Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You're truly deserving of the title, lyricist of our generation.” The interviewer, Ella, beamed at him, her voice brimming with admiration.

Ivan offered a modest smile, tilting his head slightly. “I don’t think I can claim such an honor. There are so many talented lyricists my age whose work simply hasn’t been discovered yet.”

Ella leaned forward, undeterred. “That may be true, but the way you weave raw emotion and undeniable passion into your music—it’s absolutely remarkable!” Her enthusiasm seemed to fill the room.

He let out a soft, polite chuckle, his hands folded neatly on his lap. “I’m deeply flattered that my work resonates with you so strongly.”

“Well,” she smiled warmly at the camera, her excitement contagious, “since we’re talking about your music, your new song MAPS just hit the Billboard charts. How are you feeling?”

Behind her, the screen shifted from a vibrant backdrop to an image displaying MAPS in sixth place on the chart.

“It’s only been three days,” she continued, her voice brimming with enthusiasm, “but your song has already broken into the top ten! Do you have any thoughts or comments on this achievement?”

Ivan leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. He hummed softly before speaking. “Well, I was honestly surprised it gained as much traction as it did. MAPS doesn’t really align with the style of my other work, so I wasn’t sure how people would respond to it.” He paused, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It also didn’t help that there was no real promotion for the song—it just sort of... slipped out there.”

His understated humor earned a soft chuckle from Ella. “And yet, here you are, sitting in the top ten! That says a lot about the power of your music.”

Ivan laughed lightly, brushing off the compliment with an easy smile. “I guess it does.”

Ella leaned forward, her grin widening as though she were gearing up for something big. “All right, the kiddie gloves are coming off!” she announced, practically buzzing with excitement.

Ivan straightened slightly in his seat, already bracing himself. He knew what was coming next. After all, a person doesn’t just release a rejection song without raising a few eyebrows.

“For those who don’t know,” she began, turning her attention to the camera, “MAPS is a heart-wrenching song about yearning and rejection!” She let the words linger, her dramatic delivery pulling the audience in, before turning back to Ivan with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “So, naturally, everyone has been dying to know—just who managed to break the Ivan’s heart?”

The room seemed to hold its breath, her question hanging in the air as Ivan’s smile faltered, just for a second. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Ivan felt like he was hacking up his lungs. For the past few days, a relentless fever had gripped him, and the coughing wouldn’t stop. His throat burned with each breath, tight and raw, like it was being scraped with sandpaper. He let out another painful cough, his chest heaving as the sharp pain shot through him.

Mizi, watching with growing concern, gently patted him on the back, her touch soft but insistent. She handed him a cup of water, her eyes filled with worry. “I really think you should see a doctor, Ivan,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “This doesn’t feel like just a regular fever. Something's off.”

Ivan paused, staring at the water for a moment, but he didn’t reach for it right away. He could feel the weight of her concern pressing against him, and he knew she was right. But the thought of seeing a doctor only made him feel worse. He hated the idea of being checked over, especially when he still wasn’t sure what was happening to him.

“Ivan.” Her voice was firmer now, but when she saw the unshed tears of pain in his eyes, her tone softened immediately. She reached out, gently wiping away the tears that had started to gather at the corners of his eyes. “We're going to the doctor, and we're going to figure out what’s wrong, okay?”

Ivan wanted to protest, to tell her he’d be fine, but another harsh cough wracked his body, draining him of any remaining strength to argue. His chest tightened with the effort, and his head hung low, defeated.

He managed a quiet nod, his voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

Hanahaki.

Ivan had Hanahaki.

He didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or cry at the irony of his situation. It all felt surreal, like a twisted joke he couldn’t escape.

“You’re lucky we caught it early,” the doctor said, her voice professional but gentle. “We can easily perform the surgery, and—”

Ivan cut her off, his voice tight with something raw. “I’m not getting the surgery.”

Both the doctor and Mizi looked at him, stunned.

“But Ivan—” Mizi began, her voice trembling with concern.

“It’s Till.”

Mizi froze. Her breath caught, and her eyes widened in horror, the weight of the name hanging between them. The doctor, clearly confused, glanced between the two of them. “I’m clearly missing some critical information here.”

Ivan couldn’t bring himself to meet the doctor’s gaze. His eyes remained fixed on the floor, the words sticking in his throat.

“Till is our childhood friend,” Mizi said softly, her voice almost a whisper, as if speaking the truth any louder would make it more unbearable.

The doctor’s expression faltered, then softened in understanding. “Ah, well… that complicates things.”

The room felt too small, the air too thick as Ivan’s chest tightened in silent agony. He could feel Mizi’s gaze on him, but all he could think of was Till—and how the heartache of the past was now tied to the very disease choking him from the inside.

The doctor cleared her throat, her voice taking on a more serious tone. “In cases involving childhood friends, we usually advise against the surgery. The procedure can permanently alter a person’s personality, especially when they’re forced to forget such a significant portion of their life.” She paused for a moment, her pen moving quickly over the clipboard as she wrote something down.

She glanced up at them, her expression softening but still professional. “I suggest we go over how the disease progresses, and then I’ll explain the treatment options we offer. From there, we can decide the best course of action.”

Ivan could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the weight of the doctor's words pressing down on him like a suffocating fog. Forgetting Till… the mere thought of it was unbearable. He would rather collapse then and there, accept death with open arms, than lose the memory of him.

Till wasn’t just a person to him. He was everything. His God. His Universe. The idea of waking up one day and not remembering the sound of his laugh, the warmth of his presence— it was a fate worse than any physical pain. The disease, the suffocating thorns of Hanahaki that filled his chest, seemed trivial compared to the thought of losing Till.

Ivan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, the conflict raging within him like a storm. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t forget.

“Alright,” Ivan rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor nodded, her tone detached as she continued to outline the grim reality before him. “The first sign of Hanahaki is usually a fever, followed by intense and painful coughing fits.”

Ivan felt a numbing sensation creeping through him, his mind slowly shutting down to protect itself from what was coming next.

“After a couple of days, the first flower buds will begin to appear. You’ll come back, and we can identify the flower, along with its meaning.” The doctor flipped through her clipboard, her voice steady, but Ivan could sense the unspoken weight in her words.

“After a few more days, you'll start coughing up petals, and your body will begin to smell like the flower itself.”

Mizi squeezed his shoulder, her fingers trembling slightly as she listened, and Ivan could feel her shiver beside him. It was like the news was too much for both of them to bear, even though she wasn’t the one suffering.

“After five to seven months the flower will eventually bloom into its full form.” The doctor paused, and the silence hung between them like a heavy, suffocating weight. “And then usually a month or two after that, you’ll start coughing up clumps of the flower itself.”

Ivan blankly listened as the doctor spelled out his death sentence, the words rolling off her tongue like something impersonal.

“After about a year, that’s when the real danger begins,” the doctor continued, her voice laced with caution. “The patient will start coughing up the full flower stem—roots and all. Depending on the type of flower, this is when the risk of death is highest.”

Mizi let out a small sob, her breath hitching as she murmured to herself, trying to process the devastation of what this meant. Ivan instinctively reached over, rubbing her back in a futile attempt to comfort her.

“Finally, after about a year and a half—maybe two years, if the patient is unlucky enough—the flowers will cling to the lungs, leading to death.”

Ivan knew he should feel something—devastation, grief, maybe the sting of knowing his life was slipping away far too soon. But the truth was, the numbness had settled too deep within him, the cold weight of it pressing against every inch of his chest. What little energy he had left was being used to comfort Mizi, who was taking the news much harder than he was. She needed him more than he needed to process his own fate.

Not like there was much to process. He already knew his fate—he was going to die. But in a strange, twisted way, death seemed kinder than living a life without Till. The thought of enduring years, weeks, or even days without him felt far more torturous than the slow, inevitable end that Hanahaki promised.

Ivan didn’t need to think about it. The decision had already been made in his heart. If dying was the price to pay for being free of the suffocating agony of losing Till—of forgetting him—then it was a price he’d gladly accept. There was no point in holding onto a life that would never be whole again.

“Y—you said there was some kind of treatment?” Mizi managed to ask through her sobs. The doctor nodded, her voice soft but factual.

“Yes, but contrary to popular belief, confessing doesn’t always help. In fact, sometimes the confirmation of rejection can speed up the process.”

Mizi’s face drained of color, her eyes wide with horror, as if the doctor’s words were physically wounding her.

Ivan’s heart twisted painfully at the sight of her, a pang of guilt hitting him. He tried to lighten the mood, forcing a small smile. “Cheer up, Mizi, cheer up.” But even to his ears, it sounded weak, hollow.

The smile only seemed to make things worse. Mizi’s face crumpled further, her tears flowing more freely now, and Ivan’s chest constricted with a heavy mix of guilt and helplessness. He had no idea how to make it stop, how to fix it.

“Why are you comforting me?!” she cried, her voice raw and breaking. She stood suddenly, gripping both of his arms as if she were clinging to him for support. Ivan thought for a second she might shake him, but instead, she pulled him into a tight embrace.

At first, his arms hung loosely by his sides, too overwhelmed to respond. But he couldn’t pull away, not when she was like this. His mind was numb to the thought of his own death, too far gone to care about the slow, inevitable end that awaited him. All he could focus on was Mizi, her pain echoing in his chest.

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, fingers pressing gently into her back, offering what little comfort he could. Nothing mattered more than making her feel less crushed, less alone. His fate was already sealed—there was no avoiding that. But Mizi... she shouldn’t have to carry his burden. He hated that he’d involved her in this, hated how much she was suffering because of him.

Mizi wasn’t built for grief.

Using the last of his strength, he pulled her into a deeper embrace, holding her as tightly as he could. Her pain was all that mattered now. It wasn’t about him anymore—he wasn’t important. But she was. She had to be okay. If he could give her even a little comfort, a little peace, he would do it.

He turned back to the doctor, gesturing for her to continue. She nodded, clearing her throat. “Our best course of action is to wait and see what type of flowers you cough up, and from there, we'll work on a treatment plan.”

Ivan gave Mizi a soft smile, despite the storm of emotions brewing in her eyes. “See, Mizi? It’s okay. The doctors are going to do everything they can to make sure my death is as painless as possible.” He ran his fingers through her pink hair, trying to offer whatever comfort he could, even though his own heart felt hollow.

“But I don't want you to die, Ivan! You're my best friend!” She cried, her tears flowing freely as she looked up at him. Her golden eyes, filled with raw emotion, locked onto his empty black ones, and for a moment, Ivan felt like he was losing her all over again.

He simply nodded, his expression unreadable. Sometimes, silence was safer than anything he could say. Words wouldn’t change anything. He wouldn’t be around long enough for them to matter.

“To Sua!”

“To Sua!”

Glasses clinked as everyone toasted in honor of Sua. After the toss, the group scattered, enjoying the dinner and each other's company. Ivan sat quietly beside his cousin, the two of them content to simply people-watch.

After a while, Ivan broke the silence. “Congratulations on getting your book published.”

Sua hummed in acknowledgment, finishing the last of her drink in one long gulp. “It was bound to happen,” she said plainly, her tone as nonchalant as ever.

“Doesn’t make it any less impressive,” Ivan replied, his gaze drifting to the lively scene before them. Their friends and some of Sua’s coworkers were deep in conversation, laughter ringing out every so often as they celebrated her accomplishment.

The corner of Sua’s mouth twitched into a faint smirk, but she didn’t say anything. Ivan didn’t press her. It was just how she was—low-key and indifferent, even when the spotlight was entirely hers.

They sat in silence, both soaking in the comfort of each other’s presence, the noise of the party fading into the background.

“Why did you go to the doctor’s last Friday?”

Ivan froze for a moment, before letting himself relax. Of course, Sua knew something. She always did.

He gave her a smile, though it was laced with an emptiness he couldn’t hide.

“Did Mizi tell you?”

Sua shook her head, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. Of course, she’d be suspicious. Mizi told her everything—always had. For her to suddenly clam up, especially when everyone knew she’d stayed behind to help Ivan recover from his supposed ‘flu,’ it was obvious something was wrong. It didn’t help that she’d refused to meet anyone's eyes when someone brought it up, or she’d changed the subject... it probably didn't take long for Sua to realise something was wrong.

“You dying or something?” she asked casually, refilling her glass with a nonchalant motion, the liquid swirling half-full, half-empty. Like Ivan.

He glanced down at his hands, his mind wandering to how much time he had left before the buds started to form.

Sua furrowed her brow when he didn’t rise to the bait, her casual jab hanging heavily in the air.

“You are, aren’t you?” she pressed again, her voice quieter now, tinged with something that almost sounded like concern.

Ivan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for the wine bottle in her hand, his movements deliberate as he refilled his own glass. The liquid swirled inside, half empty, half full.

“It’s a good night, Sua,” he said finally, his voice calm, almost serene. He raised the glass to his lips but didn’t drink just yet. “Let’s just enjoy it for now.”

He smiled at her—a soft, tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was the kind of smile that left no room for questions, even if she had a dozen burning in her chest.

Sua watched him closely, her sharp gaze flicking between his face and the glass in his hand. After a moment, she let out a small, resigned sigh and leaned back in her chair, her own glass held loosely in her fingers.

“Fine,” she muttered, lifting her drink. “But don’t think you’re off the hook.”

Ivan chuckled softly and clinked his glass against hers. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Ivan felt tipsy, to say the least. It had been a long time since he’d let himself drink enough to feel this way. The dull ache in his chest, the one that had been his constant companion these past weeks, seemed to fade into the background.

He didn’t feel so empty anymore. In fact, for the first time in what felt like ages, he felt alive. His senses were sharper, his thoughts lighter. The weight that usually bore down on him had lifted, replaced by a buzz that made everything around him seem a little brighter, a little warmer.

His night got even better when his eyes landed on Till, standing by himself next to the food table. There he was, his back turned, casually browsing through the snacks like it was the most normal thing in the world. The sight of him stirred something deep in Ivan’s chest—something bittersweet, something that made him feel grounded and untethered all at once.

Without thinking, Ivan found himself getting up, his legs moving almost on their own. If tonight was the first time in forever he felt alive, then maybe—just maybe—he could let himself bask in that feeling a little longer. Even if it was fleeting. Even if it was reckless.

“Till~” Ivan called out in a sing-song voice, his words floating lazily through the air.

“Huh?” Till turned, his face mildly confused, and for a moment, Ivan felt like the world had been knocked off its axis. His breath caught in his throat. It was as though he was being drawn toward Till like a planet to the sun, helpless against the pull of gravity that threatened to consume him whole.

Full. He felt so full. The void in his chest—the heavy, gnawing emptiness that had haunted him—disappeared. Every shadow within him seemed to evaporate under Till’s gaze, like morning dew under the warmth of the sun.

“So the flu didn’t kill you?” Till asked, his voice casual, though his tone betrayed a hint of concern. He tried to mask it, of course, but Ivan saw through it immediately.

Ivan grinned unabashedly, a soft laugh escaping him at Till’s poorly disguised attempt to act indifferent. “Did you miss me?~” he teased, poking Till’s cheek. A delightful tingle spread through him when he saw the faint twitch in Till’s eye, a small sign of irritation that only made Ivan’s grin widen.

“Tch, who missed your annoying ass,” Till muttered, turning his head away, though the faintest hint of pink dusted his ears.

The moment Till’s attention wasn’t fully on him, Ivan felt the warmth drain from his body, leaving him hollow and shivering. The ache in his chest clawed its way back, sharp and relentless. His throat tightened, each breath growing more labored as if the air itself was slipping away from him.

Desperation gnawed at his edges, and he instinctively stepped closer, reaching for that light, for the gravity that held him together. He didn’t care if it burned him to ash; anything was better than the crushing cold of Till’s absence.

“Well, I missed you!” Ivan blurted, his voice almost frantic as he scrambled to bring Till’s gaze back to him.

Till huffed, the faintest flicker of a smirk tugging at his lips. It wasn’t much, just a small, dismissive sound—but it was enough. Enough for Ivan to feel the tightness in his chest ease, enough to quiet the hollow ache.

He relaxed, letting himself breathe again, even as the corners of his lips tugged into a soft, almost timid smile. As long as Till’s light touched him, even just for a moment, he could hold on a little longer.

“How’s the album going?” Till asked casually, his voice cutting through the noise around them.

Ivan blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected Till to remember, much less ask about it. His heart stuttered in his chest, and for a moment, the ache inside him eased. “It’s going well,” Ivan replied, his voice soft but eager. “I should be done soon, and when it’s finished, I promise you’ll be the first person I’ll let listen to it!”

Till nodded, a small, almost imperceptible gesture. He looked like he was about to say something else, but before the moment could stretch into something meaningful, someone else called his name.

And just like that, Till was gone.

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t glance back. He just walked away.

The sudden absence hit Ivan like a gut punch. The warmth Till’s attention had given him vanished, replaced by a cold, hollow clawing in his chest. The lack of acknowledgment scratched at the back of his throat, and a sharp, familiar tightness spread through his lungs.

Ivan felt the burning sensation rise, and panic flickered in his eyes. Quickly, he set his wine glass down on the nearest table, hoping no one would notice the trembling in his hands. Something was coming up his throat, something he couldn’t stop.

Without a word, he turned and hurried toward the bathroom, his steps quick and purposeful as he fought to keep the inevitable at bay.

He failed to notice the pair of sharp, piercing purple eyes trailing after him, their gaze heavy with suspicion and something unspoken. They watched as Ivan disappeared down the hallway, his hurried steps betraying his otherwise composed demeanor.

The owner of those eyes lingered for a moment, swirling their drink thoughtfully before setting it down and following after him, their movements quiet and deliberate.

Ivan gagged, his body convulsing as the flower buds forced their way up from his chest. He gasped for breath, feeling the sharp, uncomfortable scratch of the buds at the back of his throat as they pushed their way out. His eyes burned with tears, a mixture of pain and frustration blurring his vision. Each cough felt like it was tearing him apart from the inside, the buds stubborn and relentless.

The pain was intense, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache that had settled in his chest long ago. He gritted his teeth, trying to steady his breath as the final buds came up, his hands trembling from the exertion. He collapsed onto the bathroom counter, his knees and his body felt weak, the ache of the disease growing louder in his mind.

It wasn't the pain he feared. It was the inevitable. The suffocating truth that he was losing everything—his breath, his voice, his body. And all he could do was endure.

Each ragged breath felt heavier, like the weight of the world was pressing down on him. His hands gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles turning white as he tried to steady himself. The buds sat like an anchor in his throat, a cruel reminder of everything slipping away. The feverish heat coursed through him again, though this time it felt less like warmth and more like a fire consuming him from the inside.

But even as the tears streamed down his face, the darkness in his chest was quieter now. Because there was something still there—something he clung to, even if it was slipping through his fingers. The way Till’s eyes had softened when they locked for just a moment, the fleeting connection. He could still feel the burn of that moment, and for some reason, it was enough to keep him tethered here, even as everything else was breaking apart.

He swallowed thickly, forcing the painful lump in his throat to pass. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on, but right now, all he could do was take another breath and keep going, one agonizing second at a time.

When he lifted his gaze to the mirror, his breath hitched, stolen from his chest entirely. His reflection stared back at him, but it wasn’t just him anymore. Sua’s purple eyes—wide, filled with fear—locked with his, freezing him in place. He couldn’t look away.

Ivan sat on his bed, frozen, his eyes refusing to meet Sua’s piercing purple ones.

“Hanahaki,” she spat, her voice biting, cold. “You have fucking Hanahaki and you didn’t think to tell me?” Her words cracked at the end, betraying the weight of what she was trying to hold back.

He swallowed hard, but his gaze stayed glued to the floor, unwilling to meet hers.

“Look at me.” Her command came with more force, desperation creeping in.

“Ivan, look at me!” Her voice wavered, and he hated that it was because of him that she was breaking like this.

“Please,” she sobbed, and with that, he caved. His hollow, empty eyes slowly met her tear-filled purple ones, the sight of her pain twisting something deep inside him. The moment mirrored something from the hospital with Mizi—just as raw, just as impossible to escape.

In an instant, Ivan felt the sharp sting of Sua’s slap against his cheek. “What happened to telling each other when things got bad?” Her voice was cold, steel cutting through the air.

Ivan swallowed, the taste of guilt thick in his throat, and met her gaze. He couldn’t bring himself to try and smile—he knew it wouldn’t work on her. It never did with Sua.

“How long?”

“How long until what?”

“I’m not in the mood for you to play dumb.”

“A year and a half. Two years if I’m lucky.”

“With who?”

“You know who.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as Sua processed his words. Finally, she exhaled, a tired sigh that seemed to carry all the weight of the moment. Without another word, she lay down beside him on the bed. Ivan hesitated, but eventually followed her, lying down next to her. Together, they stared up at the fake stars on the ceiling, still glowing with a faint, almost nostalgic light—the same ones Sua had bought for him all those years ago, back when birthdays were something to celebrate.

“I’m sorry I ruined your night.”

“You know I don’t care for celebrations.”

“Still, it was supposed to be your night.”

She turned to face him, her eyes searching his profile, but his gaze remained locked on the ceiling.

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Avoiding my gaze. You’re not a coward. Stop acting like one.”

But he was. A coward, deep down. She didn’t know it, but he was. A coward who’d rather face the finality of an untimely death than confront the cold rejection of the one person whose affection he craved more than anything.

He turned to look at her. Black met purple, and in that instant, Ivan felt like they were kids again, sprawled on his bed, staring up at the fake stars that still clung to his ceiling. Back then, they’d talk about everything—dreams, fears, the universe, and all the little things that didn’t seem to matter but somehow always did.

“Are you going to confess?” Sua’s voice was barely above a whisper, but her words settled between them like a stone dropped into still water, rippling outward.

“Apparently, confessing makes it worse,” Ivan muttered, his tone resigned, each word heavy. “The confirmation of knowing your love is unrequited speeds up the process.”

Sua’s brows knit together, her lips parting to argue, but she stopped herself. “You don’t know it’s unrequited,” she finally said, though the uncertainty in her voice was painfully clear.

Ivan turned his head fully toward her, his expression unreadable. “Can you, with full confidence, tell me that Till is in love with me?” His tone was calm, but there was a quiet challenge in his words, a resignation that cut deeper than any outburst could.

She hesitated. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. For once, Sua was at a loss for words. She couldn’t. Till was... Till. A complicated, erratic, a mess of emotions on his best days and a mystery on his worst. It was hard enough to tell if he felt genuine attraction toward anyone, let alone romantic love. It didn’t help that they weren’t even sure where Till fell on the spectrum.

“I…” Her voice faltered, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

Ivan exhaled slowly, sinking deeper into the mattress as though he could disappear into it entirely. Her silence told him what he already knew.

“What type of flowers were those?” she asked, her voice quick, it was a transparent attempt to change the subject, but he didn’t call her out on it.

“I’m not sure yet,” he replied, his tone neutral. “I’ll have to ask the doctor.”

“We.”

He raised an eyebrow, turning his head to meet her determined gaze. “We?”

“There’s no way in hell I’m letting you go through this alone,” Sua said firmly.

He studied her for a moment, the determination in her eyes leaving no room for argument. He simply nodded, knowing better than to fight her when she was like this. If anyone would be by his side through the storm, it would be Sua. She always had been.

Sua wasn’t kidding about the hospital. The day after her congratulation party, she stormed into his apartment with Mizi in tow, her determination unshakable. Before he could protest, she had him by the arm, dragging him out the door like his life depended on it.

Well, technically, it did—so he couldn’t be too upset about it.

Mizi fidgeted with her engagement ring, twisting it absentmindedly as they waited for the doctor to return with the results.

“I don’t think I’ve seen your engagement ring up close,” Ivan said, his tone light, trying to pull her attention away from her nerves.

Mizi blinked, startled for a moment, then glanced down at her hand. With a small, shy smile, she extended it toward him.

“Amethyst?” Ivan murmured, studying the deep violet gem. A soft chuckle escaped him as he leaned back. “You know, in some cultures, it symbolizes eternal love.”

Sua’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Fitting, isn’t it?” she said, her voice quiet but steady.

“What gem is your ring?” Ivan asked, shifting his attention to Sua.

She extended her hand with a teasing flourish. “Rose gold?” he guessed, narrowing his eyes as he examined it.

Sua shook her head, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “It’s Morganite,” she said, her tone laced with subtle triumph.

Ivan scrunched his brow and pouted, immediately catching on to her little moment of superiority. She was definitely enjoying the fact that he didn’t recognize the stone.

“It means divine love and harmony,” Mizi chimed in, her face lighting up as if she’d been waiting for the perfect moment to share.

Ivan could feel his lips curve into a smile without even thinking about it—her joy was just that contagious.

Their small moment of peace shattered as the door creaked open and the doctor stepped back into the room, a folder in hand.

“Good news,” she announced, her tone calm and reassuring. “The flowers you’re coughing up aren’t dangerous. In fact, they fall on the milder side of the spectrum.”

Ivan caught the subtle sound of Mizi letting out a breath of relief beside him, her shoulders visibly relaxing. Sua, ever the steady presence, rubbed her back comfortingly, her touch gentle but firm. It was a small gesture, but at that moment, it felt like everything was just a little less heavy.

“What flower is it?” Sua asked, her voice steady but curious.

“Forget-me-not,” the doctor replied, handing Ivan a photo.

The delicate image showed clusters of tiny blue flowers with five petal-like segments, each one a soft shade of sky blue with a yellow center. The petals almost seemed to shimmer, as if caught in the light just right. The flower's small size made it all the more striking, its quiet beauty hiding a deeper meaning.

“They mean remembrance,” the doctor continued, her tone softening. “They symbolize love and memories that endure, no matter the distance.”

Fitting. The forget-me-nots were such a perfect symbol of everything Ivan felt for Till—something precious, something he couldn’t bear to let go of.

“Why are they called forget-me-nots?” Mizi asked, her voice soft as she leaned over Ivan’s shoulder, both her and Sua studying the picture of the flowers.

The doctor gave a small smile, almost as if she'd anticipated the question.

“There’s a legend behind it,” she began, her tone taking on a slightly more reflective edge. “In the old days, a knight and his lady were walking along a riverbank. The knight, wanting to pick some flowers for her, ventured out into the water, but the current swept him away. As he was drowning, he tossed the flowers to his lady, shouting, ‘Forget me not!’”

Mizi’s eyes widened, and even Sua seemed touched by the story.

“It’s a symbol of loyalty and enduring love,” the doctor added, her gaze moving between them. “A promise that even in separation, you’ll be remembered.”

Ivan let out a bitter laugh, the sound rough and hollow. God, his life felt like a joke—like some twisted punchline he couldn’t escape. The very flower that symbolized enduring love, remembrance... it felt so ironic.

He could feel the weight of it then, the sharp sting of truth. He was the knight in the story, wasn’t he? He could see himself in that knight's place—falling into the river, desperately reaching for flowers for someone who wouldn’t even look his way. Someone who wouldn’t even know he was drowning.

Mizi hugged his side, her warmth grounding him, and he leaned into her touch, letting it calm the storm inside.

“They’re beautiful, Ivan,” she whispered softly, running her fingers gently through his hair. “It just shows how pure your love for Till is.”

Her words wrapped around him, a small comfort in the midst of everything.

Sua remained quiet for a moment, as if weighing her thoughts, before she spoke again. “It reminds me of the poem we read in class. Do you remember?”

Ivan nodded, the words flowing without thought, like they were carved into his bones. “Love is always patient and kind. It is never jealous. Love is never boastful or conceited. It is never rude or selfish. It does not take offense and is not resentful.”

His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop, the poem almost a lifeline, a reminder of what love was supposed to be.

“Love takes no pleasure in other people’s sins, but delights in the truth. It is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes.”

When he finished, the room fell into a heavy silence.

Mizi let out a soft sniffle and buried her face in his hair, as if the weight of the words had struck her too. Ivan could feel the warmth of her breath against his scalp, the quiet comfort of her presence, and for a brief moment, he caved—he let himself grieve.

Grieve for everything he was going to lose, for the love he’d give and never get back, for the unspoken words and the time slipping away. The tears he’d been holding back began to sting his eyes, but he didn’t pull away from Mizi. He let himself feel it, just this once, before the walls went back up.

Sua gently squeezed his other arm, a soft reminder that she was there for him, grounding him just as much as Mizi’s touch.

The doctor cleared her throat softly, drawing their attention back to her. “Since forget-me-nots are relatively safe, they’re safe for consumption and non-toxic. Their buds are fuzzy, and their scent is very subtle and delicate. It’s often described as sweet—almost like honey—and fresh.” She paused, looking at Ivan thoughtfully. “So, your scent won’t be overpowering like some other flowers. It should remain light and gentle, not a constant presence.”

She paused, giving Ivan a reassuring glance. “It should be easy for you to live with. I’d say you might just make it to the two year mark.”

The doctor adjusted her glasses and glanced down at her clipboard. “Now, let's discuss the treatment options available for managing the symptoms of Hanahaki Disease. Unfortunately, there’s no permanent cure—aside from surgery—but as we’ve discussed, the surgery is far too dangerous for your situation. However, we do have ways to ease the symptoms and slow the progression of the disease.”

She paused, her eyes scanning the group before continuing. “First, we’ll focus on symptom management—specifically, providing some physical relief. The flowers you’re coughing up are relatively harmless, but they do cause discomfort, so it’s important to address that.”

“Herbal teas,” she began, “like lavender, chamomile, and ginger, can help soothe the throat and reduce inflammation. These teas have a calming effect, which can help your body relax while also addressing the irritation caused by constant coughing. Additionally, anti-inflammatory ointments made from natural substances—like eucalyptus or peppermint—can be applied around your chest to relieve the tightness or pain caused by coughing.”

She let them process the information before continuing. “Throat lozenges can also help, especially those specially formulated to ease irritation. Some may even have a sedative effect, helping you rest.”

“The disease can take a physical toll on your body, so breathing exercises are crucial. Deep breathing techniques or meditative breathing will help your lungs stay strong and manage the stress placed on your body. Controlled breathing can help reduce hyperventilation and prevent stress-induced coughing fits.”

The doctor flipped to the next page in her notes, her tone remaining steady. “As for lifestyle adjustments, maintaining a diet rich in antioxidants and anti-inflammatory foods will support your immune system and reduce inflammation in your lungs. Foods like berries, fish rich in omega-3 fatty acids, and those containing turmeric are beneficial. Hydration is also key—keeping your throat moist will make it easier to expel the flowers.”

She gave them a moment to absorb the information before continuing. “You’ll also need to prioritize rest. Your body will need more breaks, especially after intense coughing episodes. Short naps or just lying down will be vital for recovery. Incorporating relaxation techniques like yoga, gentle stretches, or meditation will help manage stress and, in turn, can slow the progression of the disease.”

The doctor took a deep breath before going on. “There are also some medical interventions we can consider. Steroid injections or anti-inflammatory drugs could temporarily stop the flowers from growing, offering some physical relief. However, this would only be a short-term solution, and there could be side effects such as mood swings or irritability.”

She paused, her gaze softening as she looked at them. “Lastly, I want to emphasize the importance of emotional support. Having friends and loved ones around you—people who can help you process your feelings and manage the emotional toll of this disease—will be crucial. It’s a difficult journey, but you won’t have to go through it alone.”

She closed her notes and looked up with a reassuring smile. “This treatment plan won’t stop the disease, but it will help make things more manageable. It’s about slowing the progression and making it more bearable.”

Ivan swallowed, feeling the weight of it all. It was a lot to process. The doctor must have sensed his unease because she gave him a soft smile. “Don’t worry,” she said gently. “All of the relevant information will be stored in a folder and given to you before you leave the hospital. You can review it at your own pace.”

Mizi’s voice was soft but firm as she squeezed Ivan’s hand, offering him a small, comforting smile. “We just have to take it one step at a time,” she said reassuringly, her eyes steady with determination.

Ivan's New Song 'Mister Korea' Is A Fun Cover of the Iconic 'Miss Korea' by Lee Hyori

Ivan has done it again! The beloved artist recently dropped a fresh take on Lee Hyori's beloved hit, ‘Miss Korea,’ and it's safe to say ‘Mister Korea’ is a playful yet heartfelt homage to the original. With its modernized arrangement and Ivan's signature flair, the song strikes a balance between nostalgia and novelty.

In ‘Mister Korea,’ Ivan retains the charm of the original while adding his own twist, both musically and lyrically. Fans have praised his smooth vocals and clever updates to the lyrics, which inject humor and personality into the track. The accompanying music video further elevates the experience, showcasing Ivan's charisma as he dons a sleek, retro-inspired look that perfectly complements the song's themes.

“Lee Hyori's 'Miss Korea' has always been a classic, and I wanted to honor it while also making it my own,” Ivan shared in a recent interview. “This was such a fun project, and I hope fans can feel the love and respect I poured into it.”

Fans and critics alike are loving ‘Mister Korea,’ with many applauding Ivan's ability to reinvent a classic while staying true to its essence. The track is already climbing the charts, solidifying Ivan's reputation as an artist who knows how to blend creativity with reverence for iconic works.

Whether you're a long-time fan of Lee Hyori or new to Ivan's music, ‘Mister Korea’ is a must-listen that captures the spirit of the original while standing confidently on its own.

“Congrats on making the billboard, again.” Ivan could hear the fond eye roll in Till’s voice through the phone, and it made his chest feel lighter.

“I’m just glad people liked the cover as much as they did,” Ivan said happily, though there was a hint of lingering nerves in his tone. “Honestly, I was nervous I’d get into hot water for adapting the song.” He let out a soft, nervous laugh, his fingers fidgeting with his necklace.

Till snorted, a sound so familiar it made Ivan’s grin widen. “Are you kidding me? People adore you, Ivan. Any song you release is bound to do numbers.”

Ivan felt heat rush to his cheeks, the compliment catching him off guard. A wide smile spread across his face, and he couldn’t resist teasing back. “Is that a compliment?~” he said, his voice laced with playful mischief.

“Tsk, don’t get a big head, you brat,” Till shot back, though the warmth in his voice was unmistakable.

“Don’t you think you should treat me for my big accomplishment?” Ivan bit his lip as he threw the suggestion out there, a mix of hope and recklessness swirling in his chest. He knew he should keep his distance. Seeing Till wasn’t a smart idea—it could make his condition worse. But Ivan had never been one to make smart decisions where Till was concerned.

“Who’s the millionaire between us?” Till scoffed, his tone dripping with mock indignation.

Ivan huffed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll just go call Hyuna then. I bet she’d take me out to celebrate my accomplishments.” He smirked, knowing full well he was playing dirty by aiming straight for Till’s ego. But he couldn’t help it—Till was just so cute when he got mad.

Till’s breath hitched audibly through the phone, and Ivan could almost picture the incredulous look on his face. “You’re insufferable,” Till muttered, his voice a mix of irritation and something else—something softer.

Ivan grinned like a cat that had gotten into the cream. “I’ll take that as a yes~”

“Fine, you big baby, but don’t expect any fine dining!” Till shot back, his tone exasperated but still warm.

“Yay! I knew you’d come around.” Ivan’s grin was practically audible. “Just send me the date when you’re available!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Till muttered, clearly trying to sound nonchalant.

“It’s a date then!” Ivan chirped before hanging up, not even giving Till a chance to respond.

Ivan leaned back, letting out a long sigh. He knew Till would brush off his comment like he always did. Anytime Ivan flirted or tried to make a move, Till would wave it away as a joke, a harmless quip. The thought made Ivan’s stomach twist uncomfortably, a sour mix of frustration and something darker. He could feel the lump in his throat rise. God, it was pathetic—chasing after someone who didn’t even take him seriously. Just thinking about it made him want to gag.

Ivan stood in front of his dressing mirror for what felt like an eternity, arms crossed and expression caught somewhere between deep concentration and utter defeat. Shirts, jackets, and pants were strewn across the bed behind him—a battlefield of failed attempts. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he grabbed his phone and hit FaceTime, calling in the big guns.

Mizi answered almost immediately, her eyebrow arching when she saw him. “Let me guess—you’re stuck again?”

“Literally begging for help,” Ivan admitted, stepping back so she could see the chaos behind him. “You’re the designer. Save me.”

She laughed, a soft chuckle that quickly turned into teasing. “What’s the special occasion?”

Ivan’s gaze dropped to the floor as he nervously fiddled with the hem of the shirt he had on, the fabric twisting between his fingers. “I asked Till out on a date... well, not like he knows it’s a date, but still,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

There was a beat of silence before Mizi’s voice shot through the phone, almost cracking with disbelief. “Can you repeat that again? I think I missed the part where you did what?”

Ivan winced, cringing at the sound of her voice. Before Mizi could say another word, he blurted out in one rushed breath, “I asked Till out on a date, okay? And before you scold me, I know it was dumb, alright?” His hand ran through his hair in frustration, as if that could somehow untangle the mess he’d just admitted to.

Ivan finally met her gaze, and the concern etched across her face made his stomach twist. “Are you sure this is safe, Ivan?” Her voice was soft, but the weight of her worry hung in the air, filling the space between them.

He forced a smile, trying to reassure her despite the gnawing anxiety he felt. “I’m sure. It’s just lunch, anyway. What could go wrong?” he said, his voice a little too light to be convincing.

A heavy silence stretched between them, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. Ivan’s smile faltered, and he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I feel like I just jinxed myself.”

Mizi huffed, the sound a mix of exasperation and understanding. “Fine, fine. Let me see what I’m working with,” she relented, her tone softer now, though still laced with concern.

Till led Ivan into a cozy, tucked-away diner, the kind that felt like a hidden gem. The neon sign buzzed softly above the door, casting a warm, inviting glow over the small parking lot. Inside, the air smelled of fresh coffee and sizzling comfort food, the low hum of chatter and clinking silverware blending with the classic diner tunes playing softly in the background.

The booths were a deep shade of red, worn from years of use but still somehow welcoming. The walls were adorned with vintage posters and black-and-white photos, giving the place a nostalgic, lived-in feel. It wasn’t fancy, but it had character—a quiet charm that made it feel like it had always been there, waiting for them to step inside.

“How did you find this place?” Ivan asked, leaning back slightly in the booth, his eyes still taking in the charm of the diner.

Till shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “I did a commission for this place,” he explained, eyes glinting with the memory of work well done.

Ivan raised an eyebrow, the ‘oh’ expression spreading across his face. “Makes sense,” he nodded, impressed.

Till signaled for the waiter, and within moments, they’d placed their orders—nothing fancy, just simple comfort food that felt right in the moment. As they waited, their conversation drifted easily between the casual, recounting what had been going on in their lives since the last time they’d seen each other two months ago at Sua’s party. It wasn’t anything Ivan didn’t already know, thanks to their near-daily calls, but that didn’t make it any less enjoyable.

Even as they chatted, Ivan found himself completely absorbed in Till’s presence. There was something about these moments, simple and unremarkable as they were, that made Ivan feel grounded. Sitting across from Till, listening to him talk passionately about something—anything, really—made the weight of Ivan’s unspoken feelings feel a little lighter.

Just being there, in the same space, felt like enough. Even with the constant throb of his Hanahaki, it was these moments that made it all bearable. Ivan could breathe, just for now, in the quiet comfort of Till’s company.

The waiter returned with their food, and for a moment, they both dug in, the quiet clinking of cutlery filling the space between them.

“And Mika was nice enough to give me suggestions on what to do to fix it,” Till said, cutting through his food, clearly content.

Ivan's brows furrowed. Mika? The name didn’t sound familiar. He tried to recall all his recent conversations with Till, all their calls and texts, but he couldn’t remember a single mention of anyone named Mika. His mind raced, something nagging at him.

“Who’s Mika?” he finally asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Till’s expression shifted for a fraction of a second. “Shit, did I forget to tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Ivan’s voice was tight, his stomach suddenly churning.

A strange, uneasy feeling settled in his gut, an instinct telling him something was wrong, but he couldn’t place it. Not yet.

“She’s the girl I started seeing,” Till said, as casually as if he were talking about the weather. His words felt like a punch to Ivan’s chest, and for a heartbeat, he couldn’t breathe.

“Oh,” Ivan said, the word tasting like ash on his tongue. He tried to steady himself, trying to keep his voice even, trying to pretend this didn’t hurt. “Um, how long have you guys been dating?” The question sounded hollow, the air between them suddenly thick with tension. Ivan could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the sickening sensation of something crawling up his throat, choking him from the inside. He forced himself to swallow, but it didn’t help.

“Oh, we met at Sua’s party and just kind of hit it off, so like a month and a half since we made it official,” Till said, casually taking a bite of his food, unaware of the storm that was brewing in Ivan’s mind.

Ivan’s stomach churned. He suddenly didn’t feel like eating anymore. The thought of even putting food in his mouth made him nauseous, his appetite evaporating in an instant. Every word Till said felt like it was digging deeper, each one adding weight to the hollow space in Ivan’s chest. It was as if the room had shifted, the air suddenly too thick to breathe, the words too sharp to swallow.

“I—uh, I’ll be right back,” Ivan muttered, his voice trembling just slightly as he stood up. Without another word, he rushed toward the bathroom, his steps quick and frantic as he tried to put distance between himself and the suffocating weight of reality.

Once inside, he slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, his hands trembling. The mirror in front of him reflected his pale face, eyes wide, breath shallow. His chest felt tight, a knot that wouldn’t loosen. His stomach churned, but it wasn’t just nausea—it was something deeper, more suffocating. He couldn’t shake the image of Till with someone else, the realization of it sinking in, making him feel smaller with every passing second.

Ivan’s breathing grew shallow, each inhale a struggle as his chest tightened even more. He tried to steady himself, gripping the edge of the sink to keep from stumbling, but it was useless. His stomach twisted painfully, and with a sudden, violent cough, he felt it—the petals.

He gasped, hand clutching at his throat, the sensation of something foreign, something painful, forcing its way up. A few tiny blue petals, delicate and fragile, fell from his lips, scattering onto the sink. Ivan stared at them in disbelief, his heart sinking with each soft flutter as they landed. He coughed again, and another petal followed. It felt like his entire insides were being ripped apart, but the pain... the pain was nothing compared to the weight of the realization crashing down on him.

This wasn’t supposed to happen yet.

He leaned forward, bracing himself on the sink, eyes wide in horror as he struggled to breathe through the constriction in his throat. The petals were coming, crawling their way up, suffocating him with every breath. Each cough was like a reminder of everything he could never have, of everything he was losing.

The pain was unbearable, raw and jagged, tearing through him with every breath. Ivan’s hands trembled, white-knuckling the sink as if it could anchor him to reality, but the world was slipping away with each wave. His vision blurred, tears filling his eyes as the pressure in his chest intensified, squeezing out all the air in his lungs.

Another wave of flowers—petals, sharp and cruel—scraped its way up his throat, threatening to choke him. He gasped, eyes squeezed shut in a desperate attempt to hold it back, but it was futile. The petals emerged, a new batch tumbling from his mouth as if his body were betraying him, spitting out the very thing that was meant to suffocate him in silence. His breath hitched with the agony of it, and his fingers dug deeper into the porcelain, as if the sink could somehow absorb the weight of his pain.

The room seemed to spin, everything around him blurring into a haze of suffocating darkness, and for a moment, he wondered if he might collapse right there, swallowed whole by the twisted ache of his own heart. But all he could do was cough, and cry, and try to breathe between the waves of petals that kept rising, that kept pushing him closer to something he wasn’t ready to face.

Ivan wiped his face with trembling hands, trying to force the tears back, trying to steady his breath. He leaned over the sink, splashing cold water on his face in a desperate attempt to wipe away the remnants of his breakdown. When he looked up, his reflection was still pale, eyes red and glassy. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth it down, trying to look like he hadn’t just fallen apart.

But no matter what he did, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. That something wasn’t right.

The subtle barely there sweet scent of forget-me-nots lingered in the air, clinging to him like a second skin, as if the flowers had soaked into his very being. It wasn’t just the physical remnants that haunted him—it was the way the scent seemed to mock him, a constant reminder of what he could never have, of the love that would never be returned.

He stood there for a moment, staring at himself in the mirror, unable to escape the reflection of someone who was falling apart. Finally, with a deep, shaky breath, he stepped away from the sink and left the bathroom. Each step felt like it was dragging him deeper into the suffocating weight of the situation.

When he rejoined Till, he did his best to act normal, to mask the turmoil that was brewing inside of him. But the scent clung to him, a quiet, bitter reminder of everything he couldn’t say, everything he couldn’t have. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t wash it away.

“Did you put on a new cologne or something?” Till asked as they wrapped up lunch, his tone casual, like it was just another observation.

“Huh?” Ivan blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. His mind raced, trying to come up with a quick answer.

“I don’t know, you have this sweet, almost honey-like scent on you.” Till added, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

Ivan felt a cold chill run through him, his stomach twisting again. The scent. He could feel the petals still lingering inside of him, clinging to his skin like a cruel, unshakable reminder of everything he couldn’t hide. It was as if his body was betraying him.

“Ah, you noticed?” Ivan forced a weak laugh, trying to push the unease away. “I got sponsored by this perfume brand.”

Till raised an eyebrow, clearly buying the explanation, nodding with a smile. “Oh, cool. Nice, man,” he said, none the wiser.

Ivan nodded back, but inside, his chest felt heavier. The scent was here to stay it seemed. He tried to act normal, but he could feel the cracks beginning to show.

Luka raised an eyebrow as he handed Ivan a water bottle, a grin tugging at his lips. “What’s got your panties in a twist?” he teased, but there was no mistaking the way his eyes flicked over to Ivan, taking in his tense posture. They’d just wrapped up recording the music video for Luka’s new track, but something about Ivan was out of it.

Ivan didn’t bother answering right away, just took the bottle and downed half of it in one go, the cold liquid doing little to soothe the raw feeling scratching at his throat. Luka snorted at the clumsy display, settling down next to him with a playful nudge.

“But seriously, something is up, wrong? You have been kinda... out of it this whole month.” The usual teasing tone in Luka’s voice softened into something else—concern, maybe even a little worry. Ivan tried to force a smile, but it fell apart the moment Luka looked at him with that knowing, suspicious stare. He sighed, the sound heavy in the air between them.

“What would you do,” Ivan started, his voice barely above a whisper, “if the person you’re in love with starts dating someone else?” He let his eyes fall to the floor, avoiding Luka’s gaze.

Ivan shot Luka a tired glance as his friend rattled off names. “Is this about your one friend, what was his name again? Still, Mill? No, it was Till, right?” Luka asked, his teasing tone all too familiar. Ivan didn’t bother denying it, just nodded, feeling the weight of the unspoken truth. It was so painfully obvious to everyone except Till himself that Ivan had been miserably in love with him.

Luka took a moment, his gaze softening. “Well, the best advice I can give you is to try moving on. Date around a bit. You’re still young, Ivan. Live a little.”

Ivan’s lips twisted into a tired smile, his voice barely audible as he muttered, “Live a little?”

Luka rolled his eyes at the sarcasm dripping from Ivan’s words. “Don’t give me that tone, Mister Korea.” He pinched Ivan’s cheek, earning an annoyed swat. Then his expression softened, the teasing gone. “Look, as hypocritical as it may sound, especially with you knowing what’s going on with me and Hyuna… I really think you should give it a shot. Experiment a bit. Talk to people. Go on a couple of dates.” He paused, eyes distant for a moment before meeting Ivan’s again. “I did it when I was unsure about what Hyuna and I were. Maybe it’ll help.”

Ivan sat there for a moment, his mind turning over Luka’s words, weighing them with a sense of reluctant hope. He wasn’t sure if it would really help, but… maybe it was worth a shot. After all, it couldn’t hurt to try. With a quiet sigh, he finally nodded his head in agreement. “Alright. I’ll give it a try.”

The past two months had slipped by in a blur, each night blending into the next with the same hollow routine: bar after bar, date after date, hookup after hookup. But no matter how many faces he saw, no matter how many bodies he tangled with, the emptiness never left. It gnawed at him, deep inside. He wasn’t sure what he was chasing anymore.

One night, the guy he had hooked up with on more than one occasion finally sat him down and admitted it. “I like you, Ivan,” he’d said, eyes soft, but serious. “I want more than just casual hookups.”

That was the moment everything cracked.

Ivan couldn’t hold it in anymore. He spilled it all—his heartache, his desperation, the disease that was slowly consuming him. He told the man about the Hanahaki, about how he was still hopelessly, painfully in love with someone else.

The guy listened, quiet, his expression gentle but filled with understanding. “I lost a close friend to Hanahaki,” he said softly. “I can’t fault you for not being able to move on.”

They had sat there for a long time after, Ivan struggling to breathe between waves of coughing, flowers spilling out of him in a cruel reminder of the love that still held him captive. The man had stayed by his side, holding him as he hacked up more forget-me-nots, his presence steady and kind.

But as much as the guy tried to make him feel cared for, Ivan couldn’t shake the feeling that he was a monster—using someone so sweet, so kind, to fill a void that couldn’t be filled. It felt selfish. He felt selfish.

Ivan had no choice but to break things off with the guy, the guilt pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake. He told him everything—how he felt like he was using him to fill a hole in his chest that nothing could fill. The guy never raised his voice, never tried to change his mind. He was understanding, kind, even as Ivan walked away, leaving him with no strings attached, no promises. Just silence.

Ivan didn’t know where to go after that, so he walked. He ended up at a park nearby, finding a quiet bench, and just… sat there. Time blurred around him as he stared at the ground, lost in the emptiness that had settled in his chest.

It felt like hours before he felt someone sit beside him, the quiet presence barely breaking through his fog of thoughts.

“You know how long I’ve been looking for you?” Hyuna’s voice was soft, but it carried the weight of concern.

Ivan didn’t even look up. “How’d you find me?” he asked, his voice cracked and hollow.

“Sua put a tracker on you.”

The response was so typical of Sua that Ivan couldn’t help but let out a wet, humorless laugh. The kind of laugh that only came when things were so fucked up you had to laugh to keep from breaking. But as the laugh left his lips, it turned into something else—something far darker. The laughter died, and all that was left was the ache he’d been trying so hard to outrun. The tears followed, quiet at first, then building, until he was sobbing.

Hyuna didn’t say anything. She just sat there, letting him break down beside her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Ivan didn’t try to hold it all in.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore,” Ivan muttered, his voice raw. The weight of everything felt like it was crushing him, and all he could do was lean against Hyuna’s side, her quiet presence offering a small bit of comfort in the storm of his mind. He felt exhausted, drained in a way that went deeper than just physical tiredness.

Hyuna hummed softly, her fingers gently running through his hair, a soothing rhythm that did little to chase away the darkness but helped to ground him nonetheless. “Everyone’s been so worried about you, kid,” she said after a long pause. “What even prompted you to do all this?”

Ivan didn’t answer right away. He just closed his eyes, the exhaustion dragging him further into the abyss. When he spoke again, his words were barely more than a whisper. “I’m dying.”

Hyuna’s fingers froze, the warmth of her hand halting in its motion. For a moment, there was nothing but silence, the kind that felt too heavy to fill.

“You… how?” she asked, her voice small, concerned.

Ivan let out a bitter laugh, hollow and sharp. “Hanahaki. Can you believe that?” His words came out like an insult to the universe, something so ridiculous and tragic it almost didn’t seem real.

Hyuna was quiet for a long moment, processing his words. Then, her voice broke the silence, soft and careful. “It’s Till, right?”

Ivan didn’t need to answer; the pain in his eyes was all she needed to see. He nodded, his gaze distant.

They sat there for a while, the weight of the conversation hanging heavy between them, neither of them rushing to fill the quiet.

Finally, Hyuna spoke again, her voice barely a whisper. “How long do you have left?”

Ivan’s chest tightened as he exhaled a shaky breath. “A year and seven months, if I’m lucky.” His laugh was bitter, the sound hollow. “But looking at the way things are going... maybe eleven months.” He didn’t meet her eyes as he said it, staring blankly at the park around them, as if the answer was written in the distance somewhere he couldn’t reach.

He felt Hyuna’s shaky breath as she pulled him closer. “Is that why you’ve been doing all this?” she asked softly.

He nodded, burying his face into the crook of her neck. They sat in silence for a while, the weight of unspoken words settling between them.

Finally, Hyuna sighed, her voice gentle but firm. “There are healthier ways to deal with this, you know. Maybe dating around isn’t working... Why not try writing it down? Turn it into a song.”

A song? Ivan had never written about anything personal before. His music had always been fun, catchy pop tracks—exactly what everyone expected from him. The thought of opening up like that felt foreign, almost impossible. “What would I even write about?” His voice came out quieter than he intended, barely above a whisper.

Hyuna shrugged, her tone casual but warm. “Anything, really. Just try to put your feelings into words. You might surprise yourself.”

He didn’t respond right away, letting her words settle over him. After a moment, he gave a small nod, his mind swirling with the idea.

Hyuna let out a soft laugh, standing up. “Now, come on. It’s freezing out here, and God knows how you’ve managed to sit in this cold park wearing that.” Without waiting for him to argue, she slipped off her jacket and draped it around his shoulders, the warmth instantly seeping into him.

She gave him a nudge. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter Text

Ivan bit his lip as he looked down at the seventh draft of the song he had spent the last few hours working on. It still didn’t feel right. He sighed and crumpled the paper into a ball, tossing it onto the growing pile of discarded attempts scattered across the floor.

He let his face fall ungracefully onto the mattress, groaning into his pillow.

Hyuna had told him to write about how he felt—to put his emotions into words. But no matter how hard he tried, nothing he wrote came close to capturing the void in his chest, the canyon-sized emptiness that had started as a small crack when he was far too young. Now, it only ever seemed to fill itself whenever Till was near.

Just thinking about Till made his insides churn, a queasy twist in his stomach that left him pressing his face harder into the pillow. He closed his eyes, tossing the blanket over himself and fully encasing himself in darkness.

When he was a kid and night terrors were rampant, the blanket had been his shield. In his childlike mind, as long as he was under it, the monsters couldn’t get to him.

How he wished that logic still held true.

Now Ivan knew the monsters weren’t lurking outside the edges of his bed. They had long since made their way inside. They’d invaded his sanctuary, creeping into every corner of his mind, whispering doubts and fears that never seemed to quiet.

He could feel it happening again—that slow, familiar descent into a depressive haze. His limbs felt heavy, his chest tighter with every breath. The thought of writing another line, of facing the ache he couldn’t name, felt impossible.

And maybe that’s why the universe decided to send Mizi into his room like his own personal angel.

“Wake up. We’re going out,” she said firmly, pulling the covers off him in one swift motion.

“Please not today Mizi,” Ivan muttered, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Mizi was having none of it. She grabbed his arm and yanked with surprising strength. “Nope, you’re not rotting in here. Up, get up.”

Ivan groaned, letting her tug him into a sitting position. “Mizi…”

“No excuses,” she said, cutting him off as she shoved a nice outfit into his hands. “Get dressed. You look like you haven’t seen sunlight in weeks.”

He blinked at her, bleary and confused, but the determined glint in her eyes made it clear there was no arguing with her. With a resigned sigh, he went to get dressed.

“You didn’t even let me properly brush my hair,” he mumbled as she dragged him out of his room.

“You’ll survive,” she said, looping her arm through his as she steered him toward the door. “Besides, I’ve got snacks and fresh air to bribe you with. You can thank me later.”

Ivan didn’t think Mizi was cruel. Out of all his friends, she wasn’t known to have a single mean bone in her body.

But right now? He was seriously reconsidering that opinion.

“Why did you bring me to a flower garden?” he asked, looking down at her curiously. His voice carried an edge of disbelief. “It feels a little cruel to bring someone who has Hanahaki to a flower garden.”

Mizi hummed thoughtfully, brushing off his skepticism. “Trust me on this,” she said simply, tugging him along with an unrelenting grip on his arm.

He sighed, resigned, and followed her down the winding paths. They passed vibrant displays of every kind of flower imaginable—roses, tulips, sunflowers—all glowing in the soft light of late afternoon. But when they turned a corner and stepped into a wide-open field, Ivan froze.

The space stretched out before them, blanketed in a sea of tiny, delicate forget-me-nots. The blue blossoms swayed gently in the breeze, their sweet, honey-like scent wafting through the air.

“Mizi…” His voice faltered, his throat tightening as he stared at the scene before him.

She squeezed his arm gently, grounding him as her soft eyes met his. “Trust me,” she said again, her tone soothing yet firm.

Ivan let out a shaky exhale, nodding despite the lump forming in his throat. He let her lead him into the field, his steps hesitant at first. The floral scent grew stronger, filling the air and settling in his lungs. He closed his eyes briefly, fighting the wave of dizziness that washed over him.

A second, reassuring squeeze on his arm brought him back, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw it.

Nestled in the middle of the field was a small, white gazebo. Its wooden frame was entwined with ivy, and sheer curtains fluttered gently in the breeze. Inside, he could make out the silhouette of someone moving. As they got closer, the figure turned, and Ivan’s heart clenched.

Sua.

She was setting up what looked like a picnic, carefully arranging food and drinks on a checkered blanket spread across the gazebo floor. When she noticed them approaching, her face lit up with a warm, welcoming smile.

“You guys made it,” Sua said, her voice bright and steady as she stepped forward to greet them.

Ivan glanced between Sua and Mizi, his chest tightening as emotions surged within him. Gratefulness? Overwhelm? Confusion? He couldn’t pin it down.

Mizi let go of his arm, stepping back with a small flourish of her hands. “Tada?” she said with a playful grin. “Happy Birthday, Ivan!”

Ivan froze.

All thoughts in his head came to a grinding halt.

It was his birthday?

No, that couldn’t be right. Just a few days ago, it had been January, hadn’t it? He replayed the past week in his mind, but everything felt hazy, as if time had been slipping through his fingers without him realizing it.

Sua must have noticed the flicker of distress on his face because she quickly moved to his side. Gently, she led him to one of the seats in the gazebo and eased him down.

“Here,” she said softly, handing him a glass of water.

Ivan hadn’t even realized how dry his throat felt until the cool liquid touched his lips. He drank greedily, the water soothing the scratchiness that had been building all morning.

Mizi sat beside him, her expression softening. “You didn’t forget your birthday again, did you?” she teased lightly, though her voice carried a note of genuine concern.

Ivan lowered the glass, his hands trembling slightly. “I... I guess I did,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sua sat on his other side, she placed a comforting hand on his knee. “That’s okay,” she said warmly. “That’s why we’re here—to remind you how important you are. And to make sure you don’t spend the day alone.”

He looked at the two of them, their faces full of warmth and care, and felt the sting of tears prick his eyes. The weight in his chest seemed to lighten just a little, even as the disbelief lingered.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice cracking slightly.

Mizi grinned, brushing a stray forget-me-not petal off his shoulder. “Don’t thank us yet. You haven’t seen the cake.”

The birthday picnic had been nice. After they finished eating, the three of them sprawled out in the field of forget-me-nots, the sky overhead streaked with soft hues of orange and pink. They talked—well, more like Mizi and Sua filled him in on everything that had been going on while he had been MIA.

“We decided to move our wedding date,” Mizi said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Ivan turned his head toward her, catching the odd smile on her lips. There was something behind it that he couldn’t quite place. “What did you change it to?” he asked.

If he remembered correctly, their wedding was supposed to be next July—a perfect summer wedding, as they’d always dreamed.

“April 8th,” Mizi replied, her voice soft but steady.

Ivan frowned. That was three months earlier than they’d originally planned. He propped himself up on his elbows, glancing between the two women sitting on either side of him. “Why so early? You guys were so set on having a summer wedding.”

Sua gave him a somber smile, and in that instant, he knew.

“You did it because of me…?” His voice cracked, the weight of realization sinking in.

The guilt hit him like a wave. He brought his knees to his chest, his breath quickening as his mind spiraled. “You guys shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his voice trembling. “I ruined your wedding…!”

He could feel the beginnings of a panic attack, the air thinning as his chest tightened.

Mizi moved swiftly, sitting up and pulling him into her arms. “Shh,” she whispered, holding him close. “It’s okay, Ivan.”

Sua moved beside him, her hand gently rubbing circles on his back. “Listen to my voice,” she said calmly, her tone grounding. “I want you to match Mizi’s breathing pattern. Can you do that for me?”

It took a moment—long, heavy breaths, Mizi’s chest rising and falling steadily beneath his cheek—but Ivan eventually felt his breathing slow. His head rested on Mizi’s shoulder, his body heavy with exhaustion.

“I’m sorry…” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“Don’t be silly,” Mizi said softly, her fingers threading gently through his hair. “So what if we can’t have a summer wedding? I’d much rather have my brother there.”

Ivan felt his throat tighten again, but this time, it wasn’t guilt—it was gratitude. A tear slipped down his cheek as he thought about how much she meant to him. Mizi had been his best friend since primary school. He still remembered the day someone asked if they were siblings because she had been mimicking his mannerisms. Mizi had loved the idea so much that she’d spent the rest of the day running around the classroom, proudly declaring to anyone who’d listen that Ivan was her brother.

“Besides,” she added, her voice lighter now, “who’s going to be Sua’s best man if not you?”

His eyes widened in surprise. He turned to Sua, who smirked and nodded confidently.

“Who else if not you?” she teased, playfully nudging his shoulder with her own.

Ivan blinked at them both, his chest warm with something he hadn’t felt in a long time. For the first time in weeks, he smiled.

The birthday celebrations didn’t end with the picnic. Later that evening, when Sua and Mizi led Ivan home, he pushed open the door only to be greeted by a loud, “Surprise!!”

Mizi giggled beside him as he blinked owlishly at the crowd of familiar faces gathered in his living room. Before he could process it, they pulled him inside, and the party was in full swing.

The house was packed. Close friends, colleagues, and even some extended family filled the space. Ivan scanned the room, taking in the warmth and laughter of everyone. He finally noticed his parents weren’t here. That was probably Sua’s doing. He sent her a silent thank you and felt a small wave of relief settle in his chest.

Before he could dwell on it, Hyun-Woo, his manager and Hyuna’s brother, appeared by his side, grinning as he grabbed Ivan’s arm. “Come on, Navi! You have to try this.”

Ivan barely had a chance to react as Hyun-Woo shoved a small cup of dessert into his hands. “Say ahhh,” Hyun-Woo teased, scooping up a spoonful of the dessert and holding it up to Ivan’s mouth.

A blush crept up Ivan’s neck, but he complied, leaning forward to take the bite. The sweetness melted on his tongue, and Hyun-Woo’s satisfied laugh made his ears burn even more.

Moments like these were why Ivan often found his relationship with Hyun-Woo… complicated. They had history—a lot of it—and not all of it was platonic.

Back in high school, before Hyun-Woo became his manager, they’d shared a friends-with-benefits relationship. It started on the day of Hyuna and Luka’s graduation. Ivan had been overwhelmed by the noise of the celebration and stepped outside to clear his head.

That’s when he saw Hyun-Woo sitting on the curb of the driveway, gazing up at the stars. Ivan hesitated at first but eventually sat beside him. They sat in comfortable silence until Hyun-Woo broke it, talking about constellations. Ivan remembered how calm he felt, how the conversation flowed naturally. One moment, they were stargazing; the next, they were kissing.

It had been Ivan’s first kiss, and it was… nice. So nice that it kept happening. But Hyun-Woo was always honest. He liked Ivan but didn’t see him as a romantic partner. Ivan had agreed, and so they fell into their arrangement—friends with an added layer of intimacy.

That is, until Hyun-Woo became his manager. They both realized the power dynamic it created made things uncomfortable, so they ended that chapter of their relationship. What remained was a strange mix of friendship and professionalism, with a lingering familiarity neither of them entirely acknowledged.

Now, as Hyun-Woo grinned at him, practically bouncing as he described all the other dishes he had catered for Ivan’s birthday, Ivan couldn’t help but smile. It was weird, yes, but it was them. And in the chaos of his life, it was one of the few constants he could count on.

“The baker is French, so I had someone fly to France to get all the desserts for you,” Hyun-Woo said proudly, puffing out his chest.

Ivan let out a fond laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Only you would fly someone out to France just to pick up dessert.”

Hyun-Woo grinned, soaking in the teasing as if it were a compliment. “Anything for you, birthday boy!”

Before Hyun-Woo could say more, Ivan heard someone call out his name. He turned and saw Till standing near the edge of the food table, waving him over.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Till said quickly, barely giving Ivan time to say goodbye to Hyun-Woo.

“I’ll call you later!” Ivan called back over his shoulder as Till gently grabbed his hand and led him to a quieter corner of the room.

Ivan’s heart fluttered in his chest at the warmth of Till’s hand. It was so familiar, so grounding, that when Till let go, he felt its absence like a sharp pang. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

“Sorry, that was abrupt,” Till said, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s fine,” Ivan replied quickly, his voice softer than he intended.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” Till said with a small smile.

Ivan’s face lit up, the nervousness momentarily fading. “Aww, did you pull me aside just to say happy birthday? How cute!” he teased, nudging Till lightly.

Till rolled his eyes, scoffing in mock annoyance. “No, jackass. I wanted to introduce you to someone.”

The lightheartedness evaporated. Ivan’s smile faltered as a sinking feeling twisted in his gut. His brow furrowed, his mind racing. “Oh?”

Till glanced over Ivan’s shoulder and gestured for someone to come over. Ivan turned around, his stomach tightening when he saw them.

She was a woman, and she looked eerily familiar. Not in the sense of someone he’d met before, but in a way that felt almost like looking in a mirror. Her features shared subtle similarities to his own—soft black eyes, sharp cheekbones, a warm yet nervous smile.

“Hi, my name is Mika,” she said, extending her hand toward him.

Ivan hesitated for a fraction of a second before shaking her hand.

“I’m Till’s girlfriend,” she said with a smile that seemed far too kind for the blow she had just delivered.

Ivan felt something inside him crumble. No—shatter.

His mind blanked, his chest hollowed out, and his body moved on autopilot. He was pretty sure he smiled at her. He thought he introduced himself, exchanged polite small talk. But the words felt distant, like someone else was speaking for him.

Somehow, he excused himself. He didn’t remember how he left the conversation or how he ended up in the bathroom. The next thing he knew, he was hunched over the sink, retching.

Flowers—fully bloomed, vivid forget-me-nots—spilled from his mouth, staining the porcelain sink. His chest heaved painfully, the blooms relentless as they forced their way out.

Tears blurred his vision, streaking his cheeks as he tried to suppress the choking sobs that tore from him. The sweet, cloying scent of the flowers mixed with the acrid taste of bile in his mouth, and he gripped the edges of the sink, his knuckles turning white.

For a moment, all he could hear was the sound of his labored breathing and the soft patter of petals hitting the sink. The pain in his chest, the ache in his throat, and the image of Till and Mika’s smiles burned into his mind—it all became too much.

Another wave of nausea hit him like a punch to the gut, and he barely had time to brace himself before more flowers spewed out of his mouth.

The vibrant forget-me-nots tumbled from his lips, their delicate petals splattered with streaks of crimson. The pain was unbearable, like shards of glass cutting him from the inside out. He clutched his stomach, doubling over as he struggled to breathe.

His vision blurred with tears, the room spinning around him as the floral scent filled his nose, suffocating him. It wasn’t just the physical pain—it was the emotional weight crushing his chest, the realization that Till’s touch, his warmth, his presence, would never be his.

“Stop…” Ivan whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible over the sound of petals hitting the floor. “Please… just stop.”

The flowers, of course, didn’t listen. They came in relentless waves, his body convulsing with each new bloom. He felt the edges of his consciousness fraying, the pain and exhaustion pulling him under.

As the last flower fell, Ivan slumped against the cold tile wall, his body trembling. The sink was overflowing with forget-me-nots, the floor around him littered with petals. His throat burned, his chest ached, and his tears showed no sign of stopping.

He brought his knees to his chest, burying his face in them as he let out a shaky sob. He couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep pretending he was okay.

But what other choice did he have? The thought consumed Ivan as he sat there, trembling on the bathroom floor, his face buried in his hands. Telling Till wasn’t an option. Not when he knew, deep down, that his feelings would never be returned. The harsh reality of it settled heavily in his chest. Even worse, he couldn’t bring himself to hate Mika. She had done nothing wrong—she had been kind, polite, and genuinely sweet in their brief exchange. It wasn’t her fault Till didn’t love him.

His sobs were uncontrollable now, shaking through his body in violent waves, each one pulling him deeper into the anguish of his situation. He felt like he was drowning in it.

“Navi?”

Hyun-Woo’s voice, faint but steady from the other side of the bathroom door, cut through the haze of his misery. Ivan tried to respond, but all that escaped his lips was another choking sob.

“I’m coming in.”

The door creaked open, and Ivan didn’t even have the energy to look up. He could hear Hyun-Woo’s footsteps, hurried and anxious, and the sharp intake of breath when he saw Ivan crumpled on the floor.

“God,” Hyun-Woo whispered under his breath, before swiftly closing the door behind him. The sound of the lock clicking shut resonated through Ivan’s pounding head.

Hyun-Woo didn’t ask any questions. He just crouched beside Ivan, his presence warm and grounding. He didn’t need to say anything at first. His hand on Ivan’s back, his steady breaths matching the rhythm Ivan desperately tried to regain, was enough.

After a long silence, Hyun-Woo’s voice came again, low and careful. “What happened?”

Ivan could only shake his head, unable to form words, feeling like every ounce of strength he had left had drained away.

Hyun-Woo stayed close, his hand rubbing soothing circles on Ivan’s back. “You don’t have to say anything, but if you want to, I’m here,” he murmured.

Ivan let out another shuddering breath, trying to steady himself. This wasn’t how he had imagined this day would go—he was supposed to be celebrating, happy, surrounded by friends. Instead, he felt like a stranger in his own body, lost in the overwhelming tide of emotions that felt impossible to escape.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” Ivan rasped, his voice raw and trembling as he wiped his tears with the back of his hand.

“Don’t be,” Hyun-Woo replied softly, his tone gentle but firm. Ivan hesitated before leaning into Hyun-Woo’s side, drawing a measure of comfort from his steady presence. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was grounding, a moment to collect themselves.

Hyun-Woo broke it first. “Is this why you’ve been so off your game at work?”

Ivan nodded, his head barely moving against Hyun-Woo’s shoulder.

Hyun-Woo sighed deeply, the sound heavy with concern. “Ivan, you need to tell me these things.” His voice shifted, more serious now, and he didn’t call Ivan by his nickname, which only made it more impactful.

Ivan winced, guilt tightening in his chest. He nodded again and buried his face deeper into Hyun-Woo’s neck, as if hoping to disappear entirely.

Another sigh escaped Hyun-Woo as he wrapped Ivan in a proper embrace, his arms firm and reassuring. “I’m your manager, Ivan. It’s my job to know what’s going on with you so I can help.” His voice softened. “But I’m also your friend. I’m worried about you, Navi.”

Ivan’s throat tightened again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible.

“I know you are,” Hyun-Woo said, his hand gently stroking Ivan’s back in rhythmic motions. “But I’m still scared for you.”

Those words hit Ivan harder than anything else. He let out a shaky exhale, gripping Hyun-Woo’s shirt tightly. “I don’t know how to fix it,” he admitted in a small voice, the weight of his vulnerability pressing down on him.

“You don’t have to figure it out alone,” Hyun-Woo reassured him. “We’ll figure it out together. But you have to let me help.”

Ivan nodded, though the fear of burdening others still lingered in his heart. For now, though, he let himself be held, the weight of Hyun-Woo’s steady care giving him something solid to cling to amidst the storm inside.

Ivan’s body burned like fire under his skin, the heat was overwhelming and relentless. He whimpered softly, his breaths shallow and ragged as he struggled to keep himself together. Each exhale came with a faint wheeze, a sound that made his chest ache all the more.

His eyes squeezed shut against the tears threatening to spill over, and he whimpered again when he felt a cool hand press gently against his forehead. The contrast was soothing, like ice against a fever, and he instinctively leaned into the touch, desperate for relief.

Faint voices drifted around him, muffled and distant, their words blending together into a haze. He couldn’t make sense of them, his mind too foggy to grasp onto anything concrete. All he could focus on was the cool touch—until it disappeared.

A pitiful whine escaped him, his body trembling as he blinked away tears, the world around him swimming in indistinct shapes and muted colors.

The heat pressed down on him like a weight, suffocating and unbearable. His body finally gave in, his senses shutting down one by one. As darkness overtook him, his breathing evened out into soft, unconscious murmurs, the world slipping away entirely.

Ivan stared at the notebook in his lap, the faint hum of machines his only companion. The lines of unfinished lyrics stared back at him, taunting him with their incompleteness. He ran his fingers along the edges of the paper, the urge to tear it out and crumple it gnawing at him.

The walls around him were dull and unremarkable, just like the rest of his hospital room. It was supposed to be restful, he supposed, but all it did was make him feel trapped. Two days in, and the novelty of having a "break" had already worn thin. Two more days stretched ahead of him, stretching out endlessly.

He sighed, closing the notebook and tossing it onto the side table with a dull thud. His head fell back against the pillows, eyes tracing faint cracks in the ceiling as if they might reveal some hidden wisdom. Nothing.

A knock at the door broke the monotony. He turned his head to see his nurse stepping inside. She offered him a gentle smile, her voice soft and careful when she spoke. “Ivan, I talked to the doctor, and she says you’re cleared to take a short walk in the courtyard if you’d like. It might help you feel a little less cooped up.”

His heart lifted just a little at her words. “Really? That’s… yeah, that’s great. Thank you.”

Moving slowly, Ivan eased himself out of bed. He shrugged into the cardigan hanging on the back of the chair, its familiar weight comforting against his shoulders. Grabbing the mask the nurse had left for him, he spared a glance in the mirror. He looked pale, worn, but he tried not to think too much about it. With a small sigh, he stepped out of the room.

The hospital halls were quiet, the muffled sounds of distant conversations and squeaky carts the only signs of life. He walked carefully, taking his time, his slippers soft against the cold tile. When he stepped outside, the crisp air hit him like a balm.

The courtyard wasn’t large, but it was peaceful. A few patients and visitors dotted the area, their conversations low and private. Ivan wandered slowly along the path, his steps measured, his breath steady. He found a bench under a cherry blossom tree, its bare branches just starting to bud.

As he sat, the silence settled over him, broken only by the soft rustle of the wind. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the cool air against his skin, the faint smell of the blossoms above him.

When he opened his eyes, he noticed her. A woman, maybe in her mid-50s, sat just a bench away. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back loosely, and she wore a scarf patterned with soft pastel flowers. What drew his attention most, though, were the flowers in her lap—a small cluster of lavender blossoms, their petals scattered gently on the ground around her feet.

She seemed to sense his gaze. Slowly, she turned to look at him, her expression calm, her lips curving into a faint smile.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, she held up one of the flowers, her fingers brushing the delicate petals.

“Hanahaki,” she said simply, her voice quiet yet steady.

Ivan blinked, caught off guard. He felt his body tense, his throat constricted slightly. “How did you know?” he asked after a beat, his voice barely above a whisper.

The woman smiled again, the kind of smile that felt both knowing and sad. She patted the empty spot beside her on the bench, and Ivan hesitated before standing and making his way over.

“Call it intuition,” she said as he sat down, her tone light but carrying an undercurrent of something deeper. She held the flower out to him, its faint scent carried on the breeze. “Besides, we tend to recognize our own.”

They sat in silence for a bit before Ivan asked, “Who is it?”

“My husband,” she said with a sad smile. Ivan felt a chill creep down his spine. “Your husband…?”

She nodded, the movement slow and deliberate. “Last year, he was diagnosed with dementia, and as the days went on, he forgot more and more of the life we built together. Then I started coughing up flowers.” She glanced down at the lavender in her lap, fingers tracing the petals. “I didn’t want to believe it at first. Not until My Angus couldn’t even remember my name, let alone the life we had shared.”

Her voice cracked slightly, and she blinked quickly, but her composure remained intact. “He passed last December,” she continued quietly, “just a week before our thirty-seventh anniversary.” She picked up one of the lavender blossoms and handed it to Ivan.

“They were his favorites,” she said softly. Her lips quivered into a weak smile, the kind that came from both love and loss. “They mean purity, silence, devotion, serenity, grace, and calmness,” she explained, her voice turning wistful. A small chuckle escaped her, laced with fondness. “All the things I felt for him.”

Truly, what a tragically beautiful disease Hanahaki was. Ivan turned the lavender flower over in his hands, his voice soft as he said, “It’s such a pure form of love.”

The older woman hummed in agreement, her gaze drifting back to the flowers in her lap. “What about you, young man?” she asked, her voice gentle but curious.

Ivan looked down at the flower she had handed him, the delicate petals trembling slightly in the breeze. “He’s my god, my universe,” Ivan murmured, his voice tinged with both reverence and sorrow. He closed his eyes briefly, breathing in the calming scent of lavender.

“We’re childhood friends,” he began, his tone turning wistful. “We met in primary school, and I used to follow him around like a lost puppy.” Ivan let out a soft laugh, and the woman chuckled along with him.

“I eventually wore him down, and we became friends,” Ivan continued, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve had feelings for him since we were seven. Honestly, I’m shocked I didn’t develop Hanahaki much earlier.”

They fell into a peaceful silence, the sounds of the courtyard—a distant laugh, the rustling of leaves—filling the space between them.

“What are your flowers?” the woman asked after a moment, her voice tinged with curiosity.

“Forget-me-nots,” Ivan replied, his fingers brushing the lavender in his hands.

“Those tiny blue flowers with five petal-like segments, and a yellow center?”

He nodded.

“They mean loyalty and enduring love, don’t they?” she said softly.

“They do,” Ivan confirmed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“How beautiful,” she murmured, her words carrying a weight of understanding that only someone like her could give.

“Are they his favorites?” the woman asked gently, her eyes still on the lavender in Ivan’s hand.

Ivan shook his head, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “No, he’s always had a green thumb, so he could never choose just one. He loves them all.”

The woman let out a soft chuckle, nodding as though she could picture it. “That’s fitting, isn’t it? Someone who loves every flower must have a heart big enough to hold the whole garden.”

Ivan’s smile grew, even as a pang of pain flickered in his chest. “Yeah,” he said quietly, he could feel his throat closing up. “That’s just how he is.”

Ivan sat by Shelby’s bedside, his hands resting loosely in his lap as he listened to the shaky rhythm of her breaths. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the machines keeping track of her faltering heartbeat. It had been a week since his release from the hospital, and every day since, he had made it a point to visit her. They rarely spoke during these visits, but they didn’t need to. The silence between them was one of understanding, of shared burdens too heavy to put into words.

Today, though, something felt different. The air in the room was heavier, her breaths slower, and the faint, tired smile she gave him when he walked in seemed tinged with finality. Ivan’s chest tightened, and though he couldn’t explain how, he just knew. Today would be the last time he saw her.

He swallowed hard, his fingers curling against the fabric of his jeans. “You know,” he said softly, breaking the quiet, “I never thought I’d meet someone who understood what this felt like. Not really.”

Shelby’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze finding his. Her smile was faint but warm. “It’s a cruel sort of kindness, isn’t it?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “To love so deeply it hurts.”

Ivan nodded, his throat too tight to speak. He glanced at the lavender flowers on her nightstand, now beginning to wilt. Even in their fading state, they still carried a faint, soothing scent that reminded him of her. Of her grace, her strength, and the quiet dignity she carried through her suffering.

“You’re strong,” Ivan finally managed, his voice shaking. “Stronger than I think I could ever be.”

Shelby’s smile grew, just a fraction, and she reached out, her hand trembling as it found his. “And yet here you are, Ivan. Still standing. Still loving. That’s strength too.”

Her words settled over him like a blanket, both comforting and unbearably heavy. He wanted to argue, to tell her how weak he felt, how much he had struggled just to hold himself together. But he couldn’t. Not when she was looking at him with such unwavering belief.

They sat together in the quiet, time stretching like a fragile thread. Ivan didn’t speak; he didn’t have to. Shelby’s presence, though frail, was enough. He focused on the rise and fall of her chest, memorizing every breath like it might be her last.

But then, her breathing grew shallower, and her murmurs turned into something else entirely. Her voice trembled, distant, as if she were speaking to someone Ivan couldn’t see.

“Oh, Angus,” she whispered, her hand reaching toward the empty air. “My Angus, please stay...!” Her voice broke, a heartbreaking mix of longing and despair.

Ivan’s heart clenched as she called out again, her tone growing more frantic. “Angus! Let me come with you!” Her body strained forward, and Ivan instinctively reached out, but the nurses rushed in, moving quickly to restrain her before she could harm herself.

The sound of her coughing filled the space, harsh and ragged. Ivan wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn’t look away—not now. Lavender petals spilled from her lips, delicate yet laden with meaning. The petals came faster and faster, their soft beauty stark against the sterile hospital sheets.

And then—

The flowers fully bloomed. A final, magnificent cluster of lavender blossoms erupted from her mouth, their petals vibrant and radiant, as if they carried every ounce of love she had poured into Angus. The heart monitor beside her beeped wildly, its frantic rhythm echoing in his ears—until it stopped.

The monitor flatlined.

A long, unbroken tone filled the room, cutting through the air like a blade. Ivan sat frozen, his breath shallow, unable to tear his gaze from the lavender flowers now resting against Shelby’s still form. The nurses moved with practiced urgency, but there was no mistaking it. The life that had clung so tenuously to Shelby was gone, carried away with the final bloom of her flowers.

His hands trembled in his lap as he stared at her peaceful face, her lips still framed by the remnants of her final bloom. The vibrant flowers felt like a cruel echo of the love that had consumed her, leaving behind beauty and emptiness all at once.

“Goodbye, Shelby,” Ivan whispered, his voice cracking, the words barely audible. The scent of lavender lingered in the room, bittersweet and heavy, as if her presence hadn’t truly left.

Ivan leaned back in his chair, staring at the open notebook on his lap. The lyrics stared back at him, raw and unfiltered, carrying the weight of everything he’d felt since the flowers had started to grow inside him. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. It felt strange, like he’d put his heart on display for the world to see, and now the final piece—the title—felt impossible to pin down.

His mind drifted back to Shelby, to her fragile voice trembling with devotion even as her life slipped away. “My Angus, please stay...” Her words echoed in his mind, tugging at something deep within him. It felt too sacred, too personal to use. He didn’t want to reduce her love to a title, like some passing phrase.

But as he stared at the notebook, an idea began to take shape.

Shelby’s love hadn’t just been for Angus—it had been a reflection of everything she was. Her devotion, her grace, her unwavering faith in what they had shared. It wasn’t just about her last moments; it was about the enduring love that made her fight until her final breath. It wasn’t a plea for herself—it was a plea for love to remain, even when one half of it was gone.

Ivan’s fingers tightened around his pen, a bittersweet smile crossing his lips.

“‘My Angel, Please Stay,’” he murmured aloud, testing the words.

It wasn’t about taking from Shelby; it was about honoring her. It was about immortalizing the kind of love that burned so brightly it couldn’t be extinguished—not by time, not by distance, not even by death. Angus had been her angel, and her words were her way of asking him to stay with her, even if only in spirit.

The title wasn’t just Shelby’s. It was his too. It was Till. It was the love he held, even if it was unspoken, even if it was unreturned. A plea to hold on to something so beautiful, even as it threatened to destroy him.

Ivan wrote the words carefully, letting his pen linger on the final flourish of the last letter.

“My Angel, Please Stay.”

He closed the notebook gently, his heart heavy yet full. It felt right. It felt like her. It felt like him.

Ivan had long decided that the song would be performed acoustically. Outside of concerts, his voice was often tuned in some way or another, tweaked by producers who claimed it needed to sound ‘better.’ One of his old producers had said it outright, making the words stick like thorns in his memory.

But for this song—this song—Ivan wasn’t about to compromise. No filters, no enhancements, no studio magic. Just him, his guitar, and the rawness of the emotions he’d poured into every lyric.

He had put his foot down from the start: It’s either sung acoustically or not sung at all.

The thought of it being polished beyond recognition felt like a betrayal—not just to himself, but to Shelby, to Till, and to every painful and beautiful moment that had inspired it. He wanted the audience to feel the cracks in his voice, the weight behind the words. Anything less would strip it of the soul it carried.

Ivan softly sang the final chorus of the song into the mic, his fingers deftly strumming the guitar strings with practiced ease. The instrument was more than wood and strings to him—it was a bridge to Till, something he had learned to play just to have one more thread connecting them.

“Wait, they don't love you like I love you.”

The words escaped his lips, raw and haunting. He poured the memory of Shellbe’s last moments into the melody, every cough, every flower, every whispered plea for Angus to stay.

“Wait, they don't love you like I love you.”

His voice wavered, and he let it. No tuning, no perfection—just the unfiltered truth. He poured years of yearning and pining into the next line, the unspoken ache that had been his companion since childhood.

“Maps.”

He closed his eyes as he sang, the name of the song heavy in his chest. Oh, My Angel Please Stay.

“Wait, they don't love you like I love you.”

The words hung in the air, resonating with the quiet intensity of a confession. The guitar seemed to echo his emotions, each strum carrying the weight of his longing, the depth of his sorrow.

“Wait, they don't love you like I love you.”

The final line left his lips in a near whisper, trembling with the vulnerability he had bared for everyone to hear.

“Maps.”

His fingers brushed one last chord before he sang, soft but steady:

“Wait, they don't love you like I love you.”

The last strum of his guitar reverberated in the silence that followed, like the lingering memory of a touch. Ivan let the quiet settle over the room, the weight of the song pressing against his chest. For a moment, he stayed still, his hands resting lightly on the guitar as if afraid to disturb the delicate quiet that enveloped the studio.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the studio staff frozen in their seats, some with their mouths slightly open, others dabbing at their eyes with tissues. It was as if the song had pulled them into a world of his own making, one filled with longing, loss, and love too vast for words.

Hyun-Woo’s voice broke the stillness, cutting through the heavy air with a bright and almost triumphant tone. “It looks like we have another billboard hit on our hands!” he exclaimed, his grin so wide it practically lit up the room.

The song had gone up with little fanfare, much to the disappointment of the company. They weren’t entirely comfortable with their second top singer releasing a song without any sort of promotion, but Ivan had stood firm in his decision. He knew the song wasn’t meant to be paraded around with flashy teasers or high-budget trailers. It was personal, raw, and unfiltered, and he trusted that it would resonate with the audience without any bells and whistles.

His confidence had been well placed. Within hours of its release, the song had shot up the charts, landing in the top one hundred by the afternoon. By the end of the day, it was steadily climbing toward the top fifty. Ivan watched the numbers climb with a quiet satisfaction, the validation warming a part of him that had long been cold.

The following day was a whirlwind. Interview offers flooded in, each more promising than the last. Hyun-Woo, ever the efficient manager, had taken the reins with an almost comical level of enthusiasm. Ivan barely had time to register what was happening before Hyun-Woo came barreling into the room, his phone clutched tightly in one hand, a look of pure, unfiltered excitement plastered across his face.

“Navi!” he called out, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush. “You’re not going to believe this.”

Ivan raised an eyebrow, only mildly concerned by the near-panic in Hyun-Woo’s voice. “What now?”

Hyun-Woo thrust his phone into Ivan’s face with a grin so wide it looked almost painful. “Ella Eldridge wants to interview you! The Ella Eldridge!” His voice cracked on the name, and he cleared his throat quickly, trying to recover some semblance of professionalism. “Ivan, as your manager, I strongly advise you to take this offer. No, scratch that—I’m begging you.”

Ivan blinked at the screen, taking in the message. It was surreal. Ella Eldridge wasn’t just any journalist; she was the journalist, known for her in-depth interviews with the biggest names in the industry. Her interviews weren’t just press—they were moments that shaped careers.

“I don’t know, Hyun—” Ivan started, but he didn’t get to finish before Hyun-Woo grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Listen to me, Navi.” Hyun-Woo’s tone was somewhere between desperate and ecstatic. “This is huge. You can’t say no to Ella Eldridge. Do you know how many artists would kill to be in your position right now? She’s the gold standard!”

Ivan sighed, but the corner of his lips twitched into a small smile. Hyun-Woo’s enthusiasm was contagious, and though the thought of a high-profile interview was intimidating, he couldn’t deny the opportunity. “Alright,” he said finally. “Let’s do it.”

Hyun-Woo let out a whoop, startling a nearby assistant, and spun around in a little victory dance. “Ella Eldridge, here we come!” he declared, already typing out a reply.

Ivan chuckled softly and shook his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, but he couldn’t help the warmth that spread through his chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt like he was standing on solid ground.

The interview had been going smoothly, perhaps too smoothly. Ella Eldridge had a way of putting people at ease, her warm demeanor and sharp wit making even the most guarded of celebrities open up. They had started with lighthearted icebreakers, a few quips about recent celebrity drama, and a sprinkling of playful banter. Ivan had laughed, genuinely laughed, something he hadn’t done in an interview for years.

Then they shifted to his music. The questions were thoughtful, her insights deeper than the usual surface-level queries he’d grown used to. She asked about his creative process, the inspiration behind his most recent tracks, and even touched on his struggles with maintaining authenticity in an industry that often demanded perfection. Ivan answered each question with practiced ease, keeping his responses sincere but measured. It was second nature by now, the perfect balance of openness and reserve.

But then she asked the question, the one that shattered the carefully constructed mask he’d worn for years.

“So, naturally, everyone has been dying to know—just who managed to break the Ivan’s heart?”

The room went silent, and for a moment, Ivan felt like he couldn’t breathe. He stared at Ella, her expression kind but expectant, and then at the cameras, their red lights blinking like tiny, watchful eyes.

His first instinct was to deflect, to laugh it off with some vague, cryptic comment. But as the seconds ticked by, he found himself frozen. What was the point of pretending anymore? The entire purpose of releasing MAPS had been to show a more honest, vulnerable side of himself—the side he had kept hidden for far too long.

Ivan took a deep breath, his heart pounding against his ribs like it wanted to escape. Slowly, he looked back at Ella, and then out at the cameras. His resolve solidified, and when he spoke, it was with a calmness that surprised even himself.

“The song… wasn’t about someone breaking my heart,” he said, his voice steady but soft. “It’s about loving someone so deeply, so unconditionally, that it hurts. It’s about wanting the best for them, even if it means they can’t give you what you want in return.” He paused, his throat tightening as he thought of Till. “It’s about loyalty, devotion, and a love that endures—even when it’s one-sided.”

Ella leaned forward slightly, her gaze encouraging but not pressing. “That’s… beautiful,” she said softly. “And incredibly brave to share.”

Ivan nodded, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. It wasn’t the stage smile his fans were used to—the one that was polished and perfect, designed to charm. This one was real, raw, and unguarded.

“It’s not easy,” he admitted. “But I think if there’s one thing I’ve learned through all of this, it’s that love—real love—deserves to be acknowledged, even if it’s painful. And for me, that’s what MAPS is about. It’s my way of saying, ‘This is who I am. This is what I feel.’ No filters, no facades.”

Ella smiled back at him, a glimmer of admiration in her eyes. “I think that’s something a lot of people will connect with, Ivan. Thank you for sharing that with us.”

Ivan nodded again, his heart feeling lighter, even as it ached. He wasn’t sure what the world would make of his honesty, but in that moment, he didn’t care. For the first time, he felt like he was finally living his truth.

Ivan had gone through a lot these past seven months. He had learned more about himself, about love, and about the people around him who had quietly stood by his side. Slowly but surely, he had realized that he wasn’t as alone as he had once believed. He had family and friends behind me, even the fans who had embraced his vulnerability—they had all been there, supporting him in ways big and small. But no matter how much he appreciated that, Ivan couldn’t stop thinking about the people who didn’t have that kind of support. The ones who fought Hanahaki alone.

Hanahaki was always painted as something romantic, almost whimsical. In media, it was dramatized for entertainment, a tragic yet beautiful way to show unrequited love. In real life, it was brushed off as a “silly disease,” something that could be solved with a burst of courage or a quick, emotionless surgery. Ivan had heard the comments before—“Just confess, and you’ll be fine,” or “Why not get the surgery? It’s not a big deal.” He used to let those words roll off his back, but now they made his blood boil.

Those takes were ignorant, shallow. They didn’t account for people like him, whose love was rooted in years of connection and quiet devotion. They didn’t account for people like Shelby, who had already found her love but was torn apart by life’s cruel circumstances. They didn’t account for the complexity of love that wasn’t easily spoken or resolved, love that wasn’t just about confidence or timing.

It wasn’t just about being unable to confess—it was about love that was too deep, too sacred, too intertwined with fear, loyalty, and hope to be casually voiced. Love like Ivan’s, which had grown quietly alongside Till, nourished by every shared moment, and yet remained hidden in the shadows. Love like Shelby’s, which had been pure and unwavering, but still hadn’t been enough to save her from the flowers.

Ivan thought about her often. He could still hear her voice, her pleading cries for Angus in her final moments. Her story stayed with him, a haunting reminder of how Hanahaki didn’t just take over the body—it consumed the heart and soul, leaving behind scars that no surgery could erase.

And it wasn’t just Shelby. Ivan knew there were countless others out there, people he’d never meet but whose stories he could imagine all too well. People coughing up petals in lonely apartments or hospital beds, their pain dismissed or trivialized. People told to “just confess” or “get over it,” as if love were a simple thing that could be bottled up or discarded at will.

It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

The world painted Hanahaki as something beautiful, something poetic. And while it was, it was also so much more than that. It was messy, cruel, and it demanded far more from those who suffered than most people could ever comprehend. That, more than anything, was what Ivan wanted to change.

And Ella had just handed him the perfect opportunity.

“What exactly does MAPS stand for? It sounds like an abbreviation for something,” she asked curiously.

Ivan smiled softly. “It stands for My Angel Please Stay. I named it after someone I met while I was in the hospital.”

“Oh? Why were you in the hospital, if you don’t mind me asking?” Her tone carried genuine concern.

Ivan took a deep breath and turned to the camera, his expression solemn. “I was in the hospital because I had entered the third stage of Hanahaki.”

The studio audience fell silent, the weight of his words settling over the room. Ella’s brows furrowed, a small frown tugging at her lips. “You mean the disease where people cough up flowers? I thought that was fictional.”

Ivan knew she hadn’t meant any harm by her question. She wouldn’t have risked saying something so dismissive on camera unless she truly didn’t know any better.

“I’m sure you’re not the only one who thought that,” he said gently. “But no, it’s a very real disease.”

“I thought you just had to confess to make it go away?” she asked, her voice tinged with hope.

Ivan’s frown deepened. “That only works in movies. In reality, confessing actually speeds up the disease. And as for the surgery—people think it’s an easy fix, but honestly, it’s the worst option in my opinion.”

Ella tilted her head. “How so?”

“Imagine you’ve known someone who’s shaped your life in so many ways. If you get the surgery, you don’t just erase the part of you that loves them. You erase the part of yourself that they helped shape. If I’d gotten the surgery, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I wouldn’t even recognize myself.”

He let out a heavy sigh before continuing, “MAPS is a song I wrote in dedication to a person I met in the hospital. Her name was Shelby, and she was fifty-seven years old when she passed away from Hanahaki.”

Ella’s gasp was audible. “She died from it? How did she even get it?”

Ivan’s voice softened as he spoke, his gaze distant. “Her husband had dementia. Over time, he forgot everything—who he was, who she was. Shelby developed Hanahaki not because her love was unrequited, but because her love was forgotten.”

“She couldn’t get the surgery—she would have lost thirty-seven years worth of memories if she did. And she couldn’t confess either, because the love of her life was already gone.”

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with sadness and reflection as Ivan’s words lingered in the air.

“So… there’s no way of curing it?” Ella’s voice carried a hint of hopelessness, her expression mirroring the somber mood.

Ivan let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “Seventy-five percent of people diagnosed with Hanahaki don’t survive it. And that number might even be higher because so many cases go undocumented.”

Ella frowned, her brows knitting together. “Why wouldn’t people report it?”

“Because most people believe what the movies and stories tell them—that confessing will cure it,” Ivan explained, his tone steady but laced with frustration. “So, they build up the courage to confess, not knowing that if their feelings aren’t returned, it could actually speed up the disease. By the time they realize what’s happening, it’s often too late.”

The audience seemed to collectively hold their breath, the gravity of his words settling in. Ivan’s voice softened as he added, “That’s why education and awareness are so important. Hanahaki isn’t just some romantic tragedy—it’s a real disease that deserves to be taken seriously.”

Ivan took in a shaky breath, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. “I have about a year and a half, if I’m lucky. But if we’re being realistic…” He paused, his gaze drifting somewhere far away. “I probably have ten, maybe eleven months left before this disease consumes me.”

An almost serene smile graced his face, one that seemed so at odds with the gravity of what he’d just said. It wasn’t one born of denial but of acceptance—an acceptance he had clearly made long ago.

The room felt impossibly still, the air heavy with the unspoken grief of everyone listening. But Ivan, in contrast, seemed unbothered by their reactions. For him, this wasn’t a tragedy to mourn—it was simply the inevitable conclusion he had come to terms with.

“With the time I have left,” Ivan began, his voice steady but laced with quiet determination, “I want to show the world the truest version of myself. I want to spread awareness of this disease so that more people don’t dismiss it so quickly.” He paused, his gaze softening as he spoke the next words. “It’s what Shelby would have wanted.”

There was a profound sincerity in his tone, a resolve born not from fear but from purpose. It wasn’t just about him—it was about everyone like Shelby, everyone who had suffered in silence, misunderstood or forgotten. And if Ivan could use his voice to make even the smallest difference, then that, to him, was a life well lived.

IVAN Ivan_Official☑️ Reposted

I’m glad I got to be apart of her life, even if it was only for a little bit

Evelyn Carter @MyMother’sNameWasShelby

Hello, my name is Evelyn Carter, and my mother was the mysterious Shelby woman Ivan was talking about. Before anyone asks for proof, here’s an image of Ivan and my mother before she passed.

[An image shows Ivan sitting beside an elderly woman in her mid-50s, presumably Shelby. They’re in a hospital garden, both wearing serene expressions, as though finding peace in each other’s company.]

I wanted to come on here to share my mother’s side of the story.

My mother, Shelby Carter (née Sniders), met my father, Agunus Carter, while they were in college. They dated for two years before getting married. Over their thirty-seven years together, they had two children—me and my sister. While our mother loved us deeply, she always longed for a son. Tragically, an accident she was in left her unable to have more children.

When she met Ivan, she told me it felt like the universe had finally answered her prayers and given her the son she had always hoped for.

My mother adored Ivan, and it was clear that Ivan loved her too. He came to her funeral, and that’s when our family finally met him. We had no idea that the kind young man our mother spoke so highly of was the Ivan until that day. Once the initial shock wore off, we got to know him better.

And let me tell you, Ivan is one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. He helped us pay for the medical expenses our mother had from the hospital and even offered to reimburse us for all the funeral costs. We tried to refuse his help, but eventually, we compromised and let him cover just the hospital bills.

My mother always said that Ivan had a light about him, and I know she would be so proud of the awareness he’s spreading about Hanahaki. Thank you, Ivan, for helping keep my mother’s memories alive in such a meaningful way.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" Till's voice was sharp, but the undercurrent of hurt hit Ivan harder than the words themselves. He hated this—hearing Till genuinely upset, the kind of upset that made Ivan’s chest ache. He enjoyed pushing Till’s buttons, teasing him to the edge of irritation, but never like this.

"I didn’t want you to worry..." Ivan's voice faltered as the excuse left his lips, weak and pitiful even to his own ears. He knew how flimsy it sounded. But what else could he say? He couldn’t tell Till the real reason, couldn’t bear the thought of placing that kind of burden on him. No, Ivan would much rather suffer quietly than put Till in a position where he had to choose—especially since Ivan already knew the choice wouldn’t be him.

Till sighed heavily on the other end, the sound cutting into Ivan like a knife. "Ivan, you’re my best friend. Of course I would worry!"

Ivan clutched the phone tighter, the guilt nearly suffocating him. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught in his throat. What could he possibly say to that?

“Who is it?”

“What?” Ivan’s voice faltered, his hands trembling as he gripped the phone.

“Ivan, who is it?”

It’s you. The words clawed their way up his throat, desperate to be spoken, but he refused to even breathe them into existence. The flowers twisted tighter inside him, threatening to spill over, but he swallowed them back with effort.

“I—I don’t want to tell you,” he said, voice cracking under the weight of the confession.

The line went silent.

“Are you being fucking serious right now?” Till’s tone cut through the quiet like a blade, sharp and unrelenting.

Ivan winced, the words slicing straight to his core.

“Ivan, you’re being unreasonable!” Till’s voice was tight, teetering between frustration and concern.

“Till, please, just drop it!” Ivan’s voice cracked, the desperation bleeding through. He clenched his jaw, trying to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over.

“How can I drop it when you’re acting like this?” Till snapped. “I’m trying to help you, but you won’t even let me in!”

“You can’t help me, Till!” Ivan’s voice rose, trembling with raw emotion. “Not this time.”

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening, and Ivan could almost feel the weight of Till’s disappointment pressing against his chest.

“Fine,” Till snapped, his voice cold and sharp. “But don’t come crawling back to me when this stupid fucking disease kills you.”

The call ended with a harsh click, leaving Ivan in stunned silence. He stared blankly at the phone, the weight of Till’s words pressing heavily on his chest.

Then it hit him—a sharp, searing pain in his throat.

He didn’t even bother to move. The flowers surged upward, and he doubled over, coughing violently. He could feel the stems scraping his throat, the petals forcing their way out in a relentless torrent. His breaths came in ragged gasps as the pile of forget-me-nots grew at his feet.

The room spun, and for a moment, all he could hear was the sound of his own labored breathing.

The flowers didn’t stop coming. They came with the force of a storm, relentless and suffocating, blooming from deep inside him and clawing their way out of his chest. His hands shook as he tried to hold himself together, his throat raw, each cough like a violent plea for mercy that never came.

Forget-me-nots. So many of them, their delicate blue petals now stained with his blood. The scent, sweet and cloying, filled the room, mixing with the sharp tang of his own panic. Ivan could feel the weight of them inside him, like they were growing in his lungs, filling him up, demanding space.

He couldn’t catch his breath as another wave of flowers surged up his throat. He leaned over, retching them out onto the floor, his body trembling as the petals tumbled from his lips, each one another piece of him slipping away. His vision blurred, but he didn’t care anymore. He could feel the sharp edges of the flowers scraping against the insides of his throat, a cruel reminder that they were a part of him now, impossible to escape.

Each petal felt like a parting, a goodbye. He thought of Till’s words—sharp, cutting through the pain. “Don’t come crawling back to me.”

He gagged again, his body betraying him with another cough, another pile of blue blooms spilling from his mouth. Was this the end? He couldn't even remember what it felt like to be whole anymore, to breathe without the weight of the flowers pushing him down.

Ivan had thrown himself into his work like a lifeline, pouring all his feelings, his confusion, his regrets, and his aching love for Till into each track. Every note, every lyric was a piece of his heart—raw, exposed, and aching with the weight of unspoken words. At first, the songs came slowly, with fits of frustration as he tried to translate something so deeply personal into melodies. But gradually, the floodgates had opened, and it was as if the music was coming from somewhere deep inside him, beyond thought or reason.

Mizi had been relentless in her attempts to get him out of the house. She barged in when the house felt too still, when Ivan was lost in the haze of the music. "You need sunlight," she’d say, pulling him away from his piano, her voice firm but with an underlying concern. "You can’t live in this bubble forever." And despite his protests, he had learned to let her drag him into the world again, just for a bit. Sometimes he would let the warmth of the sun break through his walls, and for a moment, the weight of his thoughts would lighten.

But always, there was the album, waiting for him to finish it, to put it all together. It had become more than a way to cope—it was an act of self-expression, a way to confront feelings he had buried for far too long. For three months, Ivan poured everything into the music, working through his grief, his desire, his guilt, and his inevitable heartbreak. He wasn’t sure if it would help, but he had to try.

It was in July, as summer reached its peak and the world outside buzzed with warmth and activity, that Ivan finally found the name that felt right. He sat in the dim light of his studio, the last track almost finished, the final words he needed to sing hanging in the air. As he listened back to the songs, his mind clicked into place. An Imploding Star—the title came to him, simple yet profound.

The name felt like the perfect reflection of his experience. Like a star collapsing inward, the music was a gradual, inevitable burn, pulling everything into a singular, overwhelming force. It wasn’t just about love or loss; it was about the explosive, uncontrollable way emotions consumed him. It felt fitting—because that was exactly how it had been, all-consuming, beautiful and painful, burning up from the inside.

With that, the album was complete.

Now, it was time to share it with the world.

"Ivan’s An Imploding Star Takes the World by Storm—A Testament to the Power of Healing Through Music"

"Breaking Records and Barriers: Ivan’s Album Explodes Into the Charts with Raw, Unfiltered Emotion"

"An Imploding Star: The Album That Solidifies Ivan as One of This Generation's Most Honed Songwriters"

"Why An Imploding Star Is The Most Honest Album You’ll Hear This Year"

"Ivan’s Deepest Confessions: An Imploding Star Becomes an Anthem for the Brokenhearted"

An Imploding Star more like implode my heart!!! @unemployedTnT

Holy hell, Ivan's new album was just AGJDWGYSUJB!!! I have decided since I have far too much time on my hands (read: my unemployed self), I took it upon myself to dissect this album so the employed understand just why everyone online is freaking out!

First backstory: Ivan is an idol from the famous Alien Stage Idol company. He started off as a model but took the world by storm when he was just 17 and released his first song, Espresso, which was a fun, sexy pop song, establishing him as a pop artist. And he stuck to that genre for years. Then this year, he released MAPS, a heart-wrenching song completely different from his usual pop tracks. And THEN it came out in The Ella Interview that Ivan has Hanahaki. He promised after that interview to release songs that felt true to him—and OMG DID HE DELIVER!!!

His latest album, An Imploding Star, is a heart-wrenching exploration of Ivan’s emotional depth. Each track feels like a chapter in his internal battle against a disease that’s not only physical but profoundly psychological. Through the music, Ivan is not just dealing with unrequited love or the disease slowly killing him—he’s also confronting the deeper, unspoken parts of his identity, and how much he’s willing to sacrifice for a love that may never be returned. The songs are raw, painful, and painfully relatable, making this album one that fans have connected with on an intimate level.

Let’s dive into the album:

The opening song Black Sorrows is the one that seems to hit the hardest—it’s the heart of Ivan's pain. It’s like an echo of the darkness in his soul, and from the first note, you know it’s him grappling with his own self-worth. The lyrics are soaked in hopelessness, and you can practically feel the weight of every sorrow he sings about. It’s a powerful anthem for anyone who's ever felt lost, but when you realize Ivan wrote it, it hits differently. He doesn’t just sing about the sorrows; he becomes them.

The second song, Townie, seems to be about destructive love, and Ivan straight-up confirms this when one of his fans asked about it. He said, “Townie is about wanting love in all the wrong ways. It’s a song I wrote because admittedly I had a mental breakdown a couple of months earlier and did a lot of things to fill the void that seemed to keep expanding inside of me and try and make it make sense.” This track is also where Ivan admits to being gay!! Yes, you heard that right. Talk about vulnerability!

The third song, Bag of Bones, is quite a doozy. This track might be one of the most controversial songs on the album. Bag of Bones feels like Ivan is staring into the mirror, not recognizing the person he’s become. The sense of decay, both physically and emotionally, is overwhelming. As his illness progresses, it becomes harder for him to ignore the toll it’s taking. This song embodies Ivan’s realization that he’s more than just physically sick—he’s losing himself, piece by piece, until he’s nothing more than a fragile shell of a person. His body is a bag of bones, empty and hollow, and so is his spirit. It’s also the most explicit song on the album, with Ivan describing how he hypersexualizes himself to cope with his feelings, intentionally sabotaging his own ability to form emotional connections with the people he’s seeing.

Humpty, the fourth song, is one of the more bitter tracks on the album. The brokenness Ivan feels, both physically and emotionally, is reflected in the imagery of this song. It’s almost as if Ivan’s warning us about the consequences of trying to put himself together after falling apart too many times. It’s raw and messy, and it’s clear that Ivan doesn’t think he can fix himself anymore. The lyrics strike a chord with anyone who’s ever felt like they’re falling apart, piece by piece, and no matter how hard they try, they can never fully put themselves back together.

Finally, the last song on the album, Never Enough, is an emotional crescendo. Never Enough seems to be Ivan’s anthem of wanting and never quite getting what he needs. For him, it’s an expression of the endless desire to be loved, accepted, and validated by the person he loves—a love he knows will never come in the way he needs it. The song feels like a confession, a breakdown of Ivan’s most vulnerable desire: to be enough for someone. The person Ivan loves, despite seemingly being close to him (based on what I could gather), doesn’t fully see the depth of Ivan’s feelings, and Ivan knows it. This song marks the climax of his emotional journey. It’s powerful because it’s not just about love—it’s about the deep yearning for something more, something he can never have. Ivan’s pain is most palpable here, as the song’s crescendo mimics the overwhelming emotion he feels when confronted with his own inadequacy. He’s giving everything he has to this love, yet it still feels like it’s not enough.

This album is truly a masterpiece. Every word seems to be perfectly crafted, and you can just feel the emotion Ivan must have put into making each of these songs. It’s an emotional rollercoaster, and I’m still processing it all. You won’t hear a more honest, raw album in a long time, and I’m here for every bit of it!

“And we’re starting in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!” Hyun-Woo’s voice crackled through Ivan’s earpiece.

He closed his eyes, letting the world dissolve around him. This was the last song of the performance and he wanted it to go beautifully.

The low hum of the orchestra swelled beneath him, the piano striking its first soft notes. Slowly, he brought the mic to his lips, his voice emerging soft and vulnerable.

“I’m trying to hold my breath, let it stay this way. Can’t let this moment end.”

His eyes fluttered open, piercing through the soft glow of the stage lights. With measured steps, he walked to the center of the stage, the mic firm in his grasp.

“You set off a dream in me, getting louder now. Can you hear it echoing?”

Reaching the center, he carefully set the mic onto its stand, freeing his hands. He leaned forward, his presence commanding yet tender.

“Take my hand. Will you share this with me? ‘Cause darling, without you—”

Ivan extended his hand out toward the crowd, his fingers trembling slightly. The arena stretched before him, a sea of faces illuminated by dim, reverent light. A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips as he met their gazes. Thousands—hundreds of thousands—watched in silent anticipation.

“All the shine of a thousand spotlights.” The stage lighting shifted seamlessly from a tranquil blue to an ethereal white.

“All the stars we steal from the night sky—”

Behind him, the screen came alive, displaying a breathtaking meteor shower cascading across a star-studded sky. The heavens seemed to open, pouring their brilliance onto the stage.

“Will never be enough.” His voice cracked faintly, raw emotion spilling into every syllable.

“Never be enough.”

The violins surged quietly in the background, their melody pulling him deeper into the performance. Ivan cupped the mic, gripping it as if it were his lifeline.

“Towers of gold are still too little—”

His voice grew bolder, tinged with anguish, as he closed his eyes briefly, grounding himself.

“These hands could hold the world, but it’ll never be enough. Never be enough!”

“For me.” His hand fell to his chest, fingers curling over his heart, as though to steady the ache rising within him as the violins boomed in the background.

“Never, never

Never, never

Never—”

The violins quickened, matching the rising intensity of his voice.

“For me. For me!”

“Never enough

Never enough

Never enough

For me

For Me

For ME!”

The stage erupted as the orchestra thundered to life, filling every corner of the arena.

“All the shine of a thousand spotlights. All the stars we steal from the night sky—” His voice soared higher, trembling with unrestrained emotion.

“Will never be enough!”

“Never be enough!” His cry rang out, thick with desperation and pain, tears glistening in his eyes.

“Towers of gold are still too little!” Ivan stretched his arms wide, as if trying to hold the impossible.

“These hands could hold the world—” His voice cracked under the weight of the words, but he pressed on, unwavering.

Slowly, he pulled his arms back, wrapping them tightly around himself, as if shielding himself from the weight of the truth.

“But it’ll never be enough.” His voice dropped to a trembling whisper, raw and fragile.

“Never be enou—ghhhhhh!” His voice soared once more, filled with aching vulnerability.

“For ME!”

“Never, never

Never, never

Never, for me.

For me.”

“Never enough.”

“Never, never

Never enough

Never, never

Never enough—”

His voice swelled with every repetition, every note carrying the weight of his soul.

“For me.

For Me!

For ME!!!”

He held the high note for what felt like forever before finally, his voice dropped, soft and trembling, as he whispered the final line.

“For me…”

The final note echoed through the arena, hanging in the stillness like a heartbeat fading into silence. Ivan stood there, chest heaving, his arms limp at his sides. The crowd, stunned for a moment, erupted into thunderous applause and cheers, their voices filling the space he had left bare.

Chapter Text

As of this September, it had officially been one year since Ivan was diagnosed with Hanahaki. The passing days felt like slow, heavy footsteps that dragged him closer to the inevitable end. It made him nostalgic—nostalgic enough to visit his parents. He sighed as Sua pulled into the long, gated driveway of his childhood home. The thought of going back to the house where so many memories had been buried made his stomach twist.

Sua, ever the protective cousin, had absolutely refused to let him visit alone. She had insisted, with that familiar sharpness in her voice, that Ivan wouldn’t be going back to that house without her by his side. So here they were, creeping up the road toward a house that was both a sanctuary and a prison.

“I still think this is a terrible idea,” Sua said, her voice cutting through the thick silence. “But if you’re hellbent on going through with it, I’m not letting you do it alone.”

Ivan gave her a weak smile, his hands twisting nervously in his lap. “You don’t have to do this, you know. It’s not going to be...pleasant.”

“Pleasant?” Sua raised an eyebrow. “I know enough about Unsha to know that word’s never been in his vocabulary. I’m here for you, so let’s rip the Band-Aid off.”

The car came to a halt in front of the grand double doors, and Ivan stared at them for a long time. He could feel the pressure of the house even from inside the car. It was suffocating, just like it had been when he lived there. Every inch of it was designed to scream success and power, a monument to his adoptive parents’ wealth and status. And yet, all that grandeur had always felt hollow.

Taking a deep breath, Ivan stepped out of the car, his shoes crunching softly against the pristine gravel. The doors opened before he could even reach them, revealing one of the household staff—dressed immaculately, as always.

“Master Ivan,” the butler greeted, his tone neutral, as if Ivan had only been gone a week instead of years.

“Hi, Basil,” Ivan said quietly, his voice tinged with guilt. Basil had always been kind to him, more so than his own parents ever were.

“Your parents are expecting you in the sitting room,” Basil said, gesturing inside.

Of course they were.

Ivan nodded, eyes wandering briefly to the large portraits lining the hall as they made their way toward the sitting room. The sound of their footsteps echoed in the cold, marble-floored corridor. They reached the doors to the sitting room, and Ivan hesitated for a moment, stealing a glance at Sua, who simply gave him an understanding nod.

Pushing the doors open, Ivan was greeted by the same sterile luxury of the room—elegant furniture, glass cabinets, expensive paintings. But it felt more suffocating than ever. His parents sat across from each other, their eyes locked on him, but their faces devoid of the warmth that most people would expect from a family reunion. They knew why he was here. They had seen the interview.

Unsha, his adoptive father, was the first to speak, his voice as cold as ever. “You’re here.”

Ivan stood by the door, his body tense. “Yeah... I am.”

His mother, silent until now, looked up. Her expression was... distant, yet there was something softer in her eyes—almost like pity. Ivan wasn’t sure he wanted it.

“Ivan,” his mother said softly, her voice carrying the same detachment she always had. “You’ve... made your choices. It’s too late for you to change anything now.” She paused, and Ivan could hear the unspoken truth in her words: too late for anything to fix the mess of their relationship.

Unsha didn’t even bother to glance at him as he continued his reading. “Your time is... limited, I presume,” he said, his tone indifferent, almost clinical.

Ivan wanted to scream, to demand something more from them. But he knew better. Instead, he exhaled deeply, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again after today.” He meant it. He could feel the weight of his own words.

His mother looked up, a small crease of confusion forming between her brows. “You don’t have to be so dramatic.”

“It’s not dramatic,” Ivan said, his voice hollow. “It’s the truth.”

There was a long pause, the kind of silence that hung in the air like a dead weight. Unsha finally looked up from his book, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Then why are you here?”

“I’m here to say goodbye,” Ivan replied, voice unwavering. He wasn’t sure if it was for their sake, or his. But it needed to be said. “I’m not expecting anything from either of you. Just... wanted to make sure you knew.”

Sua stood beside him, her arms folded, waiting. The tension in the room was palpable.

Unsha put his book down, his face unreadable. “Then I suppose this is the end.”

Ivan nodded. He could almost hear the ticking of the clock behind him, the sound of time slipping away faster than he could control. "Yeah," he whispered. "It is."

He honestly hadn’t known what he expected when he came here today, but he wasn’t surprised. Their relationship had always been more transactional than anything. So that’s why he was surprised when his mother suddenly pulled him into an embrace.

“Ivan,” she said, hesitating for a moment. “I hope you find peace.”

He took a shaky breath, the words cutting through the fog of emotions he hadn’t realized were building up. He returned her embrace, holding onto the moment longer than he expected, feeling something close to warmth from her for the first time in a long time.

Ivan looked around his old bedroom. It was still the way he left it when he moved out—a mix of old, impersonal things strewn about. There were more than a few items that stood out as reminders of a past he didn’t care to think about: old trophies, clothing, a few half-finished projects. It was almost as if he had never really belonged there.

Sua whistled as she walked inside, scanning the room. “Haven’t been here in a hot minute.” She stepped over a pile of discarded textbooks, a little more comfortable in the space than Ivan felt.

“I don't know why I thought coming back would feel different,” Ivan muttered, running his fingers along the edge of the desk where a forgotten photo frame sat. It was one of his childhood pictures, just a younger version of him in an expensive outfit, posing with a forced smile.

“You were never really here, Ivan,” Sua said, her tone a little softer now, understanding the weight of his words. “Not really.”

Ivan looked out the window, seeing nothing but the distant skyline. “Yeah,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. “Not really.”

Ivan carelessly opened one of the drawers on his old desk, his fingers brushing against old papers and forgotten knick-knacks. When he pulled it open, his eyes caught an old journal tucked away at the back. He frowned, unsure of what he expected to find, but when the worn leather cover came into view, it was like something from a past life.

Sua leaned over his shoulder, her curiosity piqued. “Isn’t that your diary?”

Ivan hesitated for a moment, then let out a breath, not even bothering to deny it. "Yeah, I guess it’s pretty much the same thing." The journal had been a therapy assignment from years ago, back when his parents had decided he needed professional help, like all their other attempts to ‘fix’ him. Write about how you feel, the therapist had told him. It felt like such a hollow task at the time, but now, looking at the journal, he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disturbed by it.

He flipped it open and quickly skimmed through the yellowed pages. Most of it was filled with the ramblings of a kid who didn’t know how to express himself. But then he stopped at one page, his eyes narrowing as he read a line he'd completely forgotten about.

“Huh.” Sua’s voice cut through the silence, a mix of surprise and admiration. “I didn’t know you had started writing music when you were this young.”

Ivan blinked, the words on the page bringing back memories he didn’t want to confront. There it was, written in his familiar scrawl—lyrics to what could only be described as a song, something raw and unrefined, but honest.

“I didn’t know I had either,” Ivan said quietly, his voice tinged with something between amusement and sadness. His younger self had been searching for an outlet even back then. He closed the journal, the weight of those forgotten words hanging heavily in the air.

“You were always a mess, huh?” Sua said, her tone light, though there was no malice in it. She nudged his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Ivan muttered, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose so.”

It had been a couple of hours since Ivan left his childhood home, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the song he’d found in the old journal. The journal that had been a forced part of his therapy when he was younger, the one his parents had insisted on to try and fix what they saw as broken. It felt like another lifetime, one where his world was smaller, more fragile, and his suffering had been far more immediate.

The song he’d found had been written in that turbulent time—before fame, before the illness, before he’d ever imagined the life he would lead. The rawness of it was almost painful to read now. He hadn’t even remembered writing it, but as his eyes moved over the words, he could hear the quiet desperation in each verse. It was a painful reflection of everything he had gone through as a child—the loneliness, the frustration, the feeling that no one had truly understood him.

The song was too raw, too vulnerable to be part of the album he had spent months perfecting. His new album, which was about bittersweet acceptance, about making peace with the life he had been handed, couldn’t hold a place for the pain of his younger years. The new songs were about his growth, about finding contentment, even when things didn’t go as planned. It felt almost disjointed to think of including something that spoke so intimately of suffering.

Yet, there was no denying the pull of it. The song had been part of him once, the way the pain had been. He couldn’t erase it or pretend it wasn’t there, no matter how much he’d moved on. As much as the new album had been about coming to terms with where he was, the song in the journal was the raw, unfiltered truth of who he had been—a truth that, while painful, had shaped him into who he was now.

Ivan stared at the journal for a long moment. He knew the song didn’t belong with the new tracks he was creating. It was too different, too disconnected from where he was now. But it was still part of his story. And part of him felt it deserved to be heard—just not in the same way as the songs he was about to release to the world. This one would stay separate, like an echo of his past that had helped him become who he was.

What the hell, Ivan!?
@StarryEyedAnalyst

MWQNHGSDWVUFIOPQWAHDFSBWHDB!!!! Okay, y’all, WHY did Ivan think it was okay to just drop Nowhere out of the blue like this?? WHO approved this emotional devastation??? I’m shaking, crying, and screaming simultaneously, so let’s break this absolute masterpiece down because this is ART.

Nowhere feels like Ivan took everything he’s been holding in—the disillusionment, the pain, the existential dread—and poured it into one soul-crushing song. The rawness of it? Unmatched. The lyrics? Gut-punching. The delivery? Heartbreaking. I’ve listened to it five times already, and every time, it’s like he’s reaching into my chest and pulling out my heart.

“Nowhere, from beginning to end / A stained history”

Right from the start, Ivan sets a tone of disillusionment. He’s reflecting on his life, describing it as "nowhere" and acknowledging that his personal history is tainted. This isn’t about unrequited love; it’s about his own journey and the scars he’s accumulated along the way.

“Nowhere, rose-tinted / Rigid dream and hope / It's stained with blood”

Ivan contrasts the idealized, "rose-tinted" dreams with the harsh reality that these aspirations have been marred by struggle and sacrifice. The imagery of dreams stained with blood suggests personal battles and the loss of innocence.

“My sky, shaped by the world / Doesn't even let me stand under it”

Here, Ivan speaks to feeling constrained by external forces. The world has molded his environment in such a way that he feels he can’t even find his place within it. It’s a powerful expression of feeling out of sync with the world around him.

“I lay down and look / At yesterday's daydream, all torn up”

This line evokes a sense of surrender and reflection. Ivan is looking back at his past aspirations, now shattered. It’s a poignant moment of acknowledging lost dreams and the passage of time.

“Fly far, far away / Never, never again / Come back to me / Because it's easier to forget”

In these lines, Ivan seems to be addressing his own memories or past selves, wishing them to stay away because recalling them brings pain. Forgetting becomes a coping mechanism to deal with his internal struggles.

Final Thoughts:

Nowhere isn’t just a song—it’s an experience. Ivan doesn’t just sing about feeling lost; he is lost, and he’s inviting us into that darkness with him. The lyrics are haunting, the delivery is chilling, and the emotional weight is almost too much to handle. This track is a deep dive into Ivan’s psyche, revealing his battles with identity, purpose, and the scars of his journey.

Ivan, I love you, but PLEASE stop destroying my soul with your music. That being said, I’ll be streaming Nowhere on repeat until my therapist calls. What did y’all think?? Let’s cry about it together in the comments.

Wedding planning was exhausting. Ivan sighed as he stared at the endless array of nearly identical shades of pink and purple spread across the table. “They all look the same to me,” he muttered under his breath, barely resisting the urge to toss the swatches aside.

“They are the same,” Till gruffed, leaning back in his chair with crossed arms. Despite the tension still lingering between them after their argument, neither had said a word to Mizi or Sua. So here they were, awkwardly enduring each other’s company as Mizi went into full-on wedding planner mode.

Mizi, predictably, gasped in offense. “The same? Are you kidding me?” She held up two swatches dramatically, one a pale lavender, the other a richer violet. “This purple is way too light and will completely throw off the wedding vibe!” She dramatically threw herself back in her chair, covering her face with her hands as though the color was a personal attack.

Ivan bit back a laugh, glancing at Till, who looked seconds away from either snapping or bolting. Picking up one of the darker swatches, Ivan slid it across the table toward Mizi. “How about this shade instead?” he offered, his tone soothing.

Mizi peeked through her fingers, then sat up, her face lighting up with approval. “Oh, Ivan, you’re a genius! If I wasn’t so head over heels in love with your cousin, I’d marry you right now!”

Ivan chuckled softly, shaking his head as she launched into a renewed frenzy of excitement over centerpieces and lighting. Meanwhile, Till’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, his eyes flicking briefly toward Ivan before turning back to Mizi.

The weight of their unresolved tension hung heavy in the air, but for now, Ivan was content to let Mizi’s bubbly enthusiasm drown it out.

“I’m back with the refreshments,” Sua announced as she placed the drinks down on the table, her ever-efficient aura unshaken even by Mizi’s color crisis. Sliding into her seat beside her fiancé, she glanced at the pile of swatches and added casually, “That’s a nice shade of purple.”

Mizi’s face lit up like the sun. “Ivan picked it out!” she exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement.

Sua raised an eyebrow, shooting Ivan an impressed look. “Did he now?”

Ivan shrugged, sipping his drink with an air of feigned nonchalance. “It wasn’t that hard. It’s just a color.”

“Just a color?” Mizi gasped, clutching her chest as though mortally wounded. “Ivan, it’s the color that’s going to set the entire tone of our wedding! You saved us from disaster!”

Till let out a quiet groan, muttering under his breath, “Pretty sure no one will notice the difference.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Mizi snapped, pointing a swatch at him like it was a weapon. “I will absolutely notice, and so will everyone else.”

Sua patted Mizi’s arm reassuringly, her tone light. “Don’t worry, love. Ivan cleary has your back, even if someone doesn’t appreciate the finer details.” She shot a playful smirk at Till, who responded with an unamused grunt.

Ivan chuckled softly to himself. Seeing Sua and Mizi happy and animated—felt like a small slice of peace amidst the chaos that was his life.

“Ivan, wait.”

Till’s voice stopped Ivan mid-step. He turned to face him, his expression calm, though there was a flicker of something beneath the surface.

“Till,” Ivan said, his tone unreadable. “Do you need something?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t pretend like you’re not upset with me,” Till said, his voice quieter now, like he was trying to tread carefully.

Ivan studied him, the familiar numb acceptance washing over him like an old, worn blanket. “There’s nothing to fix, Till,” he said softly, his voice betraying no emotion. “I’ve made my peace with everything.”

Till frowned, his jaw tightening. “You always say that, but it doesn’t feel true. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Ivan hesitated, his fingers curling slightly at his sides. “Not everything needs to be said, Till. Sometimes... sometimes it’s easier that way.”

“That’s not fair,” Till said, his voice low but firm. “I’m trying to be here for you, but I don’t know how to help if you keep shutting me out.”

Ivan’s lips twitched into a small, fleeting smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve already done more than enough, Till. Just... don’t worry about me, okay? Focus on the future, on the people who matter most.”

Till took a step closer, frustration etched on his face. “You matter too, Ivan. Whether you want to admit it or not.”

The words hung heavy in the air, but Ivan’s expression didn’t falter. Instead, he exhaled softly and looked away. “I’ll see you at the rehearsal next month.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, leaving Till standing there, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on both of them.

“Make a wish!” Hyun-Woo said cheerfully, his grin as bright as the candles flickering on the cake.

Ivan sat at the head of the table, surrounded by the people he cared about most in the world. It was his last birthday—he knew it, they knew it—but no one dared to say it aloud. The air was filled with warmth and laughter, a fragile kind of joy that balanced on the edge of sorrow.

Ivan smiled, looking at the glowing candles that reflected in his friends' hopeful faces. He closed his eyes to think of a wish, but nothing came to mind.

It wasn’t that he had everything he could wish for—far from it. If he did, he wouldn’t be dying. He wouldn’t be leaving behind all the people he loved. But in that moment, surrounded by their laughter and light, Ivan felt something close to contentment.

So instead of wishing for himself, he wished for them.

I hope that after I’m gone, they can still live beautiful lives.

He blew out the candles, their flames snuffed out in a single breath. Around him, his friends clapped and cheered, blissfully unaware of the wish that lingered like a quiet prayer in the back of his mind.

A week after his birthday, the album was finally ready. Every note had been recorded, every lyric polished, and every emotion bared. Just like the songs he’d released before, his fans were given no prior warning—one moment, there was silence, and the next, the album was out for the world to hear.

Ivan sat in his studio, the faint hum of the equipment around him barely registering. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the weight of it all sink in.

This was it.

This was the last thing he would leave behind, his final message to the world. It wasn’t just an album—it was a piece of his soul, a record of the life he’d lived, the lessons he’d learned, and the peace he’d found in the end.

The title felt more poignant now than ever.

The Last Wishes Of A Dying Star, indeed.

He exhaled softly, leaning back in his chair. There was no turning back now. All he could do was hope that it would resonate, that it would linger in the hearts of those who heard it long after he was gone.

And maybe, just maybe, the star that was Ivan would continue to shine—if only for a little while longer.

The Last Wishes of a Dying Star – A Beautiful Goodbye 💫
@everythingwritten

Alright, brace yourselves, because Ivan’s final album, The Last Wishes of a Dying Star, is an emotional masterpiece. If you thought An Imploding Star was an unfiltered dive into his pain, this album shifts gears entirely. It’s about acceptance—about coming to terms with the imperfect, bittersweet nature of life and love. It’s not about fighting the pain anymore; it’s about learning from it, letting go, and finding beauty in the inevitable goodbye.

This album is growth in its purest form. Every track feels like a heartfelt letter, not just to his listeners, but to himself—acknowledging the darkness of the past while finding peace in the present. It’s not without moments of longing, of course, but they’re softened by a quiet strength, making it feel like a goodbye that’s both sorrowful and serene. Let’s dive into this journey:

Opening Track: Promise The album begins with Promise, a tender piano ballad that sets the emotional tone for the rest of the album. This song feels like a personal reflection on the difficulty of letting go of someone who remains a part of your soul. The story unfolds with every verse—starting with Ivan’s resolve to move on from a lover but ending in the bittersweet realization that no matter how much time passes, they’ll always hold a part of him. The lyric “It hurts to be something, it’s worse to be nothing with you” hits especially hard, capturing the conflicting emotions of clinging to a love you know you shouldn’t.

Track 2: Falling Behind Falling Behind is a reflective, almost wistful piece where Ivan examines his own feelings of loneliness and inadequacy. The melody carries a sense of time slipping through his fingers, as though he’s watching life pass him by while everyone else moves forward. Yet, there’s no bitterness here—just a quiet understanding of his place in the world. Lines like “Everybody's falling in love and I'm falling behind” cut deep, but they also show Ivan’s acceptance of this slower, more deliberate pace in his life.

Track 3: Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart This is the heartbreaker of the album. Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart is a farewell, not just to a person, but to the ‘what could have been.’ It’s devastating in its clarity—there’s no anger, no regret, just a soft resignation to the fact that some things aren’t meant to be. Ivan’s voice carries the weight of finality here, and the soft melody mirrors the tender, fragile emotions of saying goodbye. It’s about releasing the love you wanted so badly but couldn’t keep, knowing in the end that that love wasn’t enough to save you.

Track 4: My Love Is Mine All Mine This song is a beautiful declaration of self-love and ownership over his emotions. Ivan finds solace in knowing that even if his love is unrequited, it still holds value—because it’s his. “My love is mine all mine” isn’t just a lyric; it’s a mantra for anyone who’s learned to cherish their feelings, even when they’re not returned. The sweetness of this track offers a gentle reprieve from the heavier emotions of the album, acting as a quiet celebration of love in its purest, most personal form.

Closing Track: Last Words of A Shooting Star And then, we reach the final goodbye. Last Words of A Shooting Star is hauntingly beautiful, serving as Ivan’s farewell to the life he’s lived and the people he’s loved. The lyrics read almost like a letter to the universe, filled with gratitude for the turbulence that shaped him but also a deep weariness. There’s a bittersweet sense of closure here—an acknowledgment that while life wasn’t perfect, it was enough. The imagery of a shooting star burning bright before fading away mirrors Ivan’s own journey, leaving behind a legacy of light, even in the face of darkness.

A Journey of Bittersweet Acceptance

The Last Wishes of a Dying Star isn’t just an album; it’s a testament to Ivan’s growth as an artist and a person. It takes you through the quiet moments of reflection, the ache of letting go, and the joy of finding peace in the chaos. Every lyric, every note feels intentional, as if Ivan is inviting us to sit with him in his most vulnerable moments.

This album feels less like a performance and more like a conversation—a beautiful, raw, and unflinchingly honest goodbye. If An Imploding Star was the scream of a heart in turmoil, The Last Wishes of a Dying Star is the soft exhale of someone who’s finally found peace.

Once again, Ivan proves that music isn’t just about sound; it’s about storytelling, about capturing the messy, beautiful, and fleeting moments that make us human. If you haven’t listened yet, prepare yourself—this isn’t just an album, it’s an experience you’ll carry with you long after the last note fades.

“To Mizi and Sua,” Ivan said, raising his glass with a soft smile. The warm, golden glow of the room reflected off the rim of his wineglass as the crowd joined in the toast. Laughter and cheers echoed around the dinner hall, their joyful energy filling the space like sunlight breaking through clouds. It was the night of the rehearsal dinner, and everything had gone off without a hitch—the rehearsal was seamless, the food exquisite, and the atmosphere was alive with love and celebration.

Ivan's smile lingered as he took a sip of wine, savoring the bittersweet burn. His gaze dropped to the glass in his hand, now half empty—or perhaps, half full. A rueful chuckle nearly escaped his lips at the cliché, but there was no denying how much it mirrored his thoughts.

One year and five months. That’s how long it had been since his diagnosis. He could still hear the doctor’s voice, steady but not without its cracks of pity, detailing the timeline he had left. Ivan tilted his glass slightly, watching the wine swirl. If the doctor’s predictions were right, he didn’t have much time left—maybe another month, two at most.

His chest tightened, not from fear, but from the dull ache of hope laced with sorrow. He wasn’t afraid to die. He had made peace with it a long time ago, but if it had to happen soon, he prayed it wouldn’t be this month. Please, let it be May, he thought silently. April was supposed to be a month of joy for Mizi and Sua—a time to celebrate their love, their union. Tomorrow they’d be married, and April would become their month, the one they’d cherish for anniversaries to come.

He didn’t want to taint it. He didn’t want the shadow of his death to dim their happiness.

Ivan took another sip of his wine, the glass now nearly empty, and exhaled slowly. The hum of conversation and laughter around him was distant, like a melody he couldn’t quite catch. He glanced toward Mizi and Sua, their faces glowing with happiness as they shared a laugh with family and friends. A soft smile curved his lips. They deserve this moment, he thought. They deserve everything.

Setting his glass down, he straightened in his seat, determined to soak in the joy of the evening. If this was one of his last nights, he would make it a good one—for them, and maybe, just a little, for himself too.

At some point, Till had slipped into the seat beside him, quiet as a shadow. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other, but there was a comfort in the shared silence, a rare kind of peace that needed no explanation. The buzz of laughter and conversation flowed around them like a warm current, but Ivan’s attention remained fixed on Mizi and Sua.

They were radiant together, their smiles as effortless as breathing, their hands often finding each other’s without a second thought. Ivan had spent time with them earlier, offering his congratulations and sharing a few jokes, but he had eventually drifted back to his chair, content to watch from afar. Now, with Till beside him, he let the moment stretch, absorbing the scene like a photograph he wanted to carry with him.

There was something magnetic about the way Mizi and Sua moved in sync, as though they had been made to find each other in a chaotic world. Ivan’s chest swelled with a bittersweet ache as he thought, Whatever souls are made of, theirs are cut from the same fabric.

He glanced at Till briefly, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows across his face. Till hadn’t said anything, but his presence felt grounding, like an anchor Ivan didn’t know he needed. Ivan turned his attention back to Mizi and Sua, a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips.

They were a testament to the kind of love that people searched lifetimes for—the kind of love that Ivan could only hope for in another life, when the weight of the flowers in his chest would no longer hold him down. For now, though, he was happy for them. Truly, he was.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Ivan’s voice was quiet, almost swallowed by the hum of conversation around them. He didn’t look at Till when he asked, his gaze still locked on Mizi and Sua, who were laughing together like they held the secret to happiness itself.

Till leaned back in his chair, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he followed Ivan’s line of sight. “It’s kinda hard not to when those two exist,” he replied, his tone light but genuine.

Ivan let out a soft laugh, the sound tinged with both warmth and melancholy. “Yeah,” he murmured, a wistful note slipping into his voice. “They make it seem so easy, don’t they?”

A comfortable silence settled between them after that, though Ivan could feel Till’s gaze lingering on him. It was heavy—not accusing, but curious, like Till was searching for the right words to say and debating whether to say them at all.

Ivan didn’t acknowledge it, keeping his eyes fixed on Mizi and Sua as they spun each other around on the makeshift dance floor. The warmth of their joy was infectious, a temporary balm against the weight he carried. He didn’t want to ruin this moment with his problems. Not tonight. Not when it was supposed to be about them.

The rain carried that unmistakable, earthy scent of petrichor, but it wasn’t the only fragrance in the air. A soft, sweet floral smell lingered, weaving through the dampness. Ivan closed his eyes, feeling the weight of it in his chest. It wasn’t coming from the flowers around him—it was coming from him.

The familiar fragrance of forget-me-nots clung to him like a shadow, delicate yet pervasive. It was bittersweet, a constant reminder of what bloomed inside him, of what time he had left. Every breath he took was filled with it, a scent that could have been beautiful if it weren’t tied to his own demise.

He stayed still as the rain poured harder, drops soaking into his clothes and sliding down his face like tears he couldn’t shed anymore. He was so lost in the quiet torment of his thoughts that he didn’t even hear Till approach.

Without a word, Till sat beside him on the wet bench, the rain pooling around them. Ivan didn’t look up, but the bench creaked softly under Till’s weight, grounding him.

The floral scent only grew stronger in the shared silence, like the rain was pulling it out of him, scattering it into the air. Ivan wondered if Till could smell it too. He didn’t ask.

Till didn’t speak, didn’t ask why Ivan was sitting out in the rain, drenched and weary. He simply sat, his presence solid and grounding, a quiet assurance that Ivan wasn’t alone.

The rain kept falling, and the forget-me-nots’ scent hung heavily between them, unspoken but undeniable. Would Till say anything about it? Ivan wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t ready to break the silence just yet.

They sat together in silence, the quiet of the room settling over them like a heavy blanket. Till was the first to break it, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“Me and Mika broke up after the first rehearsal.”

Ivan’s heart stuttered in his chest. His eyes widened in surprise. “But she seemed so nice... What happened?”

Till shook his head, his gaze fixed on the rain pouring relentlessly outside the window. “Honestly, it was bound to happen. If anything, it was kind of my fault.”

Ivan’s brows furrowed, the weight of Till’s words sinking in slowly. He turned his body slightly, his confusion building. “Your fault? How?”

Till exhaled, the sound barely audible against the constant rhythm of the rain. He rubbed his forehead as though the very thought was a burden too heavy to bear. “I knew it wasn’t right. I knew, before we even started. But I convinced myself that maybe it would be different, that maybe the pressure would be easier to handle if I just pretended.” He paused, his voice tightening with each word. “But I can’t pretend anymore. Not when the person I’m really in love with is still here.”

Ivan’s heart faltered, his breath catching in his throat. The words hit him like a physical blow. The world around him seemed to dim, his mind spinning, his thoughts clouded by the scent of forget-me-nots filling the space between them. He had carried the burden of his feelings for so long, believing they were his to bear alone, but now—now it was something else entirely.

“You… you’re in love with someone else?” His voice cracked, almost lost under the weight of the question. His eyes searched Till’s, but he couldn’t read the look in them, only the rawness, the vulnerability.

Till turned slowly, meeting Ivan’s gaze with an intensity that stole the air from his lungs. “Yeah,” he said, the word hanging between them, heavy and unyielding. His voice was rough, strained. “I am. But I don’t know if I can do anything about it. Not with everything that’s going on. Not with... all of this.”

His words trailed off into the silence, each one carrying a weight that made the rain outside seem colder, heavier, as though the world itself understood the enormity of what he was saying.

Ivan’s chest ached, his heart thundering in his ears. He tried to hold himself steady, but his voice betrayed him. “You don’t have to do anything about it, Till,” he said, quieter than he meant to. His throat was tight, but he forced the words out, pushing past the pain. “You don’t owe me anything. It’s not your fault.”

A long silence followed, stretching between them like an unbridgeable distance. The rain continued to fall, relentless and unfeeling, as if the world had forgotten to stop for a moment, to give them space.

Till’s hand brushed Ivan’s, the lightest touch, but it was enough to make Ivan’s pulse race. The warmth of it lingered, and for a fleeting second, Ivan allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the end.

But the world didn’t stop, and neither did the rain.

“When did you find out?” Ivan asked, his voice soft, as if afraid to hear the answer.

“After the first rehearsal,” Till answered, the words heavy with guilt. “I told Sua about everything. She kinda punched me, rightfully so, and called me an idiot. I guess that’s when it all kinda clicked into place.”

Ivan’s hand withdrew, the space between them suddenly feeling too wide. His gaze dropped to the floor, avoiding Till’s. “You don’t have to lie about loving me just to avoid upsetting everyone else,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.

“You think I’m lying?” Till’s voice broke with the question, his tone raw and vulnerable.

Ivan’s silence was enough of an answer.

Till’s breath hitched, and he leaned forward slightly, his eyes pleading. “Ivan,” his voice was strained, almost desperate now. “Please, look at me.”

And there it was, the irony that Ivan couldn’t ignore: for so long, he’d wanted Till to truly see him, to notice him in a way that went beyond the surface. And now, it was Till begging for his attention, and Ivan—Ivan was refusing to meet him halfway. It felt like the cruelest twist of fate.

“Mika broke up with me,” Till continued, his words slow but firm. “She said it was so painfully obvious that we were in love with each other. She told me she could see it the moment you two met—that she wasn’t the one. She told me to man up and stop looking for a replacement for the problem at hand.”

Ivan’s vision blurred, his eyes glazing over with tears he couldn’t hold back. His body trembled, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin. It was too much. Too much to process. His heart felt like it was being ripped from his chest, and the world around him spun wildly.

“It doesn’t feel real,” he whispered, his voice cracking, the words barely leaving his lips before the familiar, suffocating feeling began to crawl up his throat. The flowers, they were there again, constricting his breath.

“You’re lying," he gasped, the words tasting like acid on his tongue. "You have to be.”

Till’s eyes widened in disbelief. He moved closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why, Ivan? Why would I lie about this?”

“Because if you’re not…” Ivan choked on his own words, the sob breaking free before he could stop it. His hands shook violently at his sides. “If you’re not, it means I spent these last few months—months of pain—suffering for nothing!” He was shaking, gasping for air as the weight of it all crashed down on him.

Till’s face crumpled with regret, but Ivan couldn’t bring himself to care. He was too lost in the tidal wave of emotions drowning him.

Ivan’s breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as the flowers burst from his throat. He could feel each petal tear its way out of him, the painful sensation sharp like barbed wire. The familiar, sickly sweet scent of forget-me-nots filled the air, thick and suffocating. His body trembled violently, overwhelmed by the physical and emotional agony.

Till’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him into an embrace, and Ivan collapsed into him, clinging to the warmth of his body like a lifeline. The flowers continued to spill from him, each bloom more painful than the last, their vibrant blue petals staining his hands and the floor beneath them.

Till didn’t let go, his grip tightening around Ivan as if anchoring him to reality. The silence between them was broken only by Ivan’s labored breaths and the soft rustling of the flowers falling around them.

Forget-me-nots. The symbol of his heartache. The reminder of a love that had never been fully realized.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Till whispered over and over, his voice thick with regret and desperation. He pulled Ivan closer, as if trying to shield him from the pain, his arms trembling with the weight of what had just been revealed. His hand gently cupped the back of Ivan’s head, pressing him into his chest as if trying to absorb the hurt, to somehow make it stop.

Each apology felt like a weight, adding to the heavy silence that hung between them. Till’s voice cracked on the last ‘sorry,’ his own breath shaky as he held Ivan tighter.

“Please, believe me,” Till’s voice was broken, desperate. “God, Ivan, I can’t lose you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I was too blind to see what was right in front of me and that my stupidity caused you to suffer like this.” His hands tightened on Ivan, as though trying to hold him together, to somehow undo the hurt he had caused.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry for ever making you feel like you weren’t enough, that you weren’t worth everything you are. You deserve so much more than what I gave you.”

Ivan could feel them both trembling, their bodies locked in a shared moment of vulnerability. He pressed his head into the crook of Till’s neck, his sobs raw and uncontained. His breaths came in ragged waves, but there was a shift within him. He could still feel the flowers clinging to his chest, their presence a reminder of the pain, but the sharpness of it had dulled. They no longer felt like a heavy burden—more like an afterthought, lingering but not consuming.

“I love you, Ivan. God, I love you so much,” Till’s voice cracked, and his grip tightened, as if he were afraid Ivan might slip away from him. “You have to know that, you must know it. It shouldn’t have taken me this long to admit it. I was stubborn, a fool—I’m sorry.”

Ivan clung tighter to Till, his words muffled against his neck, but they were clear enough. “I love you too.” His voice trembled, raw and vulnerable, as if finally letting himself say it out loud made the weight of everything a little more bearable.

“Can I look at you?” Till’s voice was thick with desperation, a soft plea. “I just... I want to really look at you, please.”

Ivan nodded, a flutter of uncertainty in his chest as he slowly pulled away, allowing Till the space to really look at him. His heart skipped a beat when he met Till’s gaze—intense, full of raw emotion, as if every ounce of Till’s attention was focused solely on him. It made him feel exposed, vulnerable in the best way possible.

“I want to kiss you,” Till's voice was barely a whisper, the words carrying a weight that made Ivan’s breath hitch.

He quickly nodded, and in the next instant, Till’s lips were on his—urgent, desperate, as if the weight of years of unspoken words had finally pushed them to this point. Till kissed him like a man starved, lips pressing hard, pulling Ivan closer as though he couldn’t get enough. His kiss was raw, fierce, almost frantic, as if this was the only way to express everything that had been building inside him for so long. Ivan gasped, unable to fully process the fire that ignited between them.

Till didn’t hesitate, his tongue slipping past Ivan’s parted lips with an almost frantic urgency, tasting, exploring, claiming. It was messy, heated, all-consuming, like it would be their last. Till kissed him like he feared that if he stopped, Ivan might slip away again, and so he didn’t. His hands roamed over Ivan’s back, pulling him even closer, as though the mere contact could make up for all the lost time.

Ivan’s chest tightened as he melted into the kiss, every part of him burning, aching, alive with the overwhelming sensation of Till’s lips against his, Till’s hands tangled in his hair, and the warmth of his body pressing close. Ivan couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, just felt—everything.

The kiss deepened, and it was no longer just an exchange of mouths, but something more, something undeniable. Till poured everything into it, his desperation, his regret, his love, and Ivan let himself drown in it, letting the world around them fade away. There was nothing but this—nothing but the kiss and the way it made his heart race, the way it made him feel like everything had finally come together.

And in that moment, Ivan realized—truly how loved he was.

“Mizi, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to hold, through every joy and sorrow, through sickness and health, to share in her dreams, support her in her fears, and to stand by her side in all that life brings?” The priest’s voice echoed softly, the weight of the moment sinking into every heart in the room.

“I do,” Mizi’s voice cracked slightly, thick with emotion, her hands trembling as they clasped Sua’s. There was a raw sincerity in her gaze, like she was making a vow not just to the woman in front of her, but to the years of love, laughter, and even the hard times they’d endured together. "I do."

The priest nodded and turned to Sua. “Sua, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to cherish and to hold, to honor and to respect, for all the days of your life, no matter what may come?”

Sua’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes already glassy as she looked at Mizi. "I do," she whispered, her voice shaky but resolute, as if every part of her had been waiting for this moment, for the chance to stand before the love of her life and make this promise. Her fingers gently brushed Mizi's, a silent pledge of everything she’d always known to be true. "I do."

The room seemed to hold its breath as the priest continued, his words weaving through the air, painting a picture of love that had been built on trust, on years of partnership, and on the quiet understanding that they were each other’s home.

“Then, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you wife and wife.”

Mizi’s and Sua’s eyes locked, and for a moment, nothing else mattered. The world outside faded, and all they could see was each other, the promises they’d made, and the future they were about to build together.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

As the priest’s words echoed through the room, the energy shifted—like the air itself held its breath in anticipation. Mizi and Sua turned toward each other, eyes filled with a tenderness that spoke louder than words. The moment stretched out before them, a perfect, fragile instant that only they could truly feel.

Mizi reached out, her hands trembling just slightly as she cupped Sua's face. Sua leaned into the touch, her breath catching in her throat. Their foreheads rested together for a brief second, both of them savoring the closeness, the depth of everything they had already shared in this journey leading up to this point.

And then, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, they kissed. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was the culmination of years of love, laughter, and quiet moments. It was every unsaid word, every unspoken promise, woven into the soft press of their lips.

The crowd erupted in cheers, but the noise felt distant, like a song playing far away. In that moment, there was only them.

Their kiss lingered, slow and tender, as if they were savoring every second of it, every second of this new chapter they were beginning together.

And when they finally pulled away, breathless and beaming, there was no need for more words. They had sealed their future together in that one kiss, and nothing in the world could ever take that from them.

The soft strum of the guitar lingered in the air as Till’s voice carried through the wedding venue, rich and smooth like honey. The guests had fallen silent, enchanted by the raw emotion in his voice. The lyrics, though written by someone else, seemed to take on a new life as Till sang them, every word steeped in a deep, unspoken truth.

“Do I wanna know if this feelin' goes both ways? It's sad to see you go, sorta hopin' that you'd stay...”

His voice wavered slightly, not from a lack of skill but from the weight of the moment. Ivan’s breath hitched, his heart pounding in time with the melody. He could feel the way Till’s gaze never left him, as though the crowd of people surrounding them had completely disappeared.

“Darlin', we both know that the nights are mainly made For sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day...”

Ivan’s chest tightened as the lyrics sank in, the meaning behind them weaving its way through his mind like an inescapable thread. Till wasn’t just singing; he was confessing, laying bare every unsaid word and unspoken thought in the only way he knew how.

“Crawlin' back to you Ever thought of callin' when you've had a few? 'Cause I always do...”

Till’s eyes softened, a flicker of vulnerability shining through the strength in his voice. Ivan swallowed hard, his throat dry as the words seemed to be directed at him and him alone.

“Maybe I'm too Busy bein' yours to fall for somebody new...”

The last line hit Ivan like a wave, his pulse quickening as his chest ached with a mixture of joy and longing. Till’s voice dipped lower, almost like a whisper now, yet it carried so much weight.

“Now, I've thought it through...”

For a moment, the world felt like it had stopped spinning. Ivan’s eyes met Till’s, and there was no mistaking the truth that lingered there. Every note, every word, had been for him. It was a love song masked in vulnerability, sung with all the sincerity Till could muster.

The guests clapped softly, but Ivan barely noticed, lost in the warmth of Till’s gaze and the pounding of his own heart. He wanted to say something, to close the space between them, but all he could do was hold onto the moment, letting it sink into his bones like sunlight after a storm.

And with tears brimming in his eyes, Ivan smiled at him—a soft, unguarded expression that spoke volumes. It wasn’t just a smile; it was a surrender, a silent acknowledgment of everything Till’s song had meant. The weight of years unspoken, emotions buried too deep to name, unraveled in that single moment.

Till’s gaze didn’t falter, his own eyes shining as he took in Ivan’s smile. It was as though the entire world had faded away, leaving just the two of them suspended in time. Ivan felt his chest tighten, not from the lingering ache of forget-me-nots but from the overwhelming warmth blossoming in its place.

The sound of applause and cheers faded into the background, a mere whisper against the thunderous beating of his heart. Ivan wiped at his cheeks, laughing softly through the tears. “You’re impossible, you know that?” Ivan told him when he came to sit back down beside him.

Till grinned, a lopsided, tender expression that made Ivan’s knees weak. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

Ivan let out a shaky breath, his smile widening. “Yeah, I do.”

Till gently took Ivan's hand, guiding him onto the dance floor. The world around them melted into soft hues of golden light and muted laughter. The song played on in the background, its melody weaving through the air like a quiet confession.

They swayed together, slow and unhurried, as if the rhythm of the music had been written just for them. Ivan's hand rested on Till's shoulder, his other clasped in Till's, their movements almost imperceptible but perfectly in sync. Till’s grip was firm yet tender, as though he was afraid Ivan might drift away if he let go.

Ivan’s head naturally found its place against Till’s shoulder, and he closed his eyes, letting himself be surrounded by the steady beat of Till’s heart. It was a sound that calmed him, that told him, in its quiet way, that everything was going to be okay.

“You know,” Till murmured, his lips close to Ivan’s ear, “I never imagined I’d get this lucky.”

Ivan tilted his head to meet Till’s gaze, a small, shy smile playing on his lips. “Neither did I,” he whispered back, the words catching slightly as the emotions swelled in his chest.

Around them, the other couples on the dance floor faded into soft blurs, their laughter, and chatter distant echoes. All that mattered was the warmth of Till’s arms, the quiet reassurance in his eyes, and the gentle sway of their bodies in time with the music. For the first time in what felt like forever, Ivan felt truly safe. Truly home.

Mizi’s voice rang out over the chatter, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, everyone! It’s time for the bouquet toss!” she announced with a wide grin, her excitement contagious as she made her way to the center of the crowd.

The group eagerly gathered behind her, their laughter and playful jostling filling the air. Mizi turned her back to them, raising the bouquet high above her head. “Ready?” she called out.

“Just throw it already!” someone shouted, making everyone laugh.

With a mischievous smile, Mizi gave the bouquet a dramatic toss over her shoulder. The crowd collectively held their breath as it arched through the air—until Hyuna’s hands shot up and caught it with surprising ease.

The group erupted into cheers and teasing laughter, but the real entertainment came when everyone turned to Luka. His face was as red as the roses in the bouquet, a perfect match to Hyuna’s equally flustered expression.

The two exchanged a nervous glance, Hyuna clutching the bouquet like it might burst into flames. “W-Well, looks like I’ve got good reflexes,” she stammered, trying to play it cool.

“Yeah, really good reflexes,” Luka mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

Their friends were quick to pile on the teasing, the crowd erupting into chants of, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Hyuna and Luka groaned in unison, their embarrassment only fueling the laughter around them. But beneath the awkwardness, there was a shared glance—something unspoken passing between them, something that promised maybe, just maybe, they’d finally figure out whatever it was between them.

Mizi, watching from the side with Sua, grinned and leaned over to whisper, “Think we just kicked them into gear?”

Sua smirked, her eyes twinkling. “If this doesn’t, I don’t know what will.”

Ivan sat in his hospital room surrounded by his friends, Till by his side, holding his hand tightly. Hyun-woo stood near the window, nervously glancing outside, while Mizi and Sua sat on the small couch, whispering to each other in hushed tones. Hyuna and Luka leaned against the wall, their quiet presence adding to the warmth of the room.

The air was thick with anticipation as they waited for the doctor to return. Ivan glanced at Till, whose thumb absentmindedly traced circles on his hand. It grounded him in the moment, a reminder that no matter what happened, he wasn’t alone.

Finally, the door opened, and the doctor stepped inside, her expression a mixture of professionalism and warmth. Everyone fell silent as she glanced down at the file in her hands before meeting Ivan's gaze.

“Well,” she began, her smile breaking through the tension like the sun through storm clouds, “I have wonderful news. Ivan, you’re fully cured of Hanahaki.”

The room erupted into cheers, laughter, and exclamations of relief. Till pulled Ivan into a tight embrace, his breath shaky with emotion. “I knew it,” Till whispered against Ivan’s ear. “I knew you’d beat this.”

Ivan’s eyes filled with tears as he hugged Till back, overwhelmed by the love and support surrounding him. Hyun-woo clapped him on the shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. “Guess you’re stuck with all of us for a lot longer, huh?”

Hyuna laughed, wiping her eyes. “And you’re not getting rid of us anytime soon.”

Mizi threw her arms in the air. “This calls for a celebration! Let’s get cake or something!”

As the group dissolved into joyful chatter and plans for the rest of the day, Ivan looked around at the people who had become his family. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on his chest had lifted, replaced by hope and the warmth of unconditional love.

And as Till laced their fingers together, Ivan smiled, knowing that this was just the beginning of the life they’d build together.

IVAN
Ivan_Official☑️

One year and nine months ago, I was diagnosed with Hanahaki, a disease I thought would mark the end of my story. But today, on this beautiful June day, I stand here cured, surrounded by the people I love most in the world.

I can’t begin to thank everyone enough for the outpouring of love, support, and encouragement that carried me through the darkest moments of my life. Whether it was a kind message, a prayer, or just believing in me—you all played a part in my journey.

Here’s to second chances, healing, and the power of love.

[A picture of Ivan and Till, standing close together, holding a bouquet of forget-me-nots, both beaming with joy. Their friends were all around them, each smiling and laughing, their presence a beautiful reminder of the love and support that had helped Ivan through it all. The soft light of the day highlighted their faces, a testament to the happiness and hope that had blossomed from a time of pain. It was more than just a celebration of Ivan's recovery—it was a celebration of life, love, and the strength of the bonds they all shared.]

Comments:

@sweetlove4eva: OMG IVAN, I'm so happy for you! You’ve been such an inspiration to all of us. You’ve shown what true strength is!

@ShineBright: Seeing Ivan happy is all I ever wanted! So glad you’ve found someone who supports you like Till. And Till is so talented! Can’t believe you two kept this secret!!

@sapphire_dreamer: I’ve followed your journey from the start and seeing you finally free from Hanahaki is the best thing ever! You deserve all the happiness. #Cured

@MySunshine: Ivan, you're such an inspiration! I’m so happy to hear you’re fully recovered!! Sending you all the love!!

@IvanFan92: This feels like a dream. Ivan, you’ve given us so much hope. I’m beyond proud of you, and I’ll always support you!

@lucas_who: I’m literally crying right now, I’ve never seen someone go through so much and come out stronger. You’re a true hero to so many of us, Ivan.

@Luka_Lover: This is the happiest news ever!!! We all knew you could make it through, Ivan. Sending all the love your way, especially to you and Till

@DancingInTheRain: Wait, is that Till?! Like the artist?! I had no idea he was the one you were in love with!!

@rainbowrising: Ivan, you’re a walking testament to what love and support can do. So glad you’re living your best life now! So proud of you!

@LoyalFan1990: This is such a lovely surprise! Till and Ivan... I’m crying! Who knew the artist everyone admires was your person all along?!

@Megumi4ever: Ivan! You’ve been through so much and I’m so proud of how far you’ve come. You’ve earned this happiness!!

@wakeupandshine: Never have I been so happy for someone I’ve never met. Ivan, your resilience is beautiful. Here’s to new beginnings!!

@Till_YouInspire: From one chapter to the next, Ivan. You’re truly an inspiration to us all. So glad to see you shining.

@OrphanTears: Till?! Oh my god, I’m actually in shock! I didn’t even know you two knew each other! This is so beautiful, I’m so happy for you both!

@ArtLover123: Wait, Till, the famous painter?? Wow, didn’t expect that! You guys make such a beautiful couple!

@KojiroFandom: I have no words, this is just so pure. I hope you two stay this happy forever!