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Till's body hit the stage with a thud. Mizi, who he's known since he was child, and thought to be dead, climbed towards him as fast as she could. Shaking. The sight reminded her of the day she realised just how dangerous this all was — singing till their death, for when they draw their final breath. She had escaped her fate, but Till wouldn't have the same luck, as his hand tried to reach Mizi's before going limp against the cold floor. The crowd cheered. But the stage fell silent.
"Till-?" When Till finally came to again, he wasn't alone. While before he was watched by many, now he was seen by one. "Why are you... here?" The voice solemn, but familiar. He felt like he was lying on a weirdly solid pillow. Someone's hands were caressing his cheeks. They were warm. Strange, considering the last time he felt them they were going cold.
Ivan sat with Till's head resting on his lap as he cradled his face with his hands, making sure he was real. Though he really didn't want him to be. "You're not supposed to be here..." Till finally opened his eyes, meeting Ivan's, who was leaning over him. Till grimaced, seeing Ivan's face. Was he seeing things again? Did he say something just now? Till removed himself from Ivan, who carefully let him go, and sat up before turning around to get a better look. "Ivan?" He could see him clearly now. His vision was no longer hazy with his minimal memory of him. He was here. He was fine.
Then he remembered. Round 7, Luka winning. Mizi in the crowd, then cradling him as his vision blurred, just as Ivan was a moment ago. Till looked away from Ivan. Trying to think. She was- "Do you hate me?" what. Till stared blankly back at Him. What did he just say? They were both quiet. Ivan, because he was afraid of the answer. He had wanted Till to hate him before he died. But now that he was here... and they were together again. He didn't know what he hoped for. If he hated Ivan then his plan would have worked. Well... partially. But if he didn't... oh god if he didn't- "What..?" And Till, because he couldn't believe this huge jerk sitting in front of him. He balled his fists, clenching them till his knuckles turned white. This was normal for them. Disagreeing and fighting over it. "Are you serious right now?" I mean really? Who did he think he was? Ivan rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. He didn't know what to say. He really had been serious. "What do you think?" Till stared at Ivan. Right through his eyes. Right into his soul. Right at Ivan. "Yes...?" too bad he was an idiot.
Till launched himself at Ivan. He thinks he may have thought that Till was starting a fight, similar to their many meaningless fights from the past. But for once, unbeknownst to him, arms soon wrapped themselves around Ivan. Holding on tight. Almost as if he was worried that once he let's go it'll all go back to how it was. Watching Ivan die before him repeatedly every time he dared to close his eyes at night. Till rested his head on Ivan's chest. Ivan who barely caught himself from hitting his back against the floor. He straightened himself up, sitting properly, Till still hadn't let go. If Ivan didn't know any better he could've sworn his shirt felt damp, and that Till's shoulders almost shook. "Then you're hopeless..." Ivan reached his arms out to return Till's embrace. He was worried the chance would slip otherwise. It's not like it meant anything.
Ivan caressed Till's head, playing with his hair. He still didn't know if this was a good outcome. Till could feel Ivan's unease. He decided to utter the words he had said so many years ago. The same words Ivan wanted to tell him before what he thought would be their last encounter.
"Cheer up..."