for the other boy, but ends up sliding down the tree to sit on the grass, knees to his chest.

Maybe Ivan won't be a bother for once. Special treat – limited time edition. Till should be grateful. 

“Psst, hey!”

A soft voice calls out from above him, and he would've probably brushed it off as the wind if it weren't for the leaves that rustle and fall onto his head. Ivan looks up, a wide smile splitting his face, and he hates to admit it but his heart does a weird little swirl once he realizes that he hasn't been abandoned again.

“I can't believe I watched you loop around that tree three times without looking up even once,” Till’s voice calls out, weirdly thick. His face is covered by the tree’s leaves so that the only thing Ivan can make out is his dangling legs. “Stupid Ivan.”

Heat rises to his face despite the fact that he couldn't care less about Till seeing him…investigating. Er, on second thought, maybe it is a little embarrassing. 

“It’s not my fault you chose the weirdest spot of all time,” Ivan pouts. “How'd you even get up there?”

“Flying.”

“...I don’t think –”

“I was joking! Man, you really are hopeless,” Till sighs. “I climbed up here. Duh.”

Ivan blinks innocently. “Oh, I’m surprised you have the upper body strength to do that, Till.”

“Please just go die.”

He's too easy to rile up. Smirking, Ivan holds out his short arms above his head. “Come on, why don't you drop down already? I’ll catch you.”

“Yeah, no thanks.”

“Aww, why? I won't drop you, promise!”

“And you think I'll just believe you? A useless shortie like you?”

“I'm not that short,” Ivan grumbles. “Please? I want to see your face.”

There's a pause, and then a faint groan. “Ugh, you're so annoying. Why don't you just come up here instead? Don't you know how to climb?”

“Huh? Oh. I'm not so good with heights…”

A flash of a memory fades in and out of his mind, and he has to shake his head to disperse it. “Ehh, it's not that serious though,” he laughs quickly, putting one shaky leg on a notch on the side of the trunk. “Here, if you won't come down, I'll even brave my fears for you, no need to thank –”

THUNK.

“...Me…” he trails off, staring at Till, who just landed face down in the grass.

“I look like a mess,” Till mumbles into the ground. “Don't laugh, or I'll destroy you.”

He stands up slowly and turns to him. Ivan's stomach drops once he sees the other boy fully. He wasn't lying – Till does look like a mess, face red and puffy, dirt and tear stains all over his round cheeks like he was crying and tried to smear the tears away. His mind automatically works overtime – was it bullies? Teachers? Urak? 

“A mess? That's an understatement,” he says blandly. Suddenly, he drops his smile and leans forward, serious. “Who did this?”

Till sits down and sets his head on his knees. “What's with that freaky face?” he mumbles. “Nothing happened!”

“It was your guardian again, wasn't it?” Ivan frowns. “You're hurt? Where? Do you want me to –”

“Dude, don't get ahead of yourself!” Till yells, pushing Ivan off when he starts climbing over him. “Literally, nothing happened. It's stupid. A-and I'm not crying, dummy, so stop wiping my face!”

What a liar. Ivan squishes Till’s cheeks and pulls them vigorously. “Tell meeee.”

“It's embarrassing!”

“I don't care,” Ivan rolls his eyes. “What if I tell you something embarrassing first?”

Till blinks, eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. “You? Embarrassed?” he scoffs. “Can you even feel that emotion?”

“Not really,” Ivan admits. “But it's something that other people would usually consider embarrassing.”

“You've done your homework, huh?”

“Of course!” Ivan nods proudly. “So I'll tell you my story, and then you'll tell me yours. How's that sound?”

Till slowly slides down the tree trunk until he's lying down on the grass, a big sigh escaping him. “Fine.”

“Yay!” Ivan cheers, fist pumping the air. Bribery almost never works on Till, but he's seen a streak of unprecedented luck today. “You know the club I tried out for?”

“Football, right?” 

“Yeah. I didn't get in,” Ivan smiles, happy. “I'm ‘benched.’ Terrible, right?”

Till laughs softly. “Huh? That's not embarrassing. You told me yourself that this was your first time even hearing about the sport. What exactly were you expecting?” he grins. “Wanted to be the star already?”

Ivan feels his ears get hot. “No…I mean…I just didn't think I did that bad!” he suddenly blurts out, and then his face gets all warm thinking about how everyone was surrounding Acorn all proud while Ivan was just standing there, because he failed so hard that he couldn't get in even with a 75% chance. But he's not supposed to be feeling this weird, right? He's supposed to be happy for Acorn…

“U-um, your turn now, right?” he stammers, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He peeks over at Till and sighs in relief when he sees the other boy is barely paying attention to him, as usual. 

Hopefully he doesn't think he's weird. Or selfish. Acorn is Till’s roommate, after all, so he shouldn't just assume that Till wanted Ivan to get in. With bated breath, he waits until Till speaks.

“It's kind of funny you said that,” Till smiles bitterly, after a brief pause. “Because I…also didn't get into the music club.”

Ivan’s smile freezes on his face.

“What?”

“Yeah,” Till laughs. “Funny, right? Here I was, talking myself up, when all along, no one wanted me. No surprise there.”

Ivan stands up, shocked, then sits back down again. “That doesn't make any sense,” he says to himself. Till is a musical genius – the best in their class. Maybe the best in any class, ever. Ivan isn't saying that because he's biased; it's just the plain and simple truth.

“Maybe it was a mistake,” Ivan reasons. “They wrote down the wrong score for you, didn't they? Let me talk to the teacher for you. I'll ask for a regrade.”

“What? No!” Till says. “Look, I don't know where this confidence in me came from, but it wasn't anything like that. I just…I just suck, okay? I'm not as good as I thought I was…” 

This guy!

Frustrated, Ivan shakes him frantically by the shoulders. “But you are! You are!” 

“L-l-let g-go of –”

“You’re seriously not joking? I think you're joking.”

“No, I already told you I'm –”

“Huh? Really? I don't get it at all. I mean, your ranking is terrible, but your practical scores are the best in the class! And your voice, it's –”

“Okay, okay, enough already!” Till suddenly screeches, unlatching himself from Ivan's grasp. He sounds annoyed and his face is red. “What, are you trying to make me feel better?”

“I could care less about your feelings.”

“Of course,” the other boy sighs. “Look, let me just explain it to you. My style, it's a little rough, and you know better than anyone that the Segyeins don't like it. I mean, I don't care. Actually, it's better that they don't like it!” he boasts proudly. Then, he deflates, a sheepish look on his face. “Uh, but I guess the bands in the music club weren't really my biggest fans. Said they wanted someone with a more civilized style – whatever that means.”

Ivan nearly rolls his eyes. What a stupid justification to turn down a once in a lifetime talent, tch. These useless hacks wouldn't know spirit and passion if it slapped them across the face.

“Where's the fun in that?” Ivan replies. “You really want to join people who think this way?”

“Hell no! But, it's like you said. It's just freakin’ embarrassing,” Till chuckles. “I feel like a failure…”

Till grows silent, looking up at the clouds with a forlorn expression on his face. Ah…it looks like this small issue is still really bothering him, isn't it?

“Hey, you ‘failed’ because you didn't conform to dumb alien tastes. I failed because I suck at football,” Ivan fake brags. “We are not the same.”

“Dumbass, how is this an accurate comparison? You've been playing football for two days, I've been playing music my whole life. Objectively, I had the bigger loss.”

Huh? This idiot can't even accept Ivan’s attempt at comfort without turning it into a competition? Well, fine then!

“Get real. Music club is the most competitive club at Anakt, meanwhile we had four people try out for three spots and I still didn't make it.”

“You know, the bottom ranked student made it into a band before me. Isn't that just depressing?”

“Wow, that is really sad. But guess what? Acorn got the main position before I did.”

“Damn, seriously?”

“So you agree I'm obviously the bigger loser here?”

“No, you moron. If you were listening to me at all, you'd know that I'm the bigger loser…”

***

“You.”

It's like whiplash bidding goodbye to Till after class and then turning around to be immediately face to face with Sua. One might say it could be like heaven and hell, from fiery passion to the cold dead eyes that he often sees in his own mirror. But, for some reason, he still perks up regardless.

“Hi,” he says, a small smile spreading across his face as he looks up at the blank faced girl. “Do you need something?”

“Next Thursday. Dance club concert. We’re going,” she states, like it's just the plain and simple truth.

“Why?” Ivan tilts his head, confused. “You’re not going to ask if I have plans already?”

“What worthwhile thing do you have to do besides bothering Till?” she huffs. A passive smile graces her face suddenly, as if she's thinking of someone else (cough, Mizi). “It’s Mizi’s dance concert. She got into the club yesterday.”

“Ah, congratulations,” Ivan nods. He didn't know Mizi liked dance, but she seemed like she would be good at it. “She's having her first concert in a week? That’s soon.”

“Dance Club’s popular, so they do a performance to kick off the school year. I guess you wouldn't know because you don't go outside.”

“I’m outside all the time…?”

“Sure you are. Anyways, don't think I'm asking because I want to go with you. Mizi’s the one who likes you, not me.”

Oh…is that so…? He doesn't know whether to be happy or sad, so he settles on being neutral. “Mm. I'll be there,” he answers.

“Good.”

There's a beat of silence as the two of them simply stare at each other. They've both always been more on the quiet side, preferring to talk more through actions than words, but ever since Sua started to exclusively stick around Mizi, he's seen less and less of her. Sometimes, it's hard to think of things to speak about – and it's strange. Ivan’s always seen Sua as a relationship formed out of necessity, but a part of him almost misses her pointless lectures and silent comfort.

…Maybe he should say something.

“So how are –” 

“Which club did you –” 

They pause and stare at each other some more.

“What did you –”

“Sorry, I didn't mean –”

More staring.

Ah. This is getting awkward.

“...You go first,” Sua breaks the ice.

“Oh,” Ivan says, not expecting her to do that. “I was just asking what club you chose, that's all.”

“Me? I chose the Astronomy Club.”

Ivan perks up, the name familiar. “That's cool. I heard they have a real planetarium!”

“Yeah, they do,” Sua smiles. “Mizi likes stars, so…”

She trails off, her face all soft and warm. Without him knowing, Sua’s really become such a selfless person, hasn't she? 

“What about you?” she asks.

“Oh. Uhh…” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “The Football Club…”

“What? That team?” Sua says. “I didn't know you liked sports.”

Ivan shrugs. “They're fine, I guess. But I didn't –”

“When's your first game?” Sua interrupts.

“--Huh? Our first game is…” Ivan says, wracking his brain. “...Actually, I have no idea.”

“You don't even know something that important? Typical,” Sua smirks. “Well, tell me when you find out. I've got to get to my next class.”

“Sua, hold on, I meant to say that I didn't even get…” 

She's already disappeared in the throng of people moving through the hallway. Ivan deflates, wondering how he's going to explain this later.

“...in. I didn't get in,” he sighs.

***

Acorn’s life can probably be summed up into one single word: mediocre. He knows it, he's accepted it, he's perfectly cool with it. The world is full of pets who were basically bred and raised to be the best of the best, so how the hell is a normie mutt like him even supposed to compete?

He can't. That's the answer. He gave up a long time ago, back when his rockstar roommate composed a song in one afternoon and proceeded to belt the notes out in the shower extremely loudly, all while being some sort of modern day art savant. He's surrounded by these kinds of pets – geniuses who never needed to work hard a day in their lives, who'll never understand what it's like to write a song for a month and then have it trashed by teachers, what it's like to play football for years and still kick it into your own face during tryouts.

But now, that's all in the past.

Yesterday, his world turned upside down when finally, finally, for once in his life, he was chosen to be someone. A star! The Football team’s striker! 

He may not be a once in a lifetime genius like all these other spoiled brats, but he still deserves to be remembered. Yeah! From this day forward, he's saying bye bye to invisible, average Acorn, and he's saying hello to Anakt’s Ace. He’ll prove to the world that he's not forgettable!

He's been floating on air ever since the announcement, feeling for the first time like he's not a shadow trailing after someone else's footstep. People have actually come up and…talked to him. His two new friends, Leaf and Oak, who treat him like he's part of their group and not a useless tag on, his senior teammates – even Ri, who before, Acorn could only stare at from afar and hope to bump into. 

For once, he's the special one. He's the center of the group, he's the one who calls the shots. It's way more exciting than he ever dreamed of it being — and believe him, he's thought of it a lot. 

Now that he actually managed to achieve something with his life, it's gotta only go up, right? Maybe he'll be popular. Maybe his teachers will finally have some mercy on his practicals. Or maybe…just maybe…the girl of his dreams will finally take a passing glance at him!

Ahhh, what a thought that is. Silky black hair…glowing lavender eyes…an elegant, gorgeous voice… 

She's always caught his attention ever since coming to Anakt, and though Acorn isn't foolish enough to think he stands a chance against the other people who also like her (a.k.a. most of the school, basically), his heart still can't help but beat faster when she's around. He never thought she would ever look back at him – though, hah, he did try to talk to her a couple of times. Those did not end up well.

Now, though, with his new status and soon-to-be muscles, she's sure to at least give him a chance, yeah? 

He's so lost in thought, daydreaming about him walking down the halls with the school’s most beautiful girl hanging onto his arm, that he nearly walks right past something that absolutely should be practically impossible in any other universe.

When he sees it, though, his brain has to take a minute to process before recognizing what it's seeing, and even then he has to do a double take – hiding behind a wall like a total creep just to process if he's hallucinating or not.

It's Sua. Elegant, graceful Sua, and she's speaking to – 

She's speaking to –

That freaking shorty!!

There's no way, is there?! Acorn whips around the corner and peeks again at Sua’s angelic face, partially blocked by that guy’s dumb coconut bowl cut. She's actually talking to him. Sua never talks to anyone, especially not guys! 

There's absolutely no way those two are…involved, are they? M-mating, aha, no way! That's a funny thought! He's shorter than her, girls don't like that in potential mates, r-right?!

Acorn strains his ears to catch a bit of their conversation, hoping it'll back up his thoughts. People are staring at him as they filter through the halls, but he doesn't care anymore. If he's wrong, his life is genuinely over. To hell with dignity!

“...Next Thursday…concert… we're going –” 

Acorn feels his stomach drop. 

There's no way. There's no actual way these two hang out outside of class. Sua, the ice cold princess, the regal out-of-reach goddess – and this weirdo? 

Maybe he heard something wrong. Till’s always complaining about this guy, saying he's annoying and a constant headache, and yet Ivan still calls him his “best friend,” latching onto the poor guy and chattering his ear off when he'd obviously rather be anywhere else. This has to be another one of those situations! Clearly, Sua isn't eager to be in his company – the look on her face says it all. She's bearing with it, just like how he and the other students do!

Yes, yes, yes, things are all making sense again now, haha. He still has a chance. He's about to be someone worth looking at, so much better than Ivan, who for all his creepiness is still a damn natural genius.

Agh, Acorn hates geniuses, he hates them so much! Life is unbearable being surrounded by people like Ivan, who had the nerve to stand over Acorn at tryouts, gloating about never playing sports a day in his life and still getting the highest score. He doesn't deserve it, not one bit! Bastards who've never known hard work don't deserve anything!

Acorn watches Ivan walk away to his next class. Lucky for him, it's the one they share. 

Time to find out the truth.

***

Music is okay, all things considered. It's simple to study, painless to learn. However, if it came down to what Ivan actually looked forward to, the only class he would highlight on his schedule would be this one.

“Wow, nice work, Ivan,” the teacher says, leaning down and examining his circuit. “That was…fast.”

This class is fun, but it's a little easy. Too easy. Ivan smiles and nods as he rewires his circuit to start over, wondering if there's anything else he can do that's slightly more challenging than ‘make an LED light up.’ He knows it's only the first week, but they've only been doing various variations of this everyday, and he’s starting to get a little tired.

“Oh, there's another pet here that's having a bit of trouble,” the Segyein says. “Show him some pointers, please.”

“Of course,” Ivan replies absentmindedly, going through the list of possible ideas. Maybe he can get the LED to light up only when something with a heat signature passes by, so that way he'll know when to hide if he ever decides to break into Unsha’s lab. 

…Not that he’s planning to do that, but who knows? There's probably all sorts of secrets lying around in there…

The chair beside him screeches loudly as it's pulled out, and Ivan quickly creates a new file on his computer before glancing over at his new seatmate. A smile passes over his face when he realizes who it is: his teammate, Acorn. It's nice to see a familiar face. 

“I didn't realize you liked technology,” he mentions. It's probably one of Anakt’s least popular classes, just barely beating out ‘Segyein History.’

“Eh. I forgot to sign up early, so this was the only class left,” Acorn shrugs. “Well, besides Segyein History.”

“I’d say you made the right choice, then,” Ivan offers. He tries to peek around Acorn’s shoulder at his work, but the other boy seems more rigid than usual, stuck in place like he's not even paying attention anymore. “Did you need help?”

“Help? Nah, I can figure it out myself,” Acorn says, waving him off. “This stuff isn't that hard.”

“Yeah…”

Another passing glance at the space between Acorn’s torso and arm reveals his circuit, haphazardly wired with cables going all over the place. Half of them aren't connected to anything, just free flying out into the air. There's double the amount of things in the circuit than was provided to them, and it seems the remainder was filled by someone else's materials. The LED isn't even on the board. 

“I'm sure you'll figure it out,” Ivan comments.

“That's a given!” Acorn huffs. He leans back in his chair dangerously far and rocks back and forth, falling silent. Assuming the problem was solved, Ivan turns back to his computer and begins writing a couple functions to make the LED flash in intervals.

“There's something else I want to ask you though,” Acorn drawls casually. Surprised, Ivan turns around to see him tapping a finger against the table impatiently. He hadn't expected Acorn to start talking to him on his own…that rarely ever happened.

“Yes?”

“Nothing much. I just saw you and Sua talking in the hallway while I was getting to class. You two friends or something?” Acorn says. 

‘Friends’ isn't the term he would use for their relationship – if he could even call it a relationship. Sua's even more unreadable than him sometimes, and even when they spent more time together, he could never really tell what she was thinking. Nowadays even less so. Like everyone else – she probably barely tolerated him.

“...Something like that,” he replies, finding it too difficult to explain.

Acorn suddenly shoots straight up. “So are you two close or what?” he asks, a frantic look on his face. 

Startled, Ivan stares at him for a moment. “Not really,” he replies slowly. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, uhh, no reason,” Acorn says, patting Ivan on the shoulder. “I'm just looking out for you! Sometimes people say stuff and mean something else. I hate it when people pretend to tolerate you but really are talking bad behind your back, you know?”

People do that? Well, he guesses that makes sense, but… “Y-yeah.”

“Sua's kind of tricky though, right? She looked so cold when she was talking to you…” Acorn hums, almost as if thinking to himself. Ivan feels a weird pit in his stomach start to form. 

“Doesn't she usually look like that?” he asks, unsure. 

“Not when she's with her real friends.”

That's true. She always lights up when she's around Mizi. Ivan shuts down his computer shakily, no longer inspired. For some reason, he really wants class to end right now.

“Oh,” he says, for the lack of something better to say.

“It's okay man, these things happen all the time – it's not just you,” Acorn smiles reassuringly. “Us teammates need to look after each other, yeah?”

He slings an arm over Ivan’s shoulder, and Ivan shudders at the sudden contact. It's not often that people want to touch him without first gagging in disgust, like Till. Till seems to think it’s funny, so it's fine by Ivan, but sometimes he wishes…

Ivan looks back at the other boy, whose smile is starting to twitch at the corners. It must be difficult to do this for him, but he appreciates the effort.

“Teammates,” he repeats, the feeling foreign on his tongue.

“That's right! The team is supposed to be as tight as family. Don't worry, we can show you who your real friends are.”

Real friends…?

“You don't think Sua is my friend,” Ivan says, trying to make sense of what the other boy is saying. Real friends? His mind is racing a mile a minute. Does he dare draw that conclusion? How embarrassing would it be if he missed the mark? “You. Do you want. Do you want to be my friend…?”

Acorn freezes. “Uhh, yeah!” he laughs nervously, posture slowly relaxing. “Why not? We're teammates now! We're supposed to be friends!”

What?! Well, he guesses that makes sense, but to admit it without any shame in his voice…! 

“Cool,” Ivan says, beaming at the table and squirming in happiness.  Someone wanted to be his friend, and this time, he didn't even need to convince them? This club is amazing!

“Stay away from Sua from now on, okay?”

Ivan falters. He almost forgot about that. Well, it would be weird not talking to Sua as much, but he and Acorn were friends now, weren't they? Acorn couldn't be lying. Friends wanted the best for each other… that's what Sua told him herself. 

And besides – Sua had Mizi, now. She didn't need him anymore. Getting rid of a placeholder like him, she probably wouldn't even notice.

“Okay,” Ivan nods. A good friend is one that listens to others. Now that he finally made one, he can't afford to mess it up. 

Acorn beams at him. He seems really happy. 

“Great!” Acorn says, standing up as the teacher calls for them to move to their next class. “Then I'll see you at practice, right?”

“Yeah. Bye.” 

Ivan watches as the other boy casually leaves the room, acting like this is the most normal thing in the world. He blinks to himself, wondering if he fell asleep in class or something.

It's really that easy? Something seems too good to be true.

***

There's something that's been bothering him the whole day, which is honestly illogical because he's the one who requested to meet in the first place. To calm himself down, Ivan tries to think about how much he's going to bother Till after this, but for some reason his mind keeps conjuring up Acorn instead and he feels himself flushing and feeling even more nervous than before.

The elevator ride is long and silent and cold, plunging straight down into Anakt’s core. It gives him a lot of time to think.

It's not like he isn't happy about getting a new friend. He is happy…too happy. He's not used to it. 

Truthfully, he never really understood why people felt the need to smile. He's studied social behaviors and ended up with the conclusion that it's a behavioral thing for community building. Evolution designed humans to show indications of satisfaction, so people must do it more for others than themselves, like an instinct.

He never feels like he needs to smile when he's alone. What's the use in that? 

No one's around to see it.

The elevator dings as the doors open to the dark hallway, and he knows he must look crazy right now becaus he can't seem to stop smiling. 

Something must be wrong with him, because smiling when there's no one around seems…strange, isn't it? There's no use for it. And yet, even though he dislikes meeting Unsha usually, he's still happy…

The young, malnourished children who always seem to watch him walk past avert their eyes and scurry away in fright as he walks past. Ivan can guess as to why. Down here, nobody ever smiles. 

The door to Unsha’s lab creeks open, the two guards leading him inside its unfeeling maw. A hologram is projected onto the screen, as per usual. Unsha rarely visits Ivan these days. 

“See, honey?” Unsha says off camera. “He's doing quite well.”

He's at home, it seems. Unsha’s planet is dark and stuffy, but his house is filled to the brim of gorgeous golden decor and elaborate architecture. Suddenly, the screen is filled with the huge, heavy figures of Unsha and another Segyein who looks exactly like Unsha but wearing feminine clothing. 

“Aww, he's as cute as ever,” Unsha’s wife coos. She's the only one who's ever called him cute, and he wonders if their species of Segyein evolved to have poor eyesight. “Sorry I haven't come to see you in a while, sweetie. This good for nothing over here never lets me.”

“Darling, I told you that we need to give him space to focus on training. You were the one who wanted him on Alien Stage.”

“That doesn’t mean he needs to be completely isolated! He's still young,” Unsha’s wife says. Truthfully, Ivan never learned of her name. “Look at how tiny he is.”

“If we train him young, he’ll grow up better,” Unsha sighs. “Besides, it's not like he only trains all day.” 

Liar. 

“Ivan, didn't you tell me you joined the…hm. ‘Sports’ club, was it?” Unsha says. 

Ivan nods. That was technically true, even if he didn't end up getting in. But Unsha didn't need to know that.

“Remind me what sport it was?”

“...Football,” Ivan replies with a genuine smile.

“Ah, isn't that a Segyein sport as well? Respectable choice.”

“Aww, honey! We have a little football player on our hands,” Unsha’s wife squeals. “Does he need anything from us? A ball or a jersey, maybe?”

“Our coach says we need a ‘sports kit,’” Ivan remembers. 

“Is that all? Unsha, buy it right away.”

Unsha sighs. “Yes, of course I will. Speaking of, didn't you say you were tired? Head to bed, dear.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” She laughs. “Goodnight, Ivan. Stay good for this old man, will you?”

With that, she turns and leaves the camera’s view, leaving only Unsha left. It's odd seeing them act so normal; so human. The Segyeins always try to act like they're above them, but Ivan never found them all too dissimilar. Cruel and loving and unpredictable all at once.

Unsha spins around to face Ivan again. He seems quieter today. Less harsh. Ivan's lucky. 

“Football, hm?” he thinks to himself. “That could be an interesting pursuit.”

Ivan nods. 

“Nice work, Ivan. If nothing else, I'm glad you’re bright for a pet,” Unsha remarks. “I'll go ahead and approve your pending requests. I see you're asking for some unconventional items, but, hm. You must have your reasons.”

His pending requests? All of them?

“I'll see you again next week.”

Like always, Ivan is unceremoniously pushed outside the lab and shut out of those large mahogany doors. That…went better than he was expecting.

His face is doing that smiling thing again.

***

“Guess who just got their request approved?” Ivan exclaims cheerfully, stumbling down the stairs with a giant axe swinging in the air. “Yours truly!”

The axe is big, and heavy, and sharp enough that it leaves a deep slice in the ground when Ivan lugs it behind him, already tired from the long trek to the faraway tree and then the endless stairs in pitch black darkness. He really should put some lights in there; he almost stabbed himself a couple of times. 

The giant monster-dragon-not Segyein, Hykel, turns its massive head to look at him. If a monster could look alarmed, it would be making such an expression – but maybe Ivan was just bad at reading other species.

“You won't believe what I had to go through to get this,” Ivan rambles, a hint of pride in his voice. “I had to make up so many justifications on my proposal, and I don't think it made any sense at all. Thank Anakt above that my owner was feeling nice yesterday…”

He sets the axe head down and rests an arm on it with a heavy sigh. “How am I already tired?” he pants, wiping a hand over his sweaty face. He thought he was better than this. What was all of that training for if he can't even walk down some stairs?

Hykel huffs and shakes its head, as if amused. It likely doesn't think Ivan’s plan will work. That's fine – Ivan doesn't think his plan work either, but he has to make do with what he can get.

“Bleh. Don't give me that attitude,” Ivan sticks his tongue out petulantly. “I'm the one with the sharp object!”

Hykel immediately opens its mouth, revealing a maw full of rows and rows of so-called ‘sharp objects.’ 

Ivan laughs. “Yeah, very scary.”

He leans down and evaluates the situation. The tree is so interwoven with Hykel’s body, it's hard to tell where bark ends and flesh begins. He doesn't know much about plants, but judging by the growth patterns, this tree is old. Ancient. It's probably been growing and aging with Hykel for hundreds of years. 

Ivan reaches a hand out and brushes it over the web of knotted and gnarled tangles, and it's weird – it's like he can almost sense some sort of life force. Warm, pulsating, alive. Ivan closes his eyes, and in the darkness he can see thin sparks of light dancing behind his eyelids. 

“Woah,” he breathes in awe. 

He immediately lifts the axe over his head. “Don't worry, I've been told my swinging accuracy is pretty good,” he says with a smile.

He brings the blade down with force, aiming it at one of those spots without the life force; that feels more like the bars of a cage than something organic. The blade lodges itself in about an inch of solid wood, and Ivan’s eyes widen, surprised at the resistance. 

“Seriously?” he says nervously. “How tough is this thing?”

His eyes dart to the ground for an explanation, and luckily for him Hykel is already one step ahead of him. There's letters scrawled into the dirt. Ivan picks up his dictionary, which he left under the tree last time he visited, and does a quick translation.

“Very tough,” is all that's written.

“Super helpful,” Ivan deadpans.

He picks up the axe again and resigns himself to a long night of hacking away. He swings, and swings, and swings some more, and wow he really needs to focus on his arm workouts too because why does he feel so tired? There's barely even a dent in the tree’s outer bark. Has it even gotten deeper on the last ten swings?

The blade is stuck. Frustrated and sweaty and tired, Ivan goes to yank it out, but evidently he puts too much force in because the axe goes flying way over his head, landing with a thud behind him. He should probably go to pick it up, but instead he just falls to the floor, lying on the grass in exhaustion.

“I can't feel my arms,” he pants, staring up at the just beginning sunrise. He should've woken up earlier; now it's almost time to go back, with his only accomplishment making a little cut in one of the many, many roots of the giant tree. “...I really need to work out more.”

He rolls over and musters up the last of his energy to flip open the dictionary again. 

“How about we just talk for a bit? I've got a few minutes before I need to leave,” he says. “So…how are you feeling?”

“Bored.”

“Oh. I guess I should've guessed that, huh?”

Ivan thinks for a bit. “What was your life like before…all of this?” he says, gesturing to Hykel’s – well, everything. “A thousand years is a long time.”

The dragon blinks and stares at Ivan with an unreadable gaze, no longer moving to scrawl those unfamiliar letters in graceful, sweeping strokes. Ivan wonders if it even remembers what it feels like to be free. He, for one, has never known the feeling. 

“...You don't need to answer, it's alright,” he shrugs. “Uhh, I guess I can tell you about my life then? It's not interesting, but it's probably better than doing nothing.”

Hykel doesn't do anything, but Ivan still continues. 

“I was born in a dirty place,” he smiles, reminiscing. “Dark. Full of bugs. It was kind of bad…but I guess it was alright enough.”

He tries to think harder. “There were other kids there, but most of them didn't speak much. We didn't have a lot to talk about, then, besides finding food and hiding from Segyeins. They didn't like us a lot. Probably because we were all so dirty, haha,” he laughs. “Sorry if I'm not making sense. I’ve never actually told anyone about this before.”

Hykel taps its finger against a short word written next to the tree trunk.

“leave?”

“I tried. Once,” Ivan muses, unearthing some sort of long repressed memory. “It didn’t really work out.”

It's been so long, but he doesn't think he'll ever forget the night he met those two humans – just humans, not human “pets.” He wonders where they are now. They could go anywhere, couldn’t they? 

That's what it means to be free.

“It's whatever,” Ivan smiles. “Past is the past. Besides, it's not like I had a terrible life. I learned a lot of useful skills, and hey, it landed me here!”

“Here = good?”

Ivan laughs. “Silly! I get clean clothes and food everyday here – why wouldn't it be good?” he nods with confidence. “Free entertainment, too. There's this other pet, Till – I guess he's kind of my friend – and he’s hilarious. I wish I could bring him here to meet you, but I don't want to get him in trouble…”

Rays of sun hit his eyes, and Ivan sighs, struggling to get up.

“Oh. I guess I need to leave,” he says, waving a quick goodbye. “I’ll come back way stronger, just you wait!”

***

“I'm sick of this!”

Ivan's halfway through doing basic dribbles around some orange cones (which isn't a full body workout, thank god), when everyone suddenly stops and stares at Ri’s outburst. The captain has punted his football into the net, and now is currently angrily pacing around the field. 

“Not this again…” one of the other team members groans. 

“I'm sick of doing drills for hours straight!” Ri growls. “Why can't we do something fun for once and play a game?”

Coach Z just stares at him.

“It's…our second meeting,” he deadpans.

There's a burst of whispers all around as people seem a mix of frustrated, agreeing, and just plain tired. Ivan looks down at his ball, still kicking it limply around the cones. He doesn't understand what's happening, but it's not like he's unfamiliar with that kind of feeling.

“I mean, yeah, but what's a better way to learn than jumping straight into it?” Ri scoffs. “That's how I learned, at least.”

“He has a point…” he hears Acorn say to Leaf. “Games are more fun than drills.”

“See? The team agrees!” 

Ivan stops the ball and looks up, feeling an ounce of annoyance course through him as his brows weirdly furrow on their own. This guy – everyone says he's a genius, but he seems more like an idiot for acting like this. Disrespecting Segyein as a pet… that's a surefire way to land yourself in trouble, and trouble for humans is worse than death. Isn't that obvious?

It's fortunate that Coach Z seems rather aloof when it comes to his mediocre team, but what if one day he isn't? Ivan isn't stupid. No matter how nice a Segyein is, you can't trust them not to change. Same goes for humans, too.

Coach Z sighs heavily, a deep one that sounds like he's already given up. “Fine. You're the captain – do as you wish.”

Lucky this time.

Ri pumps his arms and immediately drags everyone into a tight huddle. “Awesome! So, everyone, it looks like we’re goma do – huh? We're missing someone.”

“John’s sick,” number 6 pipes up.

“Ehh, well, now we have an odd number,” Ri groans. “Someone needs to sit out for us to do a 5v5.”

Everyone pauses for a bit, swiveling their heads around to see if any other person is willingly to take the fall. There's a weird tingly feeling on his cheek, and Ivan looks up to see Acorn’s eyes already darting away, like he was staring at him. Odd.

Number 2 raises his hand. “Sure, I can,” he offers, “let the new people try it out –”

“Wait!”

Everyone turns to Acorn, who looks a little nervous at the attention. “I – Ivan,” he stammers, looking at him anxiously. 

“Yes?” Ivan asks, perking up a little.

“Shouldn't you sit this one out?”

“Why?” Number 2 asks.

“Why?” Ri asks, judgemental.

“...Why?” Ivan asks in confusion.

“Well, because you're a benchwarmer,” Acorn laughs, spitting out the word with a kind of force unexpected from the meek looking boy. “We have a match in a week, right? We need to make sure the starters are trained first.”

“It's just a friendly,” Number 2 says. “We don't need to –”

“You've got a point!” Ri interrupts, nodding like he couldn't be bothered to think more about the topic. “Let's just hurry up and form teams already. I'm itching to play.”

The group disperses to the field, leaving Ivan behind. He tilts his head and watches them form teams with a little lump in his throat. He did kind of want to play, but that logic does make sense. And besides, didn't Acorn say they were friends now? Friends look after each other. He probably knows what he's doing.

“...Damn pets,” he hears Coach Z sigh, sounding irritated. Ivan returns back to doing the drills he was halfway through before, trying to not attract the Segyein’s attention.

“Why are you still here?” Coach Z says, suddenly right beside him. Ivan feels his body grow cold. Did he do something wrong?

“You can leave now, you know,” Coach Z states. “Your team has already abandoned you.”

Ivan looks up. The others have already begun their match, racing around the field and calling out shots, while he's still stuck kicking a ball on the side, alone. From this point of view, it really does look like he's been ‘abandoned,’ even if he knows that's not the case. For the first time in his life, he starts to really…

Hate the feeling.

“If I get better, they won't leave me next time,” he says, determined. Because that's the root problem, isn't it? 

He's bad, so he's not useful. If he's not useful, nobody will stick around.

“...Huh,” Coach Z says, all three eyes wide. “Practice as much as you like, then.”

***

Ivan finds Till on the top of their usual hill, humming to himself and scribbling words on a page.

Looks like he's feeling better.

“What’cha singing?” Ivan asks, plopping his head on Till’s shoulder. The other boy screeches and pummels Ivan in the face with his sharp shoulder blade when he jerks up in fright.

“Ow,” Ivan says, rubbing his chin. 

“Idiot, don't scare me like that,” Till curses. “You just interrupted my train of thought.”

“Shouldn't have left your back wide open, then.”

“Stupid. Dumbass. Moron.”

“Those the lyrics to your song?”

“No!” Till snaps, but his lips are turning up at the corners. “I just woke up with a burst in inspiration, alright? Gotta show these punks what they're missing out on.”

His page is full of scribbles and haphazard notes, and it's the most wonderful thing Ivan's ever seen. After a life of hardship and nothing but his own voice to keep him company, he's never been all that dedicated to singing. Music’s useless when it comes to survival.

Even then, Till…

Till makes music seem beautiful.

“They're missing out on a lot,” Ivan hums, looking up at Till shyly. 

He's so ethereal when he's focused. Ivan wonders what it'll feel like if the other boy ever looked at him like he does at his songs, like he does with Mizi – because Till always puts a hundred percent of himself into the things he's passionate about. Ivan doesn't think he'd be able to handle it, feeling his face flushing just from the thought.

It's better that Till keeps his gaze on something else. 

“...I think someone I knew back then liked to sing,” Till mumbles quietly.

“Before Anakt?” Ivan asks, tilting his head. “You still remember that?”

“Of course I do. It was only…oh. A lot of years ago. Time flies,” Till laughs. “I still remember bits and pieces, though. Someone would sing to me when I got upset. Their voice…it was beautiful.”

As beautiful as yours? Ivan almost asks.

“They must've had a sore throat, then. You're always upset,” Ivan snickers instead. 

“Only when I'm around you , stupid irritating bastard.”

Chapter Text

Everyday, when Acorn wakes up, Till is always dead asleep on the top bunk and snoring away like his life depends on it. This is a good thing, because this gives Acorn full access to their shared bathroom, where he spends a good amount of time in front of the mirror flexing. 

There's barely a bulge there, but, hey, at least there’s something! Acorn stares at his tiny, thin bicep with pride, leaning down to kiss it like how he sees the older players always do.

“I'm gonna be so strong,” he whispers. “I am…Anakt’s Ace!”

The door clangs open. Suddenly, Till’s tired face appears behind him in the mirror.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, unimpressed.

Acorn throws his shampoo bottle.

***

Annoying, ever present roommates aside, Acorn’s been pretty good. Yes, he sometimes lies awake at night from guilt, and sometimes he checks the halls for that weird shortie, paranoid he's hanging around Sua again, but life isn't life without its struggles, right?

Trust him. Acorn's had his fair share of struggles. He might be the master of struggling, he thinks, as he looks at the latest scoreboards for their practicals and sees his name solidly in the middle of the pack – like actually, smack dab in the median, cut in half, 50th percentile. 

Damn. He had stayed up all night practicing for that one, too.

“Waah, congratulations, Sua!” he hears a cheerful voice call out from afar. “We're in the top 5!”

Acorn sighs. Sua’s always in the top 5… he'll never be good enough for her…

Lord Anakt, what is this train of thought? Acorn shakes his head roughly. Think about your soon to be muscles! Think about becoming captain of the football team! Singing isn't the only strength someone can have, right?

“Number 1?” he hears a familiar voice chuckle beside him. “Heh. That'll show them.”

“Not bad, Till.”

“Oh, hey, dude, you did pretty good too! Number 3 isn't anything to scoff at,” Till says happily.

Acorn watches as Till walks past, Ivan following closely behind, and feels like he's about to burst a blood vessel. Genius after genius after motherfucking genius. He can't with this miserable life anymore!

“It's alright, I guess…” Ivan mumbles quietly as he walks past.

…Alright? Alright?! 

Does this kid even know how much Acorn would kill for a top 3 placement? How hard he's worked, staying up every night to try hitting the notes, waking up hours before curfew to study music theory? 

Is he just…born this way? Born worse? Could he even beat Ivan if he spent his whole life training?

Maybe not.

Acorn stares at the shorter boy’s retreating back, feeling a wave of resentment wash over him. Till, at least, has his talent balanced out by his terrible guardian. But Ivan? To say he was born with a silver spoon is an understatement. From his spotless clothes, collarless neck, and immaculate grades – the guy was made to be perfect.

There's no question about where that talent came from. He was probably made in a lab, designed from carefully selected genes, an amalgamation of the best of humanity. 

Acorn doesn't even know how those kinds of pets could even be considered human. 

He stares at his name, lost in the sea of people surrounding it. His rank is up in the hundreds. 

All those hours wasted. 

…He really, really hates geniuses.

***

“Today we'll be practicing passes in pairs of two,” Coach Z announces.

“Seriously?” Ivan hears Ri call from afar. Their star player never seems to be satisfied. “No game?”

“No game.”

“Why do I even show up…”

“Just go find a partner already,” the coach sighs.

People buzz around him, calling out each other's names to find their closest friends. Ivan doesn't even try. He's not going to get his hopes up for someone approaching him. It's never really happened before, except for maybe Till once or twice (which still remain some of his most precious memories).

But Till isn't here right now, is he? Nobody’s left to take pity on him, especially given that if he's the lone backup. 

It's okay. The good thing is that there's an even number of players today, so at least he's guaranteed a partner this time. He just needs to wait a bit for someone to wander over to him, and then maybe he can even talk to them a little and convince them that he’s not that bad at football, it’s just that he’s worse than everyone else who got selected! Which, now that he’s thinking about it, doesn’t seem like the best way to persuade someone else to like him, but –

“Do you want to pair up?”

Ivan whips his head up when the question is asked in his general direction, and is shocked to see Acorn standing in front of him. Was that directed to him? No, don’t be silly – they may be friends but obviously that doesn’t mean Acorn wants to act like that in public. He swivels his head back and forth, checking to see if he happens to be blocking the other boy’s way to one of his more capable options, but there’s no one else around.

“I’m asking you,” Acorn says, confused.

Ivan points at himself slowly.

Acorn scoffs. “Who else?” 

The other boy says it so plainly, so simply, all Ivan can do is stare and wonder if the other boy has recently received brain damage. “...What about your other friends?”

“Oh, Leaf and Oak?” Acorn shrugs, pointing behind him at the other two players walking over to a corner. “They're a group. It’s whatever. We're totally the better team, right?”

Team? Acorn thinks that he and Ivan are a…team? Does this mean Acorn actually wanted Ivan to be his partner, instead of just being an unfortunate backup…?

“Y-yeah!” Ivan nods, a big grin on his face. Acorn quickly turns around and heads to where all the other teams (Teams! Partners!) are standing, and he follows, feeling almost giddy. Which is odd. He never feels this happy. 

He should fill the silence, shouldn't he? Would saying ‘thank you’ be too weird? He doesn't want Acorn to think he's weird. He'll have to cover it up by using what he learned in class. Maybe…start off with asking how his day has been?

“Hey, why are you just standing there?” Acorn asks. Oh. The other boy has already kicked the soccer ball to Ivan, and he watches as it flings much too far to the left, unable to react.

“Sorry, that was a bad pass,” Acorn says, embarrassed.

“It's okay!” Ivan replies. He jogs to the ball and lightly stops it before dribbling back to where he was before. Lining up his shot like how Coach Z demonstrated at the beginning of the meet, he passes it cleanly back to Acorn.

“H-how was your day?” Ivan says, a hint of uncertainty leaking through his voice. That was what was on his flashcards, right?

“Eh. Same old, same old,” Acorn replies absentmindedly, staring down at the ball with his eyes furrowed. 

Ivan tilts his head. “What's old?”

“What?”

“Huh?”

They stare at each other for a bit. “It's a saying,” Acorn says slowly. Ivan flits his eyes to the ground, embarrassed. 

Mission failed. He definitely thinks Ivan’s weird. 

As the cherry on top, Ivan’s apparently flustered enough that he misses Acorn’s next pass; which now sadly slides towards him way too far right, like the other boy tried to overcorrect for his last shot and ended up going overboard.

“I – I was just testing you!” Acorn nods self-assuredly once Ivan finishes chasing the ball down. “In a game, there's going to be a ton of hard shots like this.”

That makes sense. “Oh, that's smart,” Ivan nods seriously. For his next pass back, he similarly hits it a little off-the-mark, just like how Acorn did it. It flies past the other boy while he stands, looking surprised. 

“Like that?” Ivan asks.

“Yeah,” Acorn says, his smile looking a little weird. “Just like that.”

Ivan waits for a bit as Acorn runs to retrieve it, eyeing the other players pass their balls smoothly to each other. Maybe Acorn, as the new “center” of the team, knows something they don't? Nobody else seems to be losing the ball as much…well, except for Ri. He keeps shooting the ball super fast at his teammate and laughing when he can't receive it. That's something Ivan would probably do to Till.

“So, I actually wanted to ask you something,” Acorn says, a little out of breath.

Ivan perks up. Acorn wants to know more about him? “Yes?” he immediately replies.

“I saw you talking with Sua the other day,” Acorn says absentmindedly. “You guys are going to the dance performance, right?”

“Er…yeah,” Ivan replies. Acorn isn't going to get mad, is he? He knows the other boy said he didn't want Ivan to hang around Sua – but he had already agreed, and Ivan doesn't want to know what Sua would do if he backed out on his word. She'd probably take all of his conditioners. 

But did Sua even like him enough to break into his room anymore? The thought makes him feel strange. 

“We're watching Mizi perform,” Ivan explains.

“Cool, cool, cool,” Acorn nods rapidly. Ivan sags in relief – he doesn't seem to have a problem with it. “I heard the dance performance is always really nice. What is it – ballet? Something like that?”

He passes the ball – well. Pass would be too kind of a word for it. Luckily, this time Ivan is prepared for it, and he follows the trajectory of the ball to meet it accordingly.

“I was actually gonna go too, but I don't have anyone to go with…” Acorn sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Ivan blinks. “Really? I thought you had a lot of friends.”

“None of them are all that interested in dance,” Acorn sighs. “You mind if I tag along?”

Ivan, mid-pass, stumbles and nearly falls flat on his face. “W-with me?” he clarifies, astonished. He knows Acorn said they were friends, but he actually means that enough to spend time with Ivan when he doesn't need to? Ivan has to beg Till to go anywhere with him…

“Yeah,” Acorn says. “Does that sound okay?”

“Of course!” Ivan nods vigorously. “And you're okay with Sua being there, too?”

Acorn smiles wide. “Yeah, sure. Bring Sua.”

Ivan's so happy, he forgets to aim off center on his next kick. Acorn wants to go with him so much that he'll even bear with Sua, who he doesn't seem to like for some reason! Which is strange, but maybe after hanging out with her a bit, Acorn will come to realize she's not that bad. Sure, she is cold sometimes, and she may not like Ivan all that much, but that doesn't make her a bad person.

They send a few more passes back and forth. Ivan’s just about to get the hang of receiving Acorn’s odd shots when Coach Z blows his whistle, and everyone gathers in one large group.

“That was more fun than I thought!” Ri laughs. “For a drill, at least.”

Ri’s teammate, sweaty and dead on his feet, shoots him a dirty look.

“Does that mean you'll come to practice consistently?” the Coach asks. 

“No.”

Coach Z shakes his head. “Pets,” he spits, like a curse word. He glances at his tablet for a bit, before looking back up. “Remember to ask your guardians for a kit, if you don't yet have one. We have our first practice match soon against Monet.”

“The art school,” Oak whispers nearby. “This’ll be easy. They're almost as bad as us.”

“Wait, why do we have to get our own kits? Doesn't the school provide them?” Leaf asks out loud. 

“Maybe if you all make it to semifinals, we'll get some funding again,” the Coach shrugs. “The team’s poorer than dirt.”

***

When Ivan asks Sua if he can bring a friend along, she immediately says no.

“Don’t bring Till,” she says, mood souring. “You know how he gets around Mizi.”

Insufferable – Till is insufferable around her perfect, lovely best friend. Sua gets it. Mizi’s irresistible. However, she'd rather eat rocks than watch him slobber over her for an hour-long performance. Even if he does like her, he should at least have some class, for God’s sake!

“I'm not asking for Till.”

Sua freezes, for once caught off guard. “You have other friends?”

That's impossible. For as long as she's known him, Ivan’s only ever latched onto Till for some reason, following the boy around like a lost shadow. Other than that, he's always alone. It's why she took pity on him in the first place.

“Yes…” Ivan says, a smile on his face that's so hopeful, he looks even more pathetic than usual. 

It's not her fault that Mizi’s company is simply so much more rewarding. She's bright and takes away Sua’s gloom, cheerful enough to soothe Sua’s pessimism. But maybe, she should've checked in on this little guy more. Even though he is really, really annoying.

Sua…well. She might feel a little guilty. 

Just a little. 

“Fine,” she sighs. “Do what you want.”

***

When Ivan meets Acorn outside, he's wearing something really weird.

“Where’d you get that?” Ivan asks. “I thought only white clothing was permitted on Anakt grounds.”

Acorn looks down at his bright blue jacket. It's a weird rough material, and also has a lot of holes in it – some sort of rock style? He thinks he remembers something like this in their Music History class. “Does it look weird?” Acorn frets. “I mean, it's a special occasion, so I thought Sua – I mean, I thought I might as well.”

“No,” Ivan shakes his head. “It looks cool.”

Everything Acorn does is cool. He is the upcoming football star, after all, or something like that. Ivan steps into the building, walking briskly to where he agreed to meet with Sua.

“Should I take it off?” Acorn asks, still nervous. “Do you think she'll think it's weird?”

Sua thinks everything is weird, but that's probably not what Acorn wants to hear right now. “It'll be fine.”

“Yeah. Yeah! I've got this.”

He's awfully nervous for this performance. Maybe he's secretly very invested in dance?

They're approaching Sua before he can ask. She's leaning against a pillar, looking bored, before nodding at him when he comes into view.

“Ivan. About time,” she greets. “Where's – oh.”

Acorn waves his hand at her – a nervous, aborted motion. “H-hey! Sua!”

Sua's face goes from surprised, to sour, to unimpressed. She turns to Ivan abruptly, gritting her teeth.

“This is your new friend?”

“Yes,” Ivan replies, wondering why she’s acting so strangely. 

He thinks for a little.

Oh! It must be because he hasn't introduced them yet. 

“This is Acorn,” he points. “He’s the one in the blue jacket,” he adds, just to clarify.

“I know,” Sua grimaces.

Acorn stands still, fiddling with his shirt. “Y-yeah! You're in my Practical Performance class, right?” he says cheerfully.

Sua nods. “Right,” she says, scanning Acorn up and down. “You know colored clothes are forbidden in school, right?”

Acorn jolts. “Huh? No I – I didn’t…”

Hm. Didn't Ivan tell him as such just a couple of minutes ago?

“Made it myself though!” Acorn laughs. “What do you think? Pretty cool, right?”

“Wow,” Ivan gasps. “That is cool…”

Sua quickly turns around and starts walking away. “Let's just go,” she says, voice tight.

Acorn deflates. “Eheh, yeah…” he trails off, before taking off his jacket and stashing it roughly in his Anakt-standard approved white sports duffel bad. “What was I thinking?” he mutters. “Stylish clothes? Ri was right…I shouldn't have…”

“Shouldn't have what?” Ivan asks, sideling up to the other boy. “How long have you been making clothes? That's really interesting.”

Acorn shoots him a look, before returning to staring at Sua’s back. “Just started. Hey, Sua, do you have any hobbies?”

She starts walking a little faster.

“Sua?” Acorn repeats.

“...I like hanging out with Mizi,” she says finally.

“What?” Acorn laughs. “Does that count as a hobby? You two must be very good friends or something!”

“Or something,” Sua repeats coldly.

Ivan’s heart sinks once he realizes she's probably being short with his new friend because apparently his own relationship with her is deteriorating, but he's glad Acorn at least seems to be making an effort. He inconspicuously stares at Acorn from his peripherals, waiting for the other boy to ask him the same question, but he just walks forward in silence. Maybe he forgot?

“I have hobbies too!” Ivan says excitedly, too eager to wait for the question. “I like learning about Segyein technology. I want to make my own someday!”

“That's great, Ivan,” Acorn mentions, and Ivan nods vigorously and beams at him. Nobody's ever told him his interests were ‘great’ before! “Anyways, Sua, do you like dance? I didn't think you were the type to go to school performances.”

Sua doesn't turn around. “I like watching Mizi dance.”

“Yeah? Is she any good?”

“Mizi is good at anything she does.”

“Pfft, typical genius…” Acorn says with a hint of bitterness.

Is he mad? Ivan doesn't want him to be mad, but maybe he has more of a problem with Sua than he let on. “How did you learn to make clothes?” he asks earnestly, trying to change the topic to something he knows Acorn likes. “They don't teach that in class, do they? Did you learn it yourself?”

For some reason, Acorn averts his eyes and turns red. “Dude, just drop the clothes thing,” he hisses.

“Why?” Ivan asks, confused. “Don’t you like it?”

“Ivan,” Acorn sighs. “Can you just – be quiet for a moment?”

Ivan’s smile freezes. 

“Oh,” he says. “Okay!”

That’s fine too. Actually, it's excellent! What an easy task! Being quiet is easy, he's good at being quiet. Maybe Acorn’s just tired and wants some space, Ivan gets it, really. He should be glad Acorn politely asked instead of just leaving.

There's an awkward silence that Ivan sort of itches to fill, staring at Acorn’s back, but he manages to stay quiet to honor the other boy’s request. 

“So…you coming to our first game, Sua?” Acorn finally says. “It's in a week. Not part of the tournament, but it'll still be pretty cool, right?”

“Will you be playing, Ivan?” Sua asks.

“He won't,” Acorn replies before Ivan can speak. “But I will, so you should come!”

“Hm,” she says. “We're here already.”

They’ve already arrived outside the auditorium, and the three of them quickly join the back of the line leading out the door and nearly wrapping around the hallway. Ivan peeks around Acorn’s shoulder, looking at the number of people there are. Anakt is hardly ever this busy, with pets always split between classes, practice, and time with their guardians. Especially after they graduated from being required to mingle in the Garden, it's never been quite as lively.

“Is dance really that popular?” Acorn asks, also staring. 

Ivan nods, but Acorn doesn't seem to see. He lightly pushes past Ivan, knocking against his shoulder, so that now Ivan’s at the back of the line. Maybe he wants to get a closer look?

“I’ve never seen this many students in one place before,” he says in awe. “You're great at scouting out events, Sua!”

“It's the biggest opening event that happens every year.”

“Eheh, yeah, I guess it is, right?” Acorn laughs. “I've never gone though. Have you?”

“No.”

“Well then, I'm glad we're going for the first time together!” 

“Shh,” Sua shushes. “We’re almost to the front of the line.”

They're not really, but the line is moving fast enough that they're there with only a couple minutes of tentative silence and Acorn’s faint whistling. There's a Segyein at the doorway that scans their brands to let them in, and then they're walking into the dimly lit auditorium – the one that's usually reserved for speeches, choir concerts, and their annual Anakt singing contest. 

The venue is crowded. Sua squeezes past people to get to the front, and Ivan almost loses her and Acorn, who's stuck to her like a shadow, in the bustle of people trying to find seats. By the time he catches up to them, Sua’s shooting him an annoyed look as she grabs his sleeve and drags him over to a seat right in front of the stage. 

“Sit here, okay?” she hisses, dragging Ivan down to sit beside her. He nods, a bit disoriented, as he looks up at Acorn who’s still finding a seat. There's one next to Ivan and one next to Sua, and he’s a little disappointed when Acorn makes a beeline past him to try and take the farther spot – but, er, maybe he's just being considerate to the people behind him.

“Ah,” Acorn says, once someone beats him to the seat he wanted. Glancing back, he gives the seat beside Ivan a weird, scrunched up look before sighing and sitting down heavily. 

Ivan turns and smiles at him. “Are you excited?” he asks.

“Sure,” Acorn replies, restlessly shaking his leg. “Hey, do you mind if we switch spots?”

Ivan blinks. “That’s fine. But, why – ow!”

He looks down at where Sua’s gripping his arm so hard he thinks she might break bone, and tries futilely to shake her off. What's her problem? He didn't even do anything this time!

“Uhh…” Acorn says, looking focused. Suddenly, he turns to Ivan with a gentle smile. “My seat has a better view of the stage! I thought you'd want to be able to see over everyone’s heads.”

Ivan’s eyes widen. “Oh,” he breathes, feeling his cheeks start to warm. Acorn was thinking of him? He wanted to do something nice for Ivan without wanting anything in return? 

That's never happened to him before.

“That – that’s nice of you,” Ivan stammers. Maybe he's just saying that to be polite. There's no way someone would actually – “Are you sure…?”

“Of course!” Acorn grins, slinging an arm casually over Ivan’s shoulder. “We’re friends, aren't we?”

Ivan stares at him. 

“Yeah,” he remembers to reply, putting a hand over his mouth to hide his too big and imperfect smile. 

“So switch seats?”

“Okay,” Ivan nods eagerly, standing on shaky legs, his entire body feeling light and floaty with happiness. Sua reluctantly lets go of his arm, a dark look crossing her face as Acorn moves to sit beside her. Ivan doesn’t notice. 

The view here is better, he thinks, twisting his fingers together giddily. He peeks up shyly at Acorn, wanting to thank him, but the other boy isn't looking in his direction.

“When is this show going to start already?” he hears Acorn whisper, his head turned away. “Hey, do you wanna just hang out in the Garden instead?”

“...Tch. It’s starting now.”

The lights dim. With a grand announcement and a flourish, the white stage curtains open, revealing a dark stage with a couple set pieces for decor. Music starts to play faintly in the background – a classical piece, likely played by the Traditional Orchestra class from behind the scenes. 

As the piece softens, a dancer enters the stage, her poised legs gliding across the stage. Ivan watches her in awe as she goes through her routine, wondering how much effort it must've taken to get it so polished. Maybe it is good to stop studying so much and attend these events more, he thinks, as more dancers join the stage and add to the ethereal performance.

“Mizi…” he hears Sua mutter under her breath.

“That's your friend, right?” Acorn whispers. 

He points at one of the dancers in the corner. She's not directly in the spotlight, probably because she's new, but even with her usual distinctive pink hair pinned up and away, she stands out. Maybe it's her graceful movements, or her pretty face, or the fact that she's smiling like she actually likes dancing. Whatever it is, Ivan’s eyes naturally follow her, impressed by her familiarity with the routine despite being only a week into club selections. 

She must have put in some serious effort.

“She’s a genius…” Acorn mumbles, his voice heavy.

Mizi twirls and glides across the stage, now taking the spotlight. While the orchestra plays a soft, longing piece, she jumps gracefully, floating as if she's in flight. Then, as the music crescendos, she spins faster and faster, her twirls getting tighter until she ends with a flourish and a graceful pose. 

Ivan can't rip his eyes away, sparkling with awe. When the crowd applauses as the lights dim yet again, he claps alongside them enthusiastically. That was – amazing!

No wonder Till and Sua can't look away from her.

Ivan shoots a quick look at Acorn. “Wow, wasn't that just great?” he says happily.

Acorn has his head resting on his hand, and he doesn't move to look at Ivan, too busy staring at something in the far distance. “Yeah,” he says monotonously.

“Are you feeling okay?” Ivan asks, worried. “You seem tired.”

“It's fine. We should be quiet. The music’s starting again.”

The applause dies down, and the orchestra starts anew for the next act. Ivan takes one last worried glance at his… friend. 

Acorn's probably just fatigued. With an uneasy feeling in his gut, Ivan turns back to the stage, ready for another few rounds of too-inspiring, too-perfect dancing.

***

“Hey, Ivan! I'm so glad you could stop by!”

Ivan's in the middle of spinning around in circles, lost in the throng of people moving to the exit, when a hand grabs his wrist and pulls him aside to a relatively less dense corner on the side of the seats. She has her distinctive hair tucked under a beanie and has changed out of her dress, but he can still tell it's Mizi. 

“Mizi,” he greets. “You did amazing up there!”

Mizi laughs and rubs her neck. “Aha, you're too kind,” she giggles. “It wasn’t anything special.”

She's totally downplaying herself. Humming, Ivan tilts his head. “I thought it was really impressive,” he tries again. “How long have you been dancing?”

“Ah! Maybe about…three years, give or take?” Mizi responds. 

“Wow. Long time.”

“It’s nothing crazy,” Mizi smiles. “I just did it because it was fun. My guardian keeps saying it'll be good for my health, or something like that.”

“Yeah, it'll really help your singing stamina,” Ivan thinks, remembering those god awful exercises he was forced to do for weeks on end. “My owner says something similar.”

“Really?” Mizi beams. “He sounds like a good guy!”

“Hmm, he's alright.”

Mizi looks left and right then, scanning the crowd with a craned neck and squinted eyes. She sighs and turns back to him.

“You don't happen to know where Sua is, do you?” she asks good-naturedly. “She said she'd take you here, so I thought I'd be able to catch you both.”

“Well, she was here before, but…”

Right as the show had ended, Sua immediately shot out of her seat and jetted off into the crowd of people forming, Acorn hot on her trails. Ivan had tried to catch up, but was quickly blocked – and that was what had led him here, spinning in circles in a futile effort to find them.

“I lost her,” Ivan sighs.

“Well, I guess there are a lot of people here,” Mizi sighs. “I wonder if she liked my performance…what do you think? Was she having fun?”

“Of course she liked it,” Ivan replies. That's a given.

“So was she smiling or something?” Mizi says, suddenly focused. “Did she say anything to you? Or did she –?”

“Hey, do you know where Sua went?”

Ivan feels a tap on his shoulder and turns around to see Acorn restlessly scanning the crowd. “Acorn,” he smiles, feeling relieved that he came back for him. “I thought she was with you?”

“Yeah, I was following her, but I blinked and she was suddenly gone!” Acorn complains. He finally turns around and his eyes widen when he looks at Ivan. Huh? Why does he look so surprised?

“Wait,” Acorn pauses. “You're – Sua’s friend, aren't you? The dancer?”

Mizi points at herself. “Yep! That's me.”

“You two know each other?” Acorn asks in disbelief, swiveling his head back and forth between them.

“Of course! For about a year now, right? Time flies,” Mizi reminisces. 

“Huh,” Acorn says, his smile thinning. “Well, aren't you just so popular, Ivan?”

Ivan tilts his head. That's far from the truth, but he doesn't want to disappoint the other boy, so he'll go along with it. “Sure,” he says. 

“Haha, don't be shy about it!” Acorn slaps him on the shoulder. “But you guys really don't know where Sua went? I was gonna ask her if she wanted to come to our game.”

“Think she left already?” Mizi asks, dejected.

“No, she was headed in the opposite direction, for some reason,” Acorn thinks. He points  to the stage. “It looked like she was going back to the front.”

Mizi perks up. “Oh! She must've gone backstage,” she says, shaking her head. “I told her to meet me out here, but…maybe something came up. I’ll go check.”

She waves and starts to walk away. “Thanks for coming, Ivan! Let's catch up later!”

“Yeah, you're welcome,” Ivan nods quietly. He turns to Acorn, whose eyes are glued to the dancer’s back, an oddly intense look on his face.

“I guess you talented folk all know each other, huh?” Acorn laughs.

“Talented?” Ivan says, confused. “I don't know what you mean.”

***

“Wow,” Ivan says in awe. “Those are really good!”

“Can you approach me from the front for once in your life?” Till groans. He doesn't look up, unfortunately. It seems Ivan will have to update his ‘bothering Till’ methodology. “And stop looking at my stuff! Haven’t you heard of something called privacy?”

“It's overrated,” Ivan sings, flopping to the ground. “Aren't we friends?”

“Heh. Barely.”

Ivan smiles. It seems like he's joking. He must be joking. 

“Is she dancing?” Ivan pointing at the paper. “How'd you know Mizi dances?”

“Went to the dance performance yesterday. It was so cool,” Till reminisces, stars in his eyes as he puts the utmost care into every pencil stroke. “So cool…”

“She looks good,” Ivan notices. Mizi always looks good, he thinks with a weird feeling in his stomach.

Till pauses in his sketching, raising an eyebrow absentmindedly. “Wait, you know Mizi dances? Did you go to the performance too?”

This is the part where Ivan should lie to make sure Till knows he's not encroaching upon his territory. Yep! He's on Till’s side when it comes to this Mizi situation, he's not trying to enter the competition.

“No,” Ivan says with a smile. “She just told me.”

“Uh huh,” Till nods. “It kinda weird me out how you two are friends…but whatever. Just don't mess with her, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ivan sighs. If you could even call a classmate a friend. He's not nearly that delusional.

“I’m kinda surprised she's so athletic,” Till continues. “I mean, it's a good thing! But unexpected, I guess?”

“Why?”

“I don't know, it's just cool learning about her interests,” Till smiles at his drawing. Mizi, in the picture, is jumping gracefully in the air, the hair that was pinned up in her performance let free and waving gently through the air. “She really is inspiring. Do you think if I were athletic, she’d…”

Till trails off, a raging blush spreading over his face. “Uh- Ahah! What am I even saying right now? There’s no way,” he stammers, eyeing Ivan from the corner of his eye warily. “W-what do you think? Do you think I’d be able to get closer to her if I –? You know? We’d have something to talk about, at least!”

Ivan tilts his head. “You mean, if you got athletic?”

“Yeah. Don’t look at me like that! You should know her better than me, right?”

Ivan hums, contemplating. To say he knows Mizi like that would be a long shot. There’s only one thing he knows she likes for sure: Sua, and he doubts Till would be able to emulate Sua very well…or, he hopes not, at least. That would be scary.

Although, thinking about it logically, it would do a world of good for Till to finally talk normally with Mizi about something she likes, such as dance. Till seems to really want to be friends with her, so Ivan might as well try his best to help him. He just hopes he won’t freak her out with all his sketchbooks full of her face.

“Er…” he tries. “She’d probably like talking to someone who likes sports compared to someone who doesn’t?”

He has no idea what he’s talking about, but Till lights up anyway. “Really?” he says, sketchbook abandoned. “Wait, aren’t you into sports too? Did you bring your football with you?”

Till launches way close to his face, trying to peer around him to search for his ball. “I – I did,” Ivan stammers, a weird feeling building in his chest as he rolls his practice football out from behind his back. “I need to get better,” he says.

“Perfect! Me too, I don’t really play sports ever, so why don’t we practice now?”

“We?” Ivan repeats, head snapping up.

“Come on, we don’t have all day!” Till says, pulling on Ivan’s arms to stand up. He runs down the hill and stands with his arms open in a patch of flat field. “Tell me the rules already! You’re gonna help me be athletic, aren't you?”

Ivan lights up, nodding vigorously. “Of course!” he says, stumbling over himself to get down the hill. 

“That’s the spirit,” Till laughs. “So how are we doing this? Is there like an offense and a defense, or something?”

Ivan shakes his head, dropping his ball against the grass. “Since we only have two people, we each play both. It's kinda easy – just try to get the ball past the other person and into the goal.”

“Goal?”

“Oh, yeah. I guess your goal can be that tree right behind you,” Ivan says, randomly pointing at a place behind Till. “And mine can be that hill,” he continues, now pointing behind himself. “Just try to get the ball to touch the hill, and you win. Mizi is all yours.”

“Dude, don't say stuff like that. What does that even mean? Pets can't own pets!” Till seethes, smoke literally coming out of his ears. “Whatever. So what else? We kick this ball?”

Ivan nods. “Just no arms and hands.”

“Just hands? Huh. Segyein sports are always so weird.”

“Maybe it's for Segyein species that have only feet,” Ivan muses. He's never really thought about it before. 

“Hah! Could you imagine?” Till barks out a laugh. “I'm sorry, but those aliens would look even dumber than usual.”

“Dumber than Urak?”

“Tch. No one looks dumber than that nasty, smelly, big footed, gross –”

“Are you ready to start?” Ivan cuts him off with a smile, knowing he'd go on for a good five minutes if left unhindered.

“Oh. Yeah, bring it on!”

***

“I concede,” Till gasps, crumpling to the ground. “I forfeit. I surrender. Just, please, I need a damn break…”

Ivan looks down at where he's lying facedown in the grass, tapping the football to Till’s ‘goal’ once more. “Already? This is barely even a warmup, Till,” he smirks, just to make him mad. He quickly wipes his forehead clear of sweat to make it seem extra effortless. “What is Mizi going to think?”

“Not all of us were bred for success, okay?!” Till says, his face splotchy and red from overexertion. Ivan perks up. Till thinks he was a bred pet? That's flattering. “I'm made to be a lover and a singer, not a meathead. Who needs sports anyways?”

Ivan shrugs. “At least you excel in your specialty.”

“So do you, apparently. I could barely even get past you,” Till says. “And you kept passing it through my legs! I don't even know how you kept doing that.”

“You left yourself wide open,” Ivan smiles. Till isn’t bad, but his wide legged stance was almost comical. “You didn't do bad! Your reflexes were quick, and your pressing was good.”

“Pressing?” Till laughs. “You mean, when I was so desperate I resorted to holding you back from scoring?”

Ivan nods. There's one thing he could give Till – he’s sturdy from years of Urak’s treatment, and he’s kind of tall, too. In terms of physique, if he ate better and exercised more, he'd probably fit right in with the rest of the team.

“I can't believe you're their backup player,” Till says absentmindedly. “How good is the rest of the team, then?”

“They're okay,” Ivan replies. “And I'm not anything special, either.”

Till levels him with a look that Ivan can't decipher. “You're kidding. I mean, I don't know anything about football, but you were running circles around me. There's no way you aren't team material! Or am I just that unathletic after all…?”

“Maybe so,” Ivan laughs. “Worse than the worst.”

“Arghh, shut up!”

Till gets up and tackles him to the ground. Ivan laughs all the way until he hits the ground with a soft umph, clutching the football to his chest. “You're hopeless,” he giggles, barely able to contain himself as he watches Till get redder and redder with anger. He likes it when Till looks at him like this. 

“Idiot,” Till grumbles. “Listen, do you even want to get on that team? With the way everyone always talks about them, you'd probably be better off joining a different sport. I heard Anakt swimming isn't too bad.”

“I don't know how to swim.”

“Well, how about baseball, then? I was looking around and their team seems decent.”

“I dunno…” Ivan trails off, averting his eyes.

“Why are you always so difficult?” Till groans, rolling to the ground beside Ivan. “Don't tell me you really want to stay on that sorry excuse of a team. Use your club membership literally anywhere else – even music club! I bet tons of bands would be dying for your voice, so don't just waste your chance on football.”

“It's not a waste,” Ivan says immediately, feeling strangely defensive.

“Really?” Till raises his eyebrows. “Why do you like it so much, then? Clearly, they're not treating you well if they benched you.”

“That's just because I'm not good enough, not because…” Ivan starts, then pauses. He doesn't even know how to begin explaining how football is the one place he's found someone who's willing to pick him for their group, someone who would seek him out instead of the other way around. Maybe if he were just a little bit better, he could even convince them all that he's useful enough to be worth something.

“Why are you still in the music club, even though they didn't select you?” Ivan asks Till instead.

“That's different,” Till replies. “I'm sticking with it because I know I'm good, and I want to prove those bastards that they’re wrong about music. I'll show them that making music that Segyeins like is dogshit compared to doing what you want.”

It's so wild, so vulgar, that Ivan has to smile. “You’re crazy,” he whispers adoringly.

Till turns to him then, a shine in his eyes that's bright with passion. Ivan can't look away. “Is that it, then? Are you also trying to show them up?”

Ivan shrugs. No, not at all. That's the difference between him and Till: where Ivan is stuck in a constant loop of chasing after people’s attention, Till has never needed that. Till has never, ever gone back on his own beliefs, never compromised, never surrendered – and yet, he draws attention to him regardless. 

He's the definition of a star. A genius.

Ivan is acutely aware that he can't compare.

“No,” he replies, “I guess you could say…I just like the company. That's all.”

***

Ivan never realized there were so many pieces to an outfit before. 

After dumping the huge, sturdy sports bag that Unsha had provided him a few days ago onto a bench in one of the locker’s shower rooms, he examines his new sports kit curiously. He usually just puts on his essentials every day: a plain pair of pants and a shirt, and for him, shoes as well – similar to most pets in Anakt. Only on very rare occasions did any of them accessorize, and even then, they needed explicit approval from the headmaster, which was just a huge hassle and not worth it at all.

Because of this, he may or may not take a minute to figure out how to wear his ‘shin guards’ (which he thought were socks) underneath another very, very long pair of white socks, which he knew for sure were socks because they had the feet part. Then, he wears a white long sleeved shirt and white shorts and white gloves and white shoes with spikes on the bottom. He remembers seeing the other players wear these and thinking they were a health hazard.

He shrugs on his white jersey, decorated with some black stripes and his name and number printed onto the back. ‘12.’ Apparently, since everyone on the field has claimed numbers 1-11, he's the extraneous one. Not that he minds. 12 is a good number, because when it's flipped it's 21, which is the date of Till’s birthday.

…Don't all people think like that about their friends?

Ivan walks out of the shower room and sets his bag with his old clothes inside his locker. When he closes the locker door, Acorn is on the other side.

“Huh,” he says. “Nice kit.”

“Thank you,” Ivan replies with a smile. Acorn is wearing the same thing as him – just the standard white uniform, only without the undershirt and gloves. His jersey has a big ‘9’ written on it. Ivan guesses the numbers correlate to different positions, but he's not really sure of their relation. “Yours too.”

“Mine? These are probably some other pet’s hand-me-downs,” Acorn laughs.

“Oh.”

“Well, it's good enough,” Acorn shrugs. “Are you ready for our first game? Or, sorry. Are you ready to watch our first game?”

“Yeah, I am. I'm sure you'll do great.”

Acorn shoots a look at him over his shoulder, a confused smile on his face. He goes to open the locker room door, which leads out to the field. “You're fine being benched?” he asks. 

“It’s alright,” Ivan shrugs. “Don't worry about me. How are you feeling?”

Acorn furrows his brows. “...Fine, I guess. Ri’s been showing me around a little, since I'm supposed to be shadowing him,” he replies. He turns around, eyes roaming the nearly empty stands. “Do you think Sua came?”

“I don't know. It doesn't look like it,” Ivan replies, scanning over the stands as well. It's practically a ghost town with a smattering of bored looking students clumped up in groups in the corners. Are they even here for the game?

Acorn sighs. “Of course.”

Ivan looks at him worriedly. Acorn seems to be trying awfully hard to get a connection with Sua, which, by all accounts, is a good thing. But Ivan doesn't know how to break it to him that Sua just… doesn't really get close to anyone, except for Mizi.

“Hey, newbies!” Ri says, interrupting his train of thought by clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Ready for your first rodeo?”

“What's a rodeo?”

“Ehh, saw it in a book once, I think,” Ri drawls off-handedly. “Woah, Ivan! Damn, that's a nice uniform you got there.”

“Thanks,” Ivan says, trying out another smile. 

“Your guardian must be hella rich, huh?” Ri says, thinking. “That jersey is, like, blindingly white. Whiter than mine.”

Ivan shakes his head. “I don't think so,” he lies, to be polite. Ri’s right, though. The football ace’s uniform is a touch too small and full of grass stains, enough to indicate that it probably hasn't been replaced in a while. 

“Shame it's gonna get wasted on the bench, though,” Ri smirks. Ivan tilts his head, a confused smile still pasted on his face. “If you were on the field, I would've thought you were the star. Ahaha! Funny thought, right?”

“Yeah, funny,” Ivan says.

“Anyway, I gotta go. Coach is telling me to do warmups again – what a freaking drag,” Ri scowls. “Acorn, stick with me during the game, got it?”

“Yes, sir!”

Ri quickly runs off to where the older players are gathered doing stretches. Ivan and Acorn look at each other.

“Interesting guy,” Ivan says.

“Yeah. Isn't he so cool?”

This is what people find cool? Hm…

“Hey, Acorn! Are you ready?” Oak asks, pausing in the middle of his stretching to jog over to the two of them. Leaf follows close behind, his shoulders hunched and head down. 

“As ready as I'll ever be. Not like it matters though, since it's just practice,” Acorn answers. “Oh, hey, nice shoes!”

“Thanks! I finally got my correct size,” Oak brags, showing off his spikey shoes. They're a little stained, but don't look too used. “My cheapskate guardian didn't back out on her word for once.” 

“Lucky you,” Leaf sighs, looking dejectedly down at his own shirt. It's so oversized, it's practically reaching his knees, and he's tied up the waistband of his shorts to keep them from falling. Both his socks and shoes are ratty and torn. “My guardian left me with freaking Segyein sized clothes. I think my pants might actually fall down in the middle of the game.”

“That's crazy! I didn't know kits were that expensive,” Acorn says, shocked.

“They aren't. It's just…I don't even know. Wasn't lucky with my adoption,” Leaf sighs. “Looks like one of us didn't have that problem, though.”

He’s looking at Ivan with a dead stare, an unreadable expression on his face. Ivan fiddles with the hem of his shirt, not knowing how to feel under the scrutiny.

Oak glances at Ivan once, then claps a hand over Leaf’s shoulder. “Aha!” he laughs nervously. “Head up, dude! Who knows – if we do well in the tournament, she might buy you a new kit. Let's just get through this one, yeah?”

“We’ll look away if your pants fall down,” Acorn says helpfully. “Oh, I think Coach is calling us. Let's get into our positions.”

There's a faint bustle as Coach Z calls everyone to the bench. Ivan sits down as he attempts to give a little pep talk to the team, before giving up when he realizes no one is listening.