Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

.

.

Warmth.

That was the first thing he noticed—not just the sun, but something deeper, steadier. Like being wrapped in summer. Like a lullaby he didn’t remember learning but somehow knew the words to.

It felt… good. Too good.

Was this what heaven felt like?

The thought came unsurprisingly, soft-edged and a little dizzying, as he blinked his eyes open. The light filtered through his lashes like golden syrup, and he curled instinctively into the warmth, cradled and impossibly small, like a new born.

And then it hit him.

Small. Too small. His limbs—wrong, light and just wrong. Panic surged like cold water over hot skin.

“What the—?”

His voice cracked in his throat, thin and startled,realizing he couldn't speak at all.

And then he looked up—and nearly screamed.

The person holding him looked almost exactly like him. Not mirror-image perfect, but close enough to rattle something deep inside his chest. Familiar in a way that felt impossible. Wrong. Very wrong

God. His heart nearly leapt out of his ribcage. He had half a second to be mortified by the way fear prickled down his spine like static—and to realize he was definitely about to piss himself—before the shame hit him square in the face.

Shit.

Embarrassing didn’t even begin to cover it.

.

.

.

He felt seen.

Not in the way that made him want to shrink back and disappear. No. This was something quieter. Something softer. Vulnerable, yes—but held. Cradled like a secret in the hands of someone who cared.

His provider.?

His… mother!?

He didn’t know how he had ended up here. This warm place. This steady kindness. It felt like a dream he wasn’t supposed to have.

Was it another trick? Some cruel alien invention by the bastards who took everything from him? Or maybe just a final delusion, born of a brain and body starved of oxygen,blood and love... Maybe even—heaven.

Oh.

Yeah.

He had died, hadn’t he?..soon this will come to an end. L̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶e̶l̶s̶e̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶

Soon.

Soon.

Soon.

Years passed.

He turned seven.

And the dream hadn’t ended.

Not yet.

And maybe it never would. Maybe that was okay.

Because this strange life, this quiet something he couldn’t quite name—he was beginning to want it. Not in a desperate, clawing way like before, but in a quiet, tentative way. The way a starving child touches bread like it might disappear.

She—his provider, his mother, whatever she was—she had never turned him away. Not when he had lashed out, tried to break things just to prove it wasn’t real. Not when he had gone completely silent, swallowed by the old dark.

She had only ever opened her arms.

Warm. Steady. Always waiting.

And that—that—was how he had started to believe. To accept. This life. This blessing. This glitch in fate. Maybe even redemption.

Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to waste it.

Maybe, just maybe… if he kept going, if he didn’t mess it up, he would even meet 𝑯𝒊𝒎.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 who died for him.

𝑯𝒆 who fought him.

𝑯𝒆 who L̶o̶v̶e̶d̶ hated him.

𝑯𝒆 who he couldn’t forget.

𝑯𝒆 who he..L̶o̶v̶e̶d̶ hated.

h̶i̶s̶ 𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒏

He didn’t know what he would say.

𝑯𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒘 though.

He knew what he wanted to say.

D̶o̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶ ̶m̶e̶?̶

W̶h̶y̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶l̶e̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶m̶e̶?̶

...

Yeah..he didn't know.

He didnt know what he would say. what would happen when they finally stood face-to-face—but he WILL see it through. That much he promised himself.

Eventually.

But first… he had to get through his first day at the new school.

He’d been expelled from the last one. Gotten into a fight.

Some kid had called his mother a “single whore.”

And he had snapped.

The words he had said—sharp, filthy things spat from a mouth far too small to carry that kind of venom. But he had meant every syllable. And the boy’s nose—broken clean with one solid punch—felt like a fitting consequence.

A punishment for creatures like him. Vile beginnings in small, smug bodies. The kind that spoke rot with their tongues and thought the world owed them no retaliation.

He hadn’t understood why he was the one expelled. It wasn’t fair.

He had gone through worse—much worse—when Urak used to beat him like he was nothing more than a gnat. Something to swat and forget. No one had come running for him then. No one had called it unjust. Well he really can't blame them now..it was a world like that.

But whatever.

What was done was done.

He was embarrassed, sure—mortified, really. At himself, at the whole damn situation. He was a grown-ass man, for god’s sake. Or… had been. Even if he looked seven now. Even if his limbs were short and his rage had to fit into a body too small to hold it all.

The shame felt nearly as bad as it had during the earliest days—when he had to breastfeed. When he had worn diapers. When the body hadn't even been his own yet, just a vessel he was learning how to exist in.

Those years were behind him now. Thank whatever gods were still out there.

Now, all he could do was try.

Try to keep his head down. Try not to ruin this life that had been so unfairly gifted to him. Try not to see that look again—the one his mother gave him when she thought he wasn’t looking. That quiet, aching kind of disappointment. Like she loved him anyway, but it hurt.

The bell rang.

Clear. Loud. Unapologetic.

And for a moment, it didn’t sound like a summons. It sounded like a beginning.

A new one.

Maybe even his.

.

.

.

Chapter Text

He walked like a soilder.

He walked the hallway like it wasn’t real.

Because maybe it wasn’t.

He felt something he couldn’t quite put into words. Like something was about happen. A quite before the strom.

The floor felt too far, the lights too warm, the air too heavy. His limbs moved, but nothing quite clicked. His stomach churned like it was trying to fold in on itself. A slow, sick twist that started in his gut and spread up his spine.

Still, he walked. Quiet. Mechanical. But something in his posture refused to break. That stubborn defiance, the rebellion still buried in his bones—unchanged. He lost his spark ones, and look where it got him. He refused to lose again.

Class 1-B.

He stopped.
Stared at the door like it might bite.

Don’t open it.
Don’t go in.

But he did. He knocked.

If you could call it a knock.
It was barely a tap. Weak. Embarrassingly soft.

“Goddammit” he hissed under his breath.

The teacher looked up, dead-eyed and brittle, like a ghost halfway through giving up. He didn’t even blink. Understandable, considering he was babysitting a pack of 'hellspawn' disguised as 'students'.

“Come in.”

So he did. Feet leaden. Throat tight.

“Introduce yourself.”

His voice didn’t want to work.

“I–I am Till,” he croaked, fake confidence paper-thin, cheeks already burning red.

The room was warm. Too warm. Curtains glowed like they were breathing. The air smelled of wood shavings, plastic, childhood.

And all those eyes.

Twenty-something kids. All staring.
Predators in bright sweaters and sneakers.
Stared at him like he was a science experiment gone slightly wrong.

He moved to the empty seat like he was walking into a trap.

And then—
He saw her.

Pink hair. Soft jaw. Eyes that knew too little and too much and looked right past him. That tilt of the head. That stillness.

No.

No.

No.

Not her.

His lungs stuttered.

Her, the one who he spiraled for.
Her who he chained himself to,thinking it was love.
Her whose light he let blind him.
Her whose light will never shine for him.
Her who he loved like a moth to a flame.

𝑴𝒊𝒛𝒊

...

MIZI!?

The name hit him like a car crash—fast, loud, and unforgiving.

He felt the floor drop out.

His vision wavered, static buzzing in the corners. This was supposed to be new. A second chance. A clean start.

He had started to believe it.
Started to be okay.

And now she was here.
Like a ghost. Like a punishment. Like fate reaching back in with bloody hands.

His fingers gripped the desk.

He nearly said her name.

Nearly screamed it.

The pink haired girl looked like she’d seen a ghost.
And maybe she had.
Well he had died infront of her,hadn't he?

Her eyes—wide, darkened—flickered with something raw. Fear? Recognition? Something beyond her years, deeper than memory. Her hand tightened around the arm of the person next to her, knuckles pale.

Till didn’t even remember moving. His body sat before his brain could scream run.

Auto-pilot.

He was scared shitless.

She blinked once—twice—and that expression vanished. Gone. Like it was never there at all. A sleight of hand so fast it made his head spin. The look she wore now... was the one he remembered. The one she used to greet the world with. Soft. Perfect. Like nothing had ever broken her.

H̶e̶ ̶a̶l̶m̶o̶s̶t̶ ̶h̶a̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶e̶a̶s̶y̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶.̶ ̶
T̶o̶ ̶h̶i̶d̶e̶ ̶i̶t̶.̶ ̶
T̶o̶ ̶b̶r̶e̶a̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶r̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ ̶i̶t̶.̶ ̶
T̶o̶ ̶s̶m̶i̶l̶e̶.̶ ̶ ̶

H̶e̶ ̶w̶i̶s̶h̶e̶d̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶e̶a̶s̶y̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶.̶

“Till… it is you,” she said, a smile blooming on her lips, too blinding, too 𝑴𝒊𝒛𝒊. Her voice carried the same old brightness, but her eyes—they hadn’t caught up yet. They were still cracked, still shocked. Still… gentle?

Affection?

No.

No, that hadn’t been there before.

He couldn’t look at her. Not directly. His eyes drifted past her, a reflex he didn’t remember learning—f̶u̶n̶n̶y̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶’̶t̶ ̶d̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶b̶a̶c̶k̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶n̶

And then he saw the person next to her.

Her.

Sua.

His breath caught.

Sua?!

She was here too?

He shouldn’t be surprised. Not really. Mizi and Sua were always together. Always orbiting around each other. They weren't just mizi and sua. They were Mizi and Sua. Inseparable. Unbreakable. No one was allowed between them.

Still—seeing her now, up close, like this—something in him twitched.

She looked just as shocked. But there was something steadier in her, like she was grounding both herself and Mizi. Composure clung to her like silk: thin, elegant, stretched over nerves.

He’d never really looked at her before.

She was…rather intimidating. Haunting. Beautiful in a way that made him feel like she saw more than he wanted to give. Beautiful in a way like 𝑯𝒊𝒎.

“You’re… you’re here too?” he said, horror softening into disbelief.

Sua nodded. Just once. A breath of a movement.

“Yeah,seems so.." she murmured, voice low and barely there. Barely above a murmur.

Like she was still trying to believe it, too.

If..

(If they were here. That must mean. 𝑯𝒆 would be here too. He must find 𝑯𝒊𝒎.

𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒏

h̶i̶s̶ 𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒏)

Chapter Text

“Let’s… continue in recess” Sua said quietly, her voice steady, but her composure was cracking at the edges.

A heavy silence swallowed the space between them. The kind of silence not born from peace, but from too much unsaid.

They were in first grade now. Shorter classes. Longer recess. A structure designed for growing minds, not lost souls in borrowed bodies.

Minutes crept by.

Tick…

tick…

tick…

Each second stretched thin and trembling, like the world itself was holding its breath.

Finally, what felt like eternity the bell rang.

Chairs scraped. Children chattered. The noise of normalcy returned.

And the three of them—Till, Mizi, Sua—walked like ghosts to the far side of the yard, away from the others. A quiet corner. Scheduled for nothing but being.

And that’s when Mizi broke.

Just like before.

Tears spilled down her face, fat and fast, just like they had when he died—only now they looked even heavier. She didn’t speak at first. Just moved. Arms thrown around him. Desperate. Shaking.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered over and over, voice small, trembling like a child who remembered everything.

Till stood frozen, blinking through the static. He stammered. He wasn’t… in love with her. Not anymore. Not in that way. But she still had a piece of his heart tucked in her pocket. Platonic. Sacred. Untouched by time.

He let her cry.

He let her hold him.

And he didn’t push her away.

Across from them, Sua stood still. Watching. Quiet. But there was something warm under the surface of her calm—a flicker in her eyes that said:

“I am glad you are here.”

It didn’t make sense.

None of this made sense.

A world without aliens.
Reincarnation.
Mizi’s affection.
Sua’s quiet acceptance.

Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? Dead for real this time?

Probably. That was the only thing that made sense anymore.

He was starting to believe it was real. But it definitely wasn't now.

But fine. He would entertain it. Just for a while.

If this was all a dream—if he made it up—
Then why did it hurt so much?

(And where was 𝑯𝒆?

̶W̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶o̶n̶e̶ ̶w̶h̶o̶ ̶m̶a̶t̶t̶e̶r̶e̶d̶ ̶m̶o̶s̶t̶?̶

𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒏… where are you?)

---

They didn’t talk much about how they ended up here.
Honestly, they couldn’t.

It felt like too much. Too large, too raw, too sharp.
Mizi and Sua knew, though.
They knew about each other. They knew about him.

And that was enough.

Till couldn’t say a word without feeling like he would throw up his insides. His throat closed around it, tight and burning. Every time he tried, it clawed its way back down like it might take his lungs with it. So he didn’t speak.

Not about that.

“Are you happy?” Sua asked one afternoon.
Soft. Quite but not unkind. Sua was intimidating sure. But never unkind. It was almost soft.
Like she had been holding the question for days and finally let it slip out after the storm.

Mizi leaned in ever so slightly, like the answer mattered to her more than she could admit.

“…Yeah.”

He didn’t lie.

He was happy.
Happier than he’d ever been in that twisted, fractured life before this one. He has love. His mother. His friends (?) Too. He didn’t need to fight to survive. No one hurts him. Of course he is happy.
(N̶o̶t̶ ̶a̶s̶ ̶h̶a̶p̶p̶y̶ ̶a̶s̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶.̶ But still—happy.)

So happy it almost felt fake. Like a dream with warm light and soft shadows.

“I am glad,” Sua murmured.

“At least we’re together,” Mizi finished.

They completed each other like that sometimes. Words halved and sewn back together. The broken pieces making one whole sentence.

They weren’t healed. Not by a long shot.

Mizi clung to Sua like she would fall apart otherwise—white-knuckled, desperate. So much that she could crush the other.
And Sua let her. Not out of obligation, but because she loved her.
She loved Mizi more than she loved herself.

And maybe that was a problem too...

---

The classroom felt louder after recess.

Till sat stiffly in his chair, hands curled into the fabric of his pants like anchors. His body was still, but his eyes buzzed—drifting toward Mizi and Sua, never at them. He didn’t need to look. He knew they were there.

Just two desks away.

Breathing the same strange air.

Carrying the same impossible weight.

They didn’t talk. They didn’t need to.

Mizi passed him a napkin at lunch—crumpled, sauce-smudged, sun-stickered.
He stared at it a moment too long. Then took it.

Sua nudged over her milk carton. No eye contact. No words.

That was just how it was.

They were children now.
Or, they had to pretend to be.
Mizi was Mizi—sweet, clumsy, pretending to be how she was in the Anakt garden.
Sua was Sua—sharp-eyed, soft-spoken, too observant for comfort.
And Till…
Till was still Till.

Rebellious. Messy. Protective to a fault.

And slowly, quietly, he was becoming himself again.

He wasn’t as scared anymore.

He was beginning to believe it.

That this was real.

Not a dream. Not a test. Not a cruel afterlife.

It became clear the moment he noticed that their feet didn’t touch the floor anymore. Their handwriting was all crooked and clumsy. They still had to ask permission to pee.

But sometimes—when the teacher turned to write on the board—the three of them would catch each other’s gaze.

And the silence between them would hum like a reopened wound.

---

Weeks passed.

A quiet understanding settled between them, soft as dusk.

They didn’t speak about the past, but it was there. In every shared glance. Every cautious smile. Every comfort passed under the table.

Then one afternoon, walking home beneath orange skies, Mizi whispered,
“Do you think the others are here too?”

Till didn’t answer.
Sua didn’t look up.

The wind stirred the trees. Their shadows stretched ahead of them, long and slow and small.

Some questions didn’t need replies.
Some memories were too heavy to speak.

But they all hoped. Quietly. Deeply.

They hoped the others were out there—the ones they had wronged out of desperation to survive. The ones they had no connection to but who suffered just as much. Even the ones who hurt them back just to stay alive.

The ones born into the wrong era. Under the wrong stars.
Into the hands of aliens who made them bleed for applause. For entertainment.

They hoped it wasn’t just them who got this chance.

Because the guilt was starting to sting. Everyone deserved this. Not just them. Hell, some deserved this even more than them.

𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒏 deserved this.
Even Luka did.

---

Time passed quickly.

They were a week into second grade now.

Mizi wasn’t here—something about her mother falling sick.
Sua had been pulled away by the teacher for some class representative thing. Of course. Just the usual.

That left Till alone.

The classroom buzzed faintly with chatter, but his corner of the world felt still. Boredom scratched at his skin, so he stood. Wandered.

It was quiet. Uneventful.

Until something—someone—rushed past him in a blur.

His breath caught. His body moved before his brain did. Reflex. Recognition.

He followed.

And then—
Acorn.

It was Acorn.

The one who lost to him.
The one who died because of him.
The one who was made to duet with him only for Till to Change the song.
The one who tried to sing with him, only for Till to steal the stage—smash his guitar—and take the win with ruthless precision.

The one he left behind.

Acorn turned, eyes wide with raw fear. Like he’d seen a ghost.
Or a monster.

And maybe he had.

Till almost laughed.
Pfft. Was that what I looked like in front of Mizi and Sua?
Yeah—probably not the time.

Without thinking, he grabbed Acorn’s arm gently and pulled him into a quiet corner of the hallway. The boy flinched.

Till didn’t speak right away.

He bowed.

Low and sincere.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice tight. “I was a dick. It wasn’t just my life on the line. It was yours too. But I treated you like you didn’t matter. Like I was the only one desperate.”

He swallowed hard.

“I should’ve apologized back then.”

His provider—his new mother—had drilled it into him: If you hurt someone, even for a reason you thought was right, you still owe them your apology. Desperation doesn’t erase damage.

He was trying to be better now.
Not perfect. He still broke things. Still snapped. But better.

Acorn blinked, chest rising and falling like he was still waiting to wake up. Then, Acorn become more...Acorn.

“I…” he started, voice soft. “I understand why you did it.”

A pause.

“You would’ve won either way, you know. You didn’t have to sabotage me. But still… I get it. I just never thought you’d remember. So I ran. I didn’t want to face you. Well but you were standing in the middle of the corridor today. And yeah...i had to go through that.”

Till met his eyes. Quiet. No defense.

“You were better...” he said. “Not in singing. In...character.” It was not something Till would say. But he did. Even if he felt like his stomach was churning and his throat was blinding, spouting all this.

Another silence. Not heavy—just… real.

Acorn finally looked up at him with something that wasn’t fear. Something almost like understanding.

They didn’t hug. They didn’t cry.
They just stood there. Two kids who had once been contestants in a death game.
Now small again. Soft again. Real again.

Alive.

Acorn was here. They have a quite understanding. They were friends now. Everything is finally coming into its place. Maybe everyone will show up on the right time as well. Maybe 𝑯𝒆 will too.

Chapter Text

Two years had passed since that day.

A lot had happened. Most of it unremarkable. Some of it weirdly entertaining.

Like Acorn’s brief, suicidal crush on Sua.
Which vanished the second Mizi sent him a single, cutting glare across the cafeteria. He had not noticed back in the garden, but he sure as hell did now!

Honestly, it was a great bonding experience.
Crushing on obvious lesbians: both of them are stupid.

Life was...okay
Good, even. Most days

Durian passed him once in the hallway, swinging her hello kitty purse like a weaponized threat. Still bubbly. She looked happy with her green bouncy pigtail.
He had never talked to her. Now, he didn’t need to.
She had suffered too, of course.
They all had.
Not everyone from the past had to be brought into the now. Some people were better as memories. Some things were better left untouched.

He’d seen a lot of familiar faces in passing—silent ghosts turned classmates.
No need to reopen every wound.
Not all stories needed to continue.

And maybe that’s what made it all feel... good.

Happy, even.

Everyone was getting a second chance.
A quiet life. A warm home. A place to breathe.

Alien Stage was just a fever dream now—one that left scars, yes, but also a strange kind of clarity.

And for a while, it was okay.

Almost perfect.

Because everyone—almost everyone—was here.

But where was 𝑯𝒆?

No, seriously.

Where the hell was that guy?

Sure, Mizi had said early on: not everyone from the Anakt Garden was here.
Hyuna? Gone. Dewey? Vanished. Isaac? Nowhere. Marty? Not even a whisper.
“statistically, scattered around the world,” Sua had said.
“Hopefully living their best lives.”

And sure, that made sense.

But 𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒏?

𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒏 was different.

𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒏 wasn’t supposed to vanish.
H̶i̶s̶ 𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒏 was supposed to be with him.
That loud, clingy, infuriating bastard who stuck to him like a parasite since they were kids.

𝑯𝒆 was always there.

Always.

Till’s fingers curled into the hem of his sleeve.

So where was 𝑯𝒆 now?

Just where?

---

"The Autumn Fair" should have been just noise and sugar.
Plastic tables, paper flyers, cheap glitter paint. Screaming kids hopped between booths and begged parents for second servings of snacks that melted too fast under the late afternoon sun.

Till hadn’t even wanted to come.

“Too loud,” he grumbled, arms folded tight against the early wind.

“Like you aren’t,” Sua muttered without looking at him.

He blinked. “What—!?”

“See. Proved my point,” she replied, with surgical bluntness.

Mizi snickered into her cotton candy. Loud. Pink. Sticky. Not the way she always was when she pretended everything was fine. This was real.

So Till tagged along. Because Mizi had asked. Because Sua would follow Mizi. And he? He had to follow too, didn't he?

He had barely unwrapped his sad little vanilla cone when Mizi stopped walking.

Stopped.

Not a stumble. Not a pause. A full-body freeze.

Till barely caught her in time, ice cream forgotten, as she stared across the grounds like she had seen a ghost.
She had.

Because across the lawn, in front of a booth painted with cheap acrylics and labeled "Twin cafe", stood Hyuna.

Hyuna.

Mizi’s stomach lurched.

Hyuna.

The girl who had once led rebellion. Who had pulled Mizi out of the dark and saved her, who had burned like a beacon and died like a soldier.
Who had made them believe they could survive it. Together.

She looked… older and younger. Of course she did. They were just kids again. And she wasn’t.

She looked softer, too. The fire hadn’t left her, but it was steadier now. Controlled.

She looked up—and saw them.

The world, still noisy, still cluttered with sound and movement, seemed to tilt.

Mizi let go of her cotton candy. It dropped with a quiet flop to the grass.

Sua reached for her, alarm blooming behind her usually calm expression. "Mizi—?"

Hyuna blinked once. Then turned and said something to the boy beside her—Hyunwoo, her twin—and walked straight toward them.

Till almost backed away.

But she didn’t yell. Didn’t cry. Didn’t speak at all.

She just opened her arms.

Mizi, who hadn’t moved since she saw her, collapsed into them.

And all at once, she started to cry.

Big, choking sobs that came from too far back in her throat, the kind of sound only grief can sharpen, and Hyuna just held her. Kneeling on the grass like she’d done it a hundred times before, rubbing soft circles into Mizi’s back, whispering words no one else heard.

Hyunwoo watched from a distance. Confused, maybe. Unsettled. But quiet. He died pretty early on. He didn't remember much. But he remembered enough.

Sua crouched next to them, placing her hand gently on Mizi’s back. Didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Her presence was grounding enough.

And Till—he just stood there. Jaw clenched. Eyes stinging in a way he refused to name.

W̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶m̶e̶e̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶I̶v̶a̶n̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶a̶m̶e̶?̶

It was just too much.

Hyuna eventually pulled back, just enough to cup Mizi’s cheeks and look at her properly. “You’re here,” she said, voice breaking around the softness. “You’re really here.”

Mizi nodded wordlessly, her fingers still bunched into Hyuna’s shirt like she was afraid letting go would undo everything.

And Hyuna smiled.

Not the battlefield-smile she wore when telling them it would be okay. Not the haunted one she gave before she died.

This one was real.

Even Hyunwoo stepped closer, recognition still not flickering, but acceptance quietly settling into his face. He placed a hand on Hyuna’s shoulder. Didn’t ask. Didn’t need to.

Till didn’t realize he was shaking until Sua stood and nudged her carton of juice into his hands again
“Drink,” she said. Not unkindly. Sua was blunt. Intimidating. But never unkind. She was soft. Kind.

He took it.

Because she was always right.

And because sometimes, the only thing you could do when the past came back was hold it carefully. Until it stopped shaking.

---

A year had passed since the fair.

And somehow, without fanfare or formal agreement, Hyuna and Hyunwoo became a part of their every week. Like the sun showing up after rain, or warm hands catching yours when the world gets too heavy.

They met every Friday at Hyuna and Hyunwoo’s family café.

It was a place soaked in soft yellow light, the scent of cinnamon and ink, old pages and honeyed tea. A safehouse built from mismatched chairs and half-finished conversations. A quiet ritual in a world that had once been nothing but chaos.

Till complained about it every time.
Too loud, too dusty, too little caffeine.

But he never missed a single week.

And Hyuna—infuriating, brilliant, loud Hyuna—ruffled his hair, called him kiddo and drama queen, and let him vent until he fell asleep on her shoulder. He called her his annoying old sister, always with a huff. Never with hate.

Hyunwoo brought snacks. Played dumb. Laughed like someone who didn’t know but cared anyway. He helped with their homework (tried to) and let Sua borrow his charger without asking. Sometimes, he made dumb jokes that cracked through Till’s scowl like sunlight through storm clouds.

Sua never said much. But she showed up. That was enough. She cared enough.

---

A year passed again,they were in sixth grade.

Friday, 5:13 p.m, and as usual at the café, that currently smelled like cinnamon, citrus and poor decisions.

Hyuna entered from the kitchen with a tray of mismatched mugs and something vaguely tea-shaped. She nearly dropped it when she caught Till attempting to arm-wrestle hyunwoo with his left hand while simultaneously arguing with sua that water was wet. Sua looked like she would commit a felony if she heard Till say one more time that.

"WATER is obviously WET" said till with the anger of thousand suns.

Yeah,he was losing both sides at a time...

"You need therapy" said sua out of disbelief, and Hyunwoo not trying to die a second time from excessive laughter.

...

Later, after he embarrassingly lost. They all sprawled across the cafe couches in a tangle of limbs, textbooks and laughter.

Mizi braided sua's hair who decided to grow it slightly longer. Hyuna was trying to teach Till how to shuffle cards without sending them flying.
Hyunwoo kept dramatically sighing whenever anyone asked him to do literally anything.

Till, glancing around the room, muttered in his newly bought 'emo clothes' which made him the constant target of hyuna and Hyunwoo's relentless teasing.
"God it's domestic"

"You love it!" Mizi replied, happily

Sua passed him a cookie like it was a peace offering. "Don't make it weird, stupid"

"He will always be a weird ass kid" said hyuna, causing him to glare at her.

---

And just like that, years passed—loud, chaotic, soft at the edges.

Their laughter carried them throughout like a promise:

They were here.

Alive.

Together.

---

It was his second day of university.

A music major.

God bless his mother—his provider, the woman who bought him his first keyboard just because he’d hummed along to a radio tune once. The one who didn’t blink when he begged for a guitar, who helped string it with hands that had not known music, but knew care. She said, “If it makes you feel alive, you chase it. That’s all I ask.”

So he did.

Hyuna and Hyunwoo were here too. Somehow. Despite being six years older, military service had delayed their university entry. Hyuna refused to go pro unless her brother went with her.

"wouldn’t feel like a win unless he was in the stands." She had said.

So now, they still had lunch together. Loud and obnoxious and warm. Till didn’t even mind anymore. Hyunwoo was always offering up half his sandwich, and Hyuna would ruffle his hair and steal his fries. They were constant.

Sua was doing a double major in Math and Physics—because of course she was.
Mizi had chosen Dance and Accountancy—Because why not?
He was surrounded by people he loved.

He should’ve felt safe. Settled.
But peace made him restless sometimes.

Which was why he had ended up in the gardens, his guitar case slung against his back, earbuds tangled and volume too loud. He just needed to breath air.

Not to stop breathing all together.

𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒏

𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒏!?

He froze like his body had short-circuited.

𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒏…?!

Sitting under a tree, back straight, head tilted toward the afternoon sun. His legs were crossed lazily at the ankle, one hand balancing a ridiculously sweetened drink (J̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶), the other curled in his lap like he wasn’t thinking of anything at all.

He looked impossibly warmer. Like the world had been kind to him.

His hair—longer than before, a little messy, soft waves curling naturally behind his ears. His skin though, still pale. His frame looked filled out, not sharp with hunger or war. His mouth—

Soft.

O̶h̶ ̶g̶o̶d̶—̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶l̶i̶p̶s̶.̶.̶.̶

And his eyes.

His eyes were brighter.

Still burning with that same maddening intensity, but now it glowed, it didn’t scald. He looked like someone who had finally rested.

He looked… hauntingly good.
B̶e̶a̶u̶t̶i̶f̶u̶l̶
E̶t̶h̶e̶r̶e̶a̶l̶
P̶r̶e̶t̶t̶y̶

Till couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands, his thoughts, his everything. He was supposed to be better now. Years of quiet healing, of learning softness again—

He was better now.

And yet—

There 𝑯𝒆 was.
𝑯𝒆 who he had ignored.
𝑯𝒆 who had stayed.
𝑯𝒆 who he had L̶o̶v̶e̶d̶. Hated.
𝑯𝒆 who he had been waiting for. R̶a̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶i̶m̶p̶a̶t̶i̶e̶n̶t̶l̶y̶ ̶

The one who somehow haunted every song he wrote now, every dream he pretended not to remember. The one who had died for him, now beside him.

𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒏.

Right there.

Till’s knees felt wrong. His chest too tight. Something inside him was slipping sideways. He felt like he was spiraling, like the world had folded in around just this bench, just this boy, just this moment.

He stepped back. Then forward.

Should he run? Should he shout?

Should he say something?

But then—Ivan looked up.

Chapter Text

Ivan looked up.

He looked up.

...

Not at him, though.

Not even close.

Till stood there, stunned stupid, feet rooted like they’d grown into the ground, like every cell in his body knew better than to move—but his heart still hadn’t caught on. Still beat loud. Still believed, for a second, that this moment might be something else. Something more.

But Ivan—

He looked right past him.

Right through him.

Like Till was just another stranger, another breath in the breeze. Like they hadn’t been tangled by history. Like they hadn’t been in that stupid world. Like he hadn’t 𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒅 for him.

And then—

Ivan smiled.

𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒅...
Not the practiced one.
Not the guarded one.
Something real.
Something so..
𝑯𝒊𝒎

But—

Not at him.
At someone else.

Someone Till didn’t even know. Not really. Just a face he had maybe seen around campus, probably forgotten in the haze of everything else. But Ivan?

Ivan lit up.

Like the sun had cracked open inside his chest and poured right out his eyes.

And it—hurt.

His voice, bright and stupidly sweet, he called out:
“Hyung~”

Till’s stomach twisted.

The man—a little older, broad shoulders, kind eyes, probably some upperclassman Till had once bumped into at the vending machines—walked over and ruffled Ivan’s hair.

Ruffled it.

And Ivan laughed. Threw him a mock glare that had no real heat in it. Let it happen.

His smile...

Oh god. His smile.

It was soft. Unrestrained. The kind of smile that didn’t hide. That didn’t flinch.

Till could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Ivan smile like that. Could mark them like graves. Precious. Fleeting.

This guy? This stranger? He got it like it was nothing. Like he saw it everyday.

Like it was easy.

Like it belonged to him.

Till’s throat closed. His chest pulled tight. The air felt like broken glass.

...

He ran.

He ran.

Coward.

He ran like he had that night—meteors overhead, blood in his throat, guilt turning his bones into lead—and he ran now. Through crowds. Through whispers. Through a campus he knew too well and not at all. He couldn’t bare to see his face then. He couldn’t bare to see his face now.

People cursed at him when he shoved past. He didn’t care. He couldn’t stop.

He couldn’t look again.

He found Sua near the fountain. Calm. Balanced. Reading something incomprehensible, probably. She looked up just as he stumbled forward.

“H-He’s here,” he panted, words falling out like cracked teeth.

Sua blinked. “Till? What the hell—you look like you just ran a marathon. You can’t even jog a flight of stairs without dying. Who’s—?”

“𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒆!?” he snapped.

Too loud. Too raw.

Sua froze.

And then—

“…Ivan,” she said quietly.

Of course.

Her voice softened. Her eyes too.

Because she knew.

She always knew.

She knew what Ivan meant. What he still meant. She knew about the way his name lived in every margin of Till’s sketchbooks, in every half-written song, in the way Till stopped smiling sometimes when he thought no one noticed.

He haunted him.

Even now.

Maybe especially now.

Sua closed her book. Stood up. “Where?”

Till shook his head. “He didn’t—he didn't look at me...i–I run before he could"

Silence.

Sua didn’t ask what happened next. She didn’t have too.

“…What if he doesn't recognize M̶e̶ us?” Till’s voice cracked on the last word, quiet but sharp, like he was just now realizing it out loud. He looked up, eyes rimmed with something fragile, like the thought itself had bruised him. “How could he not even look at me if he remembered?”

Sua didn’t respond immediately.

But the silence she gave wasn’t the thoughtful kind. It was the heavy, uncomfortable kind—like a weight slipping off its hook. She looked down at her phone. Swiped. Stopped. Even that small motion felt too careful.

Till knew that look. He hated it. That quiet tension in her brow—like something inside her had confirmed a truth she didn’t want to speak out loud.

Her voice came low, deliberate. “The best thing to do is go find him.”

He blinked at her.

“No one forgets completely,” she continued, calmly, like she was trying to believe it too. “Even if he doesn’t remember the details… that doesn’t mean it’s not still in him somewhere. It might still influence him somehow.”

Mizi arrived a moment later, oblivious to the storm she was walking into. She bounced up behind them with that usual ease, a smile tugging at her lips—until she caught the look on their faces. Her smile faltered.

“What happened?” she asked, eyes darting between the two of them.

Sua stepped toward her instinctively. Her voice dropped again, softer now—protective in that way she rarely let show.

“Till saw Ivan.”

And just like that, Mizi froze.

It was strange—the way she reacted. The way the name hit her harder than anything else ever had. Even when she saw Hyuna again, even when she first remembered. None of it looked like this.

She looked stricken.

She looked like she might cry.

After all this time—after all the hope she'd quietly buried just to function—he had finally appeared, and they… didn’t know what to do with that.

Her voice barely made it out. “We’re going to go see him, right?”

Till was too overwhelmed to reply or hear, but sua added gently, just loud enough for him to hear, “Just so you don’t do anything stupid… I’m coming with.”

He nodded once.

“Thanks,” he murmured. Though he didn’t know what exactly he was thanking her for. Being there? Understanding? Knowing without being told that the ache in his chest felt like it might split him open? He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t even hear straight over the ringing in his ears.

---

They didn’t need long to find him.

Ivan was standing near the main lawn, surrounded by a group of students. Laughing. Hands in his pockets. That same man from earlier—his hyung—beside him again. The scene looked almost too picture-perfect to touch.

Till froze.

Mizi’s silence stretched beside him, taut and trembling. She looked seconds away from falling apart.

Even Sua didn’t say anything. And that said more than words.

Ivan didn’t look like he used to.

His hair was longer now, curling soft at the ends, almost too P̶r̶e̶t̶t̶y̶. His face had rounded a bit. His smile wasn’t sharp anymore.

He looked...gentle.

He looked free.

And that’s what made it worse.

Because Mizi couldn’t remember him ever looking like that.

Not really.

He was always careful. Always coiled. Smiling, yes, but never like this. Never like the world had let go of him. Maybe he had been pretending too, just like her. Maybe back then, he had smiled while suffering.

She hated that thought. But part of her—the cracked and buried part—was glad. Because it meant she wasn’t the only one. It meant someone else knew what it was like.

But this boy in front of her now—he didn’t look like someone pretending.

He looked like someone who had gotten out.

Someone who had made it.

Sua broke the silence first, her tone shivering around the edges. “Was his hair always wavy?”

Till didn’t even think before answering. “No.”

His voice came out hollow.

Eyes locked on Ivan like he was afraid blinking would erase him again.

Everything about him was still familiar and still so unbearably far away.

“What do we do now?” Mizi whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

There was no plan. No script. No guidance.

Only the mess of feelings unraveling in the space between them.

Across the yard, Ivan laughed again. That bright, easy sound—like it had never been taken from him.

It felt wrong. Not because he was happy.

But because it sounded real.

“Hey, Navi? You okay?” one of the guys beside him asked, tilting his head. “You spaced out.”

Till tensed.

𝑵𝒂𝒗𝒊?

They were calling him a nickname now?

Something about that dug deep—too deep. It shouldn’t matter. It was a stupid little thing.

B̶u̶t̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶.̶

Because he had never gotten that. Not even when they were younger. Not even when they were close. He never called him anything like that.

H̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶f̶u̶s̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶l̶i̶e̶v̶e̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶j̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶f̶i̶r̶s̶t̶.

And now—now this random stranger got that part of him?

The tightness in Till’s chest twisted again. He looked away. Tried to shake it. Tried to smother the name crawling under his skin.

“Nah,” Ivan was saying with a little laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… felt like someone was watching me.” while he faked a shiver.

His grin turned sheepish, nervous.

“Maybe it’s your fans,” teased one of the guys, nudging his arm.

“Maybe it’s your stalker,” another added with a cackle.

“Hey,” Ivan huffed playfully. “At least someone looks at me.”

“Yeah and I couldn’t care less,” the guy replied, making everyone giggle again.

Till stared.

His jaw tightened.

Since when did H̶i̶s̶ 𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒏 joke like that?

Since when did 𝑯𝒆 let people that close?

Since when did 𝑯𝒆 glow like this, with people who had no idea who 𝑯𝒆 used to be?

Who 𝑯𝒆 really was?

---

Ivan started to walk to the cafeteria with his… friends.

The word tasted bitter.

Till didn’t say he wanted to follow. Neither did Sua. Neither did Mizi.

But all three of them moved.

Silent. In sync. Like a gravity had pulled them. Or maybe just nostalgia.

Or maybe just grief with nowhere to go.

They didn’t speak as they trailed behind him—at a distance, of course. Not close enough to draw suspicion. Just far enough to stay invisible.

They wanted to find something. Something. A reason to meet him if he really didn’t remember.

Ivan was walking ahead, chatting easily, sunlight caught in his hair like it belonged there. It made him look unreal.

Back then, he had been the moon—bright sure, but he only ever showed his guarded side. His stupid practiced smile.

Now…

He looked like the sun.

Warm. Dazzling. Blinding.

And all of it just a little too far away.

They found a table. Five seats. Ivan and four of them. Friends. Easy laughter spilled across the space, unbothered by anything that had come before.

Till, mizi and sua sat on the table besides them.

He didn’t know why he cared.

He didn’t know why he was still hoping for something to cling to.

But still—he listened.

---

"Jerry, I’m going to make Sein hyung draw you like a centaur!" Ivan’s voice rang out, loud but not harsh, lilting with laughter.

Mizi blinked.

Till froze.

Sua raised an eyebrow.

Michael gasped in response, clutching at his chest like the statement had personally offended him. “JAIL” he declared, before cracking up again.

Jeremy—apparently the scapegoat—looked like he wanted to protest. “FUCKING FEDERAL PRISON,” he snapped, deadpan. But the grin on his face gave it away.

"I hope you fall down the stairs, navi," Jeremy added with an attempt at venom.

Ivan just laughed, throwing his head back slightly. “Then how many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone?”

"Yeah, justice for the stairs!" Liam wheezed through his own laughter.

“The hell?! justice for me!” Ivan shot back, mock-offended, with the bite of a butter knife. Harmless. Tried to look like a kicked puppy. Tried. He looked more like a puppy wagging it's tail though. Sein didn’t even say anything—he was too busy snickering into his cup.

---

Their little group was loud. Chaotic. A mess of inside jokes and sharp-edged affection.

Till watched the whole thing like it was a play. Like he was standing outside a window, watching a life that might have been his if things had ended differently.

If he hadn’t been such a coward.

If he hadn’t run.

If he had stayed.

And

...

If Ivan had remembered.

He could’ve been at that table.

He could’ve made him laugh.

He used to.

Didn’t he?

Right?

Did he ever make him laugh like this?

...

Sua, beside him, looked unimpressed. Her arms were crossed tight, her mouth drawn into a thin, calculating line.

“We’re not getting anything from that,” she muttered. Not bitter. Just... tired. “Not even a crack in the armor.”

Mizi, strangely enough, looked... satisfied. It was strange.

There was a distant kind of peace in her eyes. Like watching Ivan laugh—really laugh—was enough. Like maybe just knowing he could be okay was all she needed.

I̶f̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶o̶k̶a̶y̶,̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶o̶k̶ ̶t̶o̶o̶

But Till—

Till couldn’t feel that peace.

He didn’t want just a glimpse.

He wanted to be the reason.

He wanted to be the one who made Ivan laugh like that.

Why? He didn't know. Couldn't understand.

But.

Not some stranger.

Not some table of borrowed warmth.

He swallowed.

The ache pressed harder.

The laughter kept going.

And Till?
He just kept watching.

Chapter Text

While Ivan and his friends continued their playful banter, something in Till wilted.

They were the kind of friends who had each other’s backs, who teased and prodded and laughed like the world couldn’t touch them. Like they’d built something soft and safe out of nothing at all.

Ivan deserved that.

Till knew that.

But still.

He couldn't shake the feeling—Ivan should be with him.

𝘏𝘪𝘮.

The thought wasn't fair. Wasn’t logical. But neither were his memories. Their memories. Neither were the scars.

Some things just didn't make sense.

And maybe they never would.

---

Then, like clockwork, Hyuna and Hyunwoo arrived.

Their laughter rang down the hallway ahead of them—sharp and ridiculous, like any other Friday—and for a split second, Till wanted to laugh too. Pretend nothing had changed. That they were all still kids.

But the moment they arrived, something in the air shifted.

Hyunwoo squinted at them, plopping into a chair like he owned the place. “Why are you all brooding here like ghosts? This feels illegal.”

“Where’s our greetings, huh?” Hyuna added, glancing around, only half-serious. But then her gaze flicked to Till, then to Sua, then to Mizi.

Her teasing vanished.

“...What happened?”

Sua didn’t say anything. Not at first.

She looked exhausted. Not physically—but in that strange, soul-wearing way. Like carrying too many expectations too long. She may not look like it but she loved Ivan in her own way too. Ivan, the one infuriating bastard who took pleasure in annoying her. Ivan who reminded too much of herself, maybe that's why they couldn't be close. The one who she trusted with mizi. The one who called her out. And did the same thing. What a hypocrite.

She didn’t answer with words.

Just pointed.

To Ivan.

Hyuna followed her finger.

Her breath caught.

That was all it took.

Till didn’t have to explain. Neither did Mizi. Between their half-descriptions and sketchbook margins, between dream-words and guilt-strung conversations—they’d described him before.

Hyuna knew.

She didn’t need the full picture.

She already had it.

Hyunwoo’s expression shifted too, slow like a cloud passing over the sun. He followed Ivan with his eyes. Took in the group, the laughter, the way Ivan glowed in the middle of it all.

He didn’t speak either.

Unusual, for both of them.

But nothing about this was usual.

---

They listened.

They sat in the corner booth, too many chairs, too little space, not really breathing. Just listening.

Trying to catch something.

Anything.

A thread they could pull, a memory they could spark.

Some way back in.

---

“And that’s why,” Liam declared triumphantly, “they say—keep your friends close and your enemies 𝘧𝘢𝘵!”

Michael broke. “Oh my god. That’s so offensive—”

Jeremy nearly fell off the bench laughing.

Ivan was laughing too.

Loud. Light.

The sound twisted in Till’s chest like a knife wrapped in velvet.

His phone buzzed then. Ivan glanced at it lazily, like nothing in the world could possibly be urgent. He smiled.

“Ah! It’s Luka-hyung!” he said suddenly, bright. He stood, apologised and slipped away toward the back hallway to take the call.

...

They all stilled.

Luka?

𝙇𝙪𝙠𝙖?

Hyuna’s breath hitched in her throat.

Hyunwoo didn’t move. He just stared.

The name dropped like a stone into the middle of the table—sent ripples everywhere.

No one said a word.

---

Luka.

Of course it made sense.

Of course he was here too.

But knowing didn’t soften the blow.

Not when his name still echoed with blood and fire.

Not when memories came back soaked in sacrifice.

Hyunwoo had died in Luka’s arms. He’d been young—too young—and it had been an accident. But death rarely cares about intention. Especially to those left behind.

And Hyuna—

She had spent years reconciling everything that had happened. Believing Luka did what he did to survive. Understanding it.

But forgiving it?

That was different.

She could forgive the world.

But not her brother’s death.

Never that.

Not completely.

Mizi still burned at the thought of Luka—flame beneath the surface, quiet but hot. She didn’t say much about him. Didn’t need to. Her silence was thick enough to speak on its own.

Hyunwoo, though?

Hyunwoo wasn’t sure.

He’d listened when Hyuna told him everything. Sat quietly, wide-eyed, as she laid out the truth like puzzle pieces. He had grieved the loss of something he couldn’t quite remember and believed her—every word of it.

But still.

Luka was the one who had held him last.

Luka was the one who had cried while the world burned.

So what was he supposed to feel?

Hatred?

Relief?

Nothing at all?

Hyunwoo's hands were clenched in his lap now, knuckles white. His mouth pressed in a tight, unreadable line. Something flickered in his eyes, something hollow.

And Till—

Till didn’t know what he felt.

But he knew what he saw.

Ivan, lighting up at Luka’s name.

Ivan, walking away, phone to his ear, smiling.

Like Luka was a promise.

Not a ghost.

---

Ivan returned to the table practically skipping, cheeks still flushed from whatever Luka had said. He glanced at his watch and hoisted his bag up with one hand, grinning.

“Luka-hyung’s waiting for me outside,” he beamed, already halfway turned toward the door. “Gotta run!”

“Yeah, yeah, go away—shoo, pest,” Jeremy grumbled playfully, waving him off with a glare that held no heat.

“See you tomorrow, Navi,” Sein added, gentle as ever, and the others chimed in their goodbyes.

...

Luka was here.

As if on cue, Hyunwoo and Hyuna stood wordlessly and followed after Ivan without looking at each other. The same thought. The same pull. Like fate whispered it into their bones.

Till followed too.

Of course he did.

He didn’t even think about it—he just moved.

Mizi didn’t follow. She didn’t need to say why. Her hands were clenched tight around the hem of her shirt. Her jaw locked.

And Sua?

She stayed behind with her.

Some wounds didn’t need words. Some loyalties lived in silence.

---

Ivan, giddy and light on his feet, made his way through the campus like he had wings tucked beneath his hoodie. He darted through the entrance of the law building—

—and there he was.

Luka.

Standing just beyond the shadow of the doorway, haloed in the golden spill of late afternoon light.

He looked… different.

Ethereal, yes. He always had that strange, otherworldly grace about him, even in the worst days. But now? Now he looked soft. His blond hair tucked beneath a cap, his clothes a blend of muted pastels and loose layers. He looked like someone who had been allowed to live.

His smile, when he saw Ivan, was small.

But it changed everything about him.

Ivan lit up in response, bounding toward him like some eager, oversized retriever. “Luka-hyung!”

Luka’s voice was low. Warm. “Hello, Ivan.”

And he softened even more, impossibly so, just watching Ivan approach. Nearby girls giggled under their breath, one of them whispering “they’re so cute.”

“Let’s go?” Luka asked casually.

Ivan tilted his head. “Didn’t you say you’d only go if three more people agreed to come? And that I didn’t count?”

“Don’t make me rethink my life choices,” Luka huffed dramatically. “I just want to drink my sorrows away.”

He clasped his hands like a delicate Victorian orphan.

Ivan snorted. “That has the same energy as ‘Mother, I wish to see the garden one last time.’”

“Oh my god, Ivan.” Luka giggled.

...

What.

Luka?

Giggled?

Luka?

Hyuna blinked slowly from the shadow of the hallway, as if trying to recalibrate her vision.

What the hell?

Luka—the cold-blooded manipulator who had ruled over Alien Stage with detached cruelty—was now here, in soft colors, giggling?

He still looked delicate. Still looked too thin. Still had that air of fragility about him.

But he didn’t look haunted anymore.

He looked like someone who had been given peace.

And it hurt.

Because—

Because that wasn’t the Luka they remembered.

But maybe it was the Luka he could’ve been.

Hyuna and Hyunwoo didn’t want to admit it aloud—but God, he was beautiful. It was more of a fact than a statement.

So was Ivan.

Beautiful, and alive.

And then—

A figure moved behind them.

Silent. Cold. Measured.

Like a judgment passed from heaven.

Sein.

Till froze. His entire body recoiled just slightly, instinctively.

That name still tasted bitter in his mouth: Sein-hyung.

“They don’t remember anything,” Sein said quietly. Cold as ice.

And it was like someone poured ice water down their spines.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Because they already knew what he meant.

But hearing it was different.

They don’t remember.

This… was how Ivan would’ve been if he’d gotten to grow.

And Luka—this was how Luka would have looked if someone had just been there.

Hyuna’s voice broke the stillness. “You do?”

It came out quieter than she intended.

Sein’s eyes met hers. “Yeah. I knew Na—Ivan. Before. I was a pet. For Unsha’s brother.”

The sentence dropped between them like a corpse.

“He wasn’t supposed to matter. But I was too… difficult. Unsha didn’t like that. Said if his brother couldn’t keep me in line, how would unsha keep Ivan? So they gave him a procedure called lobotomy.”

Hyunwoo’s breath caught.

Till's eyes raged.

And suddenly, it made sense.

Every strange tilt of Ivan’s head. Every moment that felt too light, too immature, too detached. Too practiced.

He wasn’t immature.

He was rewired.

Broken open and rearranged like a machine.

Till clenched his jaw. Hard. His fists shook. He felt sick.

“That is why he doesn’t remember anything before the slums.”

"Slums?"

“Yes,” Sein said simply. “He was born in an illegal factory. Raised among scrap metal. Survived on garbage. He once told me he saw lesser aliens dragging human infant corpses into alleyways to eat.”

His voice didn’t crack. But his eyes—

His eyes said everything.

He had seen it too.

Ivan remembered how to survive because it was the first thing he had to learn.

So when Ivan had planned to run with Till that night—when they had fled through smoke and stars—he wasn’t just running on instinct.

He was running on memory.

He was running on plan.

Till swallowed hard.

The guilt twisted so deep, it felt like it would never leave. If he didn't feel enough guilt then. He sure as hell did know.

“And Luka?” Hyunwoo’s voice was thin.

Sein’s face turned a fraction sadder. “He only remembers the lab. Being experimented on. The aliens wanted to see how long he could survive if they kept stopping his heart. Over and over. He thinks he died then.”

There was a silence so thick, it hurt.

“He doesn’t remember Anakt,” Sein finished, almost gently. “I assume they did the same to him. Explains why he’s... like that now.”

Hyuna felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. She sat down without realizing she had.

Hyunwoo just stood there, staring. Blank.

Inside him was a child who died too soon. A boy who had never gotten to be anything else.

He didn’t know what to feel.

Not anger. Not forgiveness.

Just something close to grief.

“So I’m begging you” Sein said quietly, each word measured, deliberate. “Leave them be.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it pressed against their lungs like a hand.

“I just want them to be happy,” he continued, softer now, but no less firm. “They’ve already suffered—just as much, maybe even more than we did. And if they do remember… if their minds aren't numb enough to protect them anymore…if memories flooded their brains, without a warning after they had finally been happy and soft.”

A pause. He looked at each of them in turn.

“They might go insane. Especially Luka-hyung.”

It wasn’t a threat.

But it wasn’t just a request either.

It was a warning.

And a plea.

Sein was standing like a wall between them and the past—guarding something fragile. Protecting the pieces of two people who had only just begun to live again.