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Till jolted awake, coughing. His head was spinning, and he was sure he was about to throw up. He frantically scanned the dim room, trying to figure out if he knew where he was.
There wasn’t much time to think about it, though. He sucked in a breath, then another, but it still felt like his lungs couldn’t get enough air.
Nightmare. It was just a nightmare. He tried to repeat that in his mind, like telling himself that would magically fix the problem. It didn’t, of course. It didn’t fix the nausea, didn’t fix his racing heart, and certainly didn’t fix the chilling echo of hands on his skin. Of their grasp, of their touching, of—
Any thoughts he had were interrupted by immediate dry heaving. He grabbed at his throat, gasping for any air between retching.
The room tilted around him when he tried to stand up, and he barely managed to catch himself on the nightstand. He was able to stand, but another wave of nausea quickly forced him to the bathroom where he doubled over the toilet.
Pathetic.
Once he had a moment to catch his breath and was sure he wasn’t going to vomit again, he forced himself to look up at the mirror. He hardly recognized what was staring back. His face was pale, his eyes were glassy, and his cheeks were streaked with tears he didn’t even realize were falling. His skin felt wrong. He could feel it slithering—across his shoulders, down his back. Goosebumps prickled across his arms and his breath quickened.
No, no, no. Make it stop.
He needed to make it stop.
He moved on autopilot, knowing exactly what he needed. Unfortunately for him, knowing his habits, Ivan didn’t exactly leave blades lying around.
He’d been staying with his boyfriend for a few months now, the two of them crammed in Ivan’s small one-bedroom apartment. He didn’t give Till much of a choice in staying—not since the night Till broke down in front of him, way too drunk, spilling his secrets out before he could take them back—and told him everything. Well, he didn’t remember the night himself, but Ivan wouldn’t let him go home after that, so it must’ve been everything.
Ivan wasn’t here right now, though. Of course he wasn’t—it’s Friday. He has classes and practice. A life he was actually doing something with. So, Till was alone.
He searched the bathroom anyway, like it still could be hiding something from him. Cabinets. Drawers. They were all empty. Every second he couldn’t find something made his skin crawl worse—made the room suddenly feel too small, the lights too bright. He braced himself against the sink, vision blurring at the edges.
He barely registered what he was doing at first. His hands moved on their own, raking his nails over the skin of his scarred arms like what was wrong with him could just be scratched away. Over and over and over again. Choked sobs forced their way out of his throat. He hated it. He could still feel the sensation of hands crawling over him, like it was still happening.
Sharp heat bloomed underneath his skin—now completely raw. Beads of blood started to break through the surface here and there, but he kept going anyway. The pain was grounding him more than the panic, and he desperately clung to that.
Eventually, the panic burned itself out. Till had no recollection of leaving the bathroom, or how he got to the living room, but that’s where he was now. He slumped into the couch, vision unfocused, arms loosely wrapped around himself. His arms throbbed and ached from earlier, becoming the only reminder that he was still here, alive—even if it felt meaningless anyway. He absentmindedly rubbed the wounds through the fabric of his hoodie, his thoughts drifting somewhere distant.
Time passed in weird, uneven pieces, and he wasn’t sure whether it’d been minutes or hours. Not that it mattered. He could stay like this till the end of time. It was better than remembering.
He didn’t notice when the door clicked shut behind him, or hear his name being said. A weight sunk into the couch next to him.
He only noticed when a hand touched his shoulder. He flinched, jerking backwards. Panic surged through him for a brief moment.
“Till— hey, it’s just me,” the voice next to him reassured.
Just Ivan. Relief washed over him and he relaxed back into the couch, letting himself lean against Ivan’s side. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath, the weight next to him grounding him back to reality.
Ivan didn’t say anything for a while. He just stayed where he was, probably trying not to make him feel pressured. Eventually he spoke, voice low and careful.
“What happened?”
Till swallowed, keeping his gaze somewhere else, unfocused. “I don’t know,” he said finally.
It wasn’t a complete lie. The entire day blurred together in his mind, as if someone else was controlling him. But what he did know he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about. He shifted uncomfortably, curling in on himself slightly.
Ivan noticed his discomfort and just nodded, deciding not to push. “Okay,” he replied quietly.
Silence spanned between them, and Till suddenly became acutely aware of his body again. His arms ached and stung underneath his hoodie. Without really thinking about it, he brought his hands over his sleeves and rubbed vacantly at the wounds beneath. Back and forth, as if trying to soothe them.
Ivan noticed. He didn’t say anything, but he watched. He shifted slightly, making Till’s hands freeze for a second before returning to their task. After another quiet moment, Ivan took a long breath.
“Hey,” he whispered, gentle, like he was testing the waters. Especially in situations like this, Till was emotionally unpredictable. He was trying his best not to accidentally set him off.
Till’s shoulders tensed at the voice.
Ivan spoke again, slower and more careful about his words. “Did you… hurt yourself?”
Immediately, something between panic and shame swelled in Till’s chest. He curled his fingers into his hoodie sleeves and shook his head. “No,” he answered, sounding too unsure for it to be believable to either of them.
Ivan didn’t respond or call him out; just watched, like he could read everything Till wasn’t saying anyway. “Okay,” he nodded, his tone neutral, almost blank.
Till hated this. Hated how unreadable Ivan was. He glanced quickly in Ivan’s direction, trying to pick up anything from his face, but, as usual, there was nothing there. It was moments like this Till could only imagine what he was thinking—how pathetic Till is, how much of a handful he is, how he should’ve left him with Urak, how he probably regretted ever getting together with him in the first place—
Till pulled away from him, bringing his knees up to his chest.
“You’re always like this,” he muttered, accusatory.
“What?” Ivan frowned.
He hugged his legs, as if trying to make himself as small as possible. “You—you’re so—“ he searched for the words “—so nothing! All the time! Sometimes I wonder if you even care or if I’m just some kind of pity case to you!” He flinched at his own raised voice, unsure what he was even getting upset over.
“I— Till— You know that’s not fair,” Ivan replied, failing to hide a twinge of hurt in his voice.
Part of Till knew he was right. After all, it’s not Ivan’s fault his boyfriend’s a fuck up. But a small, stubborn and scared part of him couldn’t admit it or apologize, because that would mean taking down his walls, and vulnerability was never his strong suit.
Ivan moved himself over to close the distance Till just put between them, but this time he was the one leaning against Till, carefully resting his head on his shoulder and closing his eyes.
“There’s not a single person in the universe I could ever care about more,” Ivan whispered, like it was the only certain thing in the world.
Still, Till doubted it. His throat tightened, and he stared at the floor. “Stop. You don’t have to pretend.”
Ivan lifted his head slightly. “I’m not pretending.”
Till looked at him, finding the same unreadable expression, and turned back away. “I wish you were better at showing it, then,” he admitted.
“I’m here, sitting with you, worried about you,” he answered. “I’ve never left. Because I love you. Every single part of you, Till.”
That caught him off guard, causing him to stare hard into the ground to try to hide the red flush across his cheeks. “Cornball,” he muttered, pausing for a few seconds before adding a quieter ‘I love you too’ that most people would’ve missed.
“A little louder for me?” Ivan teased, playfully whispering in his ear.
Till’s face heated up more. “Shut up.”
They just sat like that for a moment, absorbing each other’s company. Without thinking about it, Till’s hands drifted back to his sleeves, rubbing circles into the skin underneath to keep himself grounded.
And again, Ivan noticed.
“Does it hurt?” He asked.
Till blinked. “What?”
“Your arms,” Ivan replied, nodding towards his sleeves.
“Oh,” he said, “it’s fine, really.”
He knew Ivan had every right to be concerned, considering some of the physical states he’s found Till in before, but this time paled in comparison. Nothing worth making a fuss over.
Ivan didn’t argue, but gently took one of Till’s wrists into his hand. “I’m not mad,” he said.
“I didn’t say you were,” Till murmured.
They both paused.
“Then can I help?”
Till swallowed. “…It’s not that bad,” he whispered.
Ivan didn’t respond, just waited, patiently.
Eventually, Till gave in. He sighed and carefully pulled up both of his sleeves.
Ivan didn’t gasp or look angry. Or react at all, really. Not that Till could tell, but if he had to guess he was probably relieved it wasn’t something worse.
“They look kinda sore,” Ivan commented blankly at the raw, wounded skin.
“Fuck, really?” Till rolled his eyes sarcastically.
“Fair,” he conceded, lifting himself up from the couch. “I’ll be right back, don’t move.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Till muttered under his breath.
The couch immediately felt empty without the added weight next to him. Fortunately though, it was only a few moments before he returned, carrying gauze, some kind of ointment, and a few other things.
“Tell me if anything hurts too much.” He sat back down next to Till, grabbing one of his arms gently.
“Yeah, sure.”
Till found himself watching Ivan while he worked. The way he moved his hands, steady and careful, the way his brows furrowed while concentrating. He worked far more efficiently than the first time this happened, though that’s probably to be expected when this wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence.
“You’re staring,” Ivan murmured, not looking up from what he was doing.
Till looked away. “No I’m not.”
Ivan smiled slightly.
After finishing with some gauze, he leaned back to admire his handiwork. “There, perfect.”
Till hummed a weak approval before pulling his sleeves back down to cover any reminders of the mess.
Ivan leaned back, relaxing into the couch, letting Till shift closer to rest his head on his shoulder.
“If you want to talk about it,” Ivan said gently, “You can.”
Till hesitated, taking too long to answer.
“You wouldn’t get it,” he spoke finally, “it doesn’t matter.”
“Try me.”
Till pulled away and curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around himself like it could provide any comfort.
“You can’t fix me, Ivan.”
Ivan kept his voice steady and soft, “I don’t want to fix you. I just want to be here with you.”
Till swallowed.
“I don’t—You—“ His breath hitched in his throat trying to form a coherent sentence.
I’m too much, I’m too broken. It’s worse than you think. You’ll leave when you find out.
I don’t want you to leave.
Ivan’s eyes softened. “Till, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you’re stuck with me now,” he said. “Your problems won’t scare me.”
Till finally looked up at him. His eyes burned.
“But they scare me,” he whispered. “I— I didn’t even mean to this time, I swear, I just— I woke up, and everything—my skin— the— the hands— it—“
His breathing started to quicken, feeling like matter how much he inhaled he couldn’t get enough air. He squeezed his arms tight around himself, shaking.
Ivan noticed immediately—carefully shifting himself closer. “Hey,” he murmured, “You’re okay.”
Till shook his head. “No, I— I don’t— it doesn’t even make sense— it— I don’t know why I—“
“It doesn’t have to make sense.”
His breath stuttered, breaking into something like a sob. He curled tighter, like he could make himself disappear completely.
“Look at me,” Ivan said quietly, then, when he didn’t get a response, he said it once more, firmer this time. “Just for a second.”
Till did, he looked up, eyes glassy and unfocused.
“Breathe with me,” Ivan guided, “slowly, okay?”
It was shaky and uneven, but Till tried.
“Yeah,” Ivan said, “again.”
Till took another breath.
Ivan kept his voice steady, reassuring, “you’re here, safe, in our apartment. Nothing is happening.”
Even in the aftermaths of panic, Till picked up on the use of “our”.
“Your apartment,” he corrected.
Ivan hummed, pretending to think. “No, our apartment. Mine, and yours too.”
Till fidgeted with his sleeves while his breathing slowed.
“You say that like it’s permanent,”he whispered half to himself.
Ivan shrugged, “well, yeah, I kind of intended it that way.”
Till’s face heated up. “That’s— You can’t just decide that on your own.”
Ivan smiled slightly. “Can’t I?”
“No.”
Ivan shifted himself closer, so that their shoulders rested against one another. “Does it bother you?”
Till hesitated, “… No.”
After a moment, Ivan reached behind them to tug the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over them.
“Come here,” he murmured, lying down on the couch.
Till let himself be guided down so that they were side by side, legs tangled awkwardly until he readjusted them. He found a comfortable position resting his head near the taller’s chest, while Ivan pulled the blanket up and tucked it carefully around Till’s shoulders.
“You’re warm,” Till muttered.
Ivan glanced down at him. “You can move if you want.”
Till shrugged, “it’s not a bad thing.”
Ivan huffed softly, resting his hand against Till’s side.
They let the room fall quiet.
Till found himself counting to the rise and fall of Ivan’s chest, matching the pace with his own.
Rise, fall, rise, fall
“You want to watch something?” Ivan asked.
Till frowned slightly. “Right now?”
“Yeah.”
“Like what?”
Ivan shrugged. “I don’t know. Something dumb you don’t have to think about.”
Till hesitated. “You don’t like watching dumb things.” Then quieter, “maybe later.”
“Okay.”
Another pause.
Till tried to relax, but couldn’t get himself settled. His fingers twitched against the blanket, and his breathing stayed shallow.
Ivan noticed the way he kept shifting in small, restless movements.
“You okay?” He asked softly.
“Yeah,” Till answered, too fast.
The silence was loud.
“Are you sure?”
This time, Till hesitated.
“No.”
Ivan waited for him to elaborate, but he never did.
Instead, Till focused in on Ivan’s steady breathing again.
Rise, fall, rise, fall
Normal, calm.
He wondered how Ivan did that.
“Do you ever get tired of it?” He asked.
Ivan frowned.
“Of what?”
He immediately wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
“Nothing.”
“Till.”
He stared into the blanket.
“Of this. Of me.”
Ivan didn’t hesitate.
“Never.”
Till laughed lightly under his breath. “At least take a take a second to think about it.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he replied, “that’s a ridiculous answer. Even I get tired of myself.”
Ivan shifted his arm to a more comfortable position.
“I don’t.”
Part of Till wanted to argue, but another part wanted to believe him. He just didn’t know how to.
“It’s the nightmares,” he confessed.
Ivan hummed softly. “I figured.”
Till looked up at him.
“Then why’d you ask?”
“I didn’t.”
Till blinked. “Oh.”
For some reason, that made him feel better.
They fell quiet again, but this time it was comfortable.
Till listened to the familiar sounds of their apartment. The hum of the refrigerator, cars passing outside, a clock ticking in a different room.
And the sound of Ivan’s breathing.
Everything felt slower now. His thoughts were still there, but they weren’t so loud anymore.
He shifted, settling deeper into Ivan’s side.
Almost immediately, Ivan tightened one arm around him and used the other to absentmindedly run his hand through Till’s hair.
Till hummed an approval and leaned into the touch. Even with his eyes closed, he could tell Ivan was smiling above him.
“Don’t get used to this,” he said, no real bite behind his words.
Ivan gave an amused huff. “I’ll try.”
Till rolled his eyes, though he doubted Ivan noticed.
Slowly, exhaustion started to settle over him. His body felt heavy—not in the same way it did earlier, but just tired. For a second, he let his eyes slip shut.
And then he opened them again. Just to make sure Ivan was still there.
“Yeah?” He noticed.
“Nothing.”
He looked at Ivan for a little longer before letting the peaceful quiet of the apartment take over his thoughts and his eyes drift closed once more.
This time, he didn’t open them again.