cultor | Till - August [Open and Closed]

[For the first time in a long time, when Till’s eyes groggily peek open, he doesn’t feel frozen to the bone, as though left in the snow overnight.

In fact, he feels… warm.

The lids of his eyes feel heavy, but the iridescent shine of his teal gaze blinks open to stare forward at the hard, dark planes of Ivan’s chest.

Ivan. That’s right. It’s Ivan. He’s alive.

This isn’t Ivan dressed in white and dripping with rain as blood dribbles from his mouth. The black of his new skin does look reminiscent of the attire he wore during Round Three. But it's fine. This is fine. He is warm, and while the skin is hard, he’s soft too. And more than anything, he is here.

Till shifts, and his arms tighten around Ivan, curling nearer against him. This is real. He hasn’t just disappeared from his grasp. In fact, like this, he can hear his heartbeat. The steady ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum is like a lullaby in his ear. He could drown in it, and for a while, he does. His eyes flutter closed and he swims in the dark void behind his lashes that revibrates and thrums with the proof of Ivan’s existence.

Only after floating in it does he realize that Ivan’s arms are wrapped around his own body. There’s nothing new about Ivan’s arms draped over him, but he never thought he would experience it again. It’s so unbelievably nice. Like a second chance- one Till is positive he doesn’t deserve, but he can’t pull himself back from, either. With a subtle shift, his head nuzzles in close. Ivan is asleep right now, so this small gesture should be safe.

. . . This stupid man. He better not disappear again.]

[ Ivan is a good actor.

As long as he doesn't give in to the temptation to open his eyes, he can't be caught, can lay like this to his heart's content. Of course—that heart is insatiable, and truly contenting it would require eternity, but however long it takes Till to stir awake will have to do for the time being.

Unsha kept him so busy, it feels like he hasn't done this since he was the smaller of them. It was so much easier for him to sneak around then, as the mute child no one noticed. Before he got the nutrition he needed to grow tall, Ivan could put his head underneath Till's covers and tuck in so close to him that even an instructor walking in wouldn't know.

The best part is Till can't make faces, or tell Ivan in so many words that he's outrageous for wanting what he wants. And right now, he wants as much warmth as he can take. He wants to always know the shape under his hands. Before, when he was alone in this place, the thought that other sacrifices of the stage could possibly slip through the same crack he had, the almost-hope that one of them could be Till—that made him feel vile.

But now he'd never ever, ever turn time back.

For someone as selfish as him, these malignant arms were the perfect adaptation. They've allowed him to embrace his paradise three times over in a single moment.

Hair tickles his shoulder as Till shifts, floppy from a month of no grooming, and it had already been left to grow out quite a bit last he saw. Still resisting the urge to look, Ivan calculates how they're entwined from what he thinks might be the tip of a nose against his collarbones. Most likely, Till isn't even aware of his body, caught in a dream of wherever else he'd rather be, but Ivan accepts the accidental closure of distance gladly. As naturally as possible, he leans his chin in and lets his lips brush against Till's forehead, flaccid, and slightly parted as part of the ruse.

Until he gets scared that the other might be about to move, he leaves them there; does it count as a kiss if it's not two mouths touching? ]

Good morning, Till.

Edited 2025-08-06 01:34 (UTC)

[Till can feel the warmth of Ivan's breath against his forehead. And he's never been so relieved that his face is partially buried, making it difficult to see the color in his cheeks.

Did he know he was awake? Or was he just guessing? He feels reluctant to move. Ivan's body radiates heat since they curled up beneath the blankets. It's embarrassing, but after weeks of cold, he wants to soak it in as though he might not get another chance.

After a moment, though, Till shifts his head back to peek up at him.

This isn't so different from those times when Ivan would sneak into his bed as a child. It doesn't exactly feel the same, though. The bastard grew taller than him as they shot up in their preteens, but now he's probably triple that size. Even putting aside the extra arms and physical differences, though, Till just feels... more aware. And that's new. And bothersome. And distracting.

. . .

For a moment, he hesitates, before opening his mouth.]

M-

[Pain shoots through his throat, and he lifts a hand to his neck as he coughs fitfully, curling forward so that he doesn't just cough right into Ivan's face.

Damn it...

The bandages that wind around his injuries are clean now. There's a bump beneath where the collar rests, but even the scratches are properly covered now that he has enough fabric to spare.

He should find his notebook. It's probably on the floor-

. . . Though that isn't the only way to communicate, huh? If he reaches out like he did with Lortel, will Ivan 'hear' him?

Tentatively, he opens himself up to the murmur, searching for the presence of the one person who's been at his side since he was little. It shouldn't be nerve-wracking, but it is. Still, his mind mentally stretches to try and feel him, grasping for a connection.]

[ Ivan is here. In body, oh, in body.

And in mind.

Fixated utterly on the bounty of touch, and what he can claim to have in this moment. His thoughts are of nothing else. Till doesn't have to reach far to drench himself in Ivan's dark sea—though, light shines over these waters for once. It's calm here now, the only ripples therein taking the shape of concern over the sound of that cough.

If Till lingers, he may be swept up in a tide of something so warm it simply must be █ █ █ █, and wrapped in a whisper that sounds like Ivan talking to himself. But he's not moving his lips, so the only place it could have come from is the inside of his mind. ]

I miss

the sound
of his voice

[It's a little like drowning. Where there was no water moments ago, suddenly, he is swimming in an ocean of powerful affection that sweeps him off his feet. The sea is calm, but the depth of his feelings is as deep as the endless expanse of space.

There is nothing shallow about it.

Tills searches for something to grasp hold of to ground himself.

He... never knew that he occupied so much space within Ivan's heart. Maybe on some level, there was awareness. An understanding that... Ivan could have--should have been free, and yet...

A lump in his throat forces Till to swallow thickly. He doesn't want to think of that day and time. Every minute since that beautiful meteor shower, he has fled contemplation of it the moment he realized that Ivan was still there.

Even after all this time, the guilt he feels weighs on his heart like an anchor.

Till has always loved with every ounce of his heart. And while he has deeply longed for and desired connection, it's the one thing he's fled from for eternity. Opening up risks losing. It risks rejection and loss, and saying goodbye and watching his world be ripped from him all over again.

That world has already been destroyed, though. With his mother, the loss of Mizi, and then Ivan. Watching everyone disappear was the greatest trauma of his life- the one thing he never wanted. But against all odds, someone... came back. It should be impossible, but he's here right in front of him.

And of all people, Ivan's worrying and thinking about him.

To be honest, Till hasn't felt like talking much. For convenience, sure, since materials and resources are low here. In desperate moments, it has been difficult without one. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that it was his voice that drew him to the very stage that tried to kill him.

The voice that killed others. First Acorn. Then Ivan. And then... what should have been himself.

A somewhat complicated expression etches into Till's face, creasing his brows. He sits up after a moment, annoyed by the chill he experiences as his body draws away from their shared warmth. His messy hair shifts, and iridescent flashes of color sparkle beneath the strands despite the darkness in the room. Till is the main source of light.

His lashes drift shut, and he focuses on attempting to make his presence known through the murmur itself, now, tentatively opening up to Ivan. His own emotions are choked with guilt and nerves and fear, but a quiet, hopeful longing for connection persists beneath it all, almost desperate.]

And here I thought it was just grating.

[Well. Not really. Certainly, people accused him of being loud, though, and they wouldn't have been wrong.]

[ Ivan feels the cold air curl in as Till shifts upward, disrupting their blanket cocoon. Opening his own eyes, finally, he figures that his time for enjoying this is officially up. Next time Till needs to sleep, it won't be such a hasty, urgent affair to get a room ready. He'll have the chance to come up with a better way to stay warm, more preferable than huddling for body heat against the belly of an insect.

Realizing Till still hasn't gotten all the way up, Ivan blinks up at Till's back, slowly pushing himself up on his elbows, giving into curiosity. Before he can complete the action, Till responds directly to his thoughts, causing Ivan to jolt and come forward faster than he intended, bangs flopping messily into his face. Shoulder to shoulder with Till, he glances aside at him to find a very focused expression, and that's when he feels a pull. Reflexively, he touches his temple, even though it's far from any sensation of physical origin.

He knows what that was only because Lortel uses the Murmur like that all the time, her way of announcing that she has a job for him — come here, Ivan

Till's not using his mask, which means—

What he's doing, he's not doing by accident. ]

Listening to you only hurt my hearing test scores a little.

[ He's alarmed by what's happening, but also amused. Till calls himself grating, when it couldn't be further from what Ivan thinks of him; it's funny, and sad. Faintly sung lyrics fill in the background of his contemplation. They don't go together, disjointed, mismatched verse from various times he's overheard Till practicing. His mind can't settle on just one moment to sink into.

Excitement burgeoning, Ivan reaches for the blanket, whipping it high in the musty air and letting it drift back down over their heads, closing them in. Till's ambient light illuminates just Ivan's face, his eyelids as he squeezes them shut in an earnest attempt to mimic the other. If he reached out with his hand, it would bump right into Till so it shouldn't be hard to find him the other way, if that's what he wants... ]

Till, you're letting me...?

[ Because he can hardly believe it, his brain scrambles to confirm it.

He senses a light like a not-so-distant star, jittering a little as it seems to wait there for him. It calls to mind shaking hands, or maybe a shiver. He'd be nervous still too, if he wasn't near-hypnotized by what's being offered. There's no world in which he'd pass up the opportunity go to the place he's always wanted to be—tucked away inside Till's head. There, behind his eyes even when they aren't looking at him.

He's too eager. He's on the "move" before Till responds. Following the trembling thing trying to form between them. To complete the stitching of darkness to the light.

A tether. ]

[Beneath the blanket that Ivan has draped over them, the sensation is a little strange, like being a child all over again- hidden beneath sheets so that the guards can't tell how many are in a room if they happen to peek in.

It is so silly and somehow familiar enough that it's almost a bizarre comfort- like an icebreaker to something that feels as though it'll be incredibly intimate. And tethers are intimate, Till is coming to learn. Maybe not in the traditional sense, but there is no escaping the way one is exposed as soon as they open themselves up to allowing someone else a place in their mind.

It's... terrifying. There is nowhere to hide, emotions bared as every single flaw and shameful part of him can come into clear focus.

He feels like he's going to be sick.

He also wants to tether with Ivan so badly. To understand, for once, the thoughts and emotions swirling around inside his head. His answer is a front to his emotions- dishonest.]

It would be a pain to have to write to you all the time.

[Gentle darkness rises over him to weave into every nook and cranny of his being, threading them together and searching him out as their identities coalesce, a connection forming.

Desperation fills Till's heart, longing to be understood, to correct the mistakes he had made to lead Ivan to believe he wouldn't even mourn him after he was gone. It couldn't have been further from the truth. He latches onto Ivan and the emotions inside Till's heart explode to life

Fierce sorrow, confusion, fear, and love spiral rapidly in a whirlwind of color like an explosion. He's utterly terrified and feels so pathetic even now. He's exposed, and that means any little part of himself is up on the chopping block and in danger.

Don't hate him. Don't leave him. He's sorry. He's so very sorry. Please don't leave him again.

Now that he is being seen, he must be seeing the pathetic person Till has been all along. The guilt is choking. It's his fault. It's all his fault. He feels like a child again, one crying all alone beneath an empty sky with no one else in sight.

With all his ugliness being exposed, what will Ivan do now? He may hate him as much as he dislikes himself. That would be the normal reaction. His eyes widen, and he looks for Ivan's gaze, searching for any sign of rejection- waiting to feel it from inside the tether as he tentatively reaches out for Ivan's emotions to feel them in turn.]

[ Till's front works.

Readily, Ivan accepts that this is for necessity's sake. It doesn't detract from his eagerness, though he's prepared for the place he's allowed to crawl into to be lined with disgust for this arrangement. It will still be perfect for a worm like him. It will still be his very own home in Till's head like he always wanted. He won't give up this new way to be near to him, not for fear of anything that may come after. For this, he'll sacrifice all of his secrets.

There's no stopping it now. Parts of him dig deeper into the light than he could have ever imagined. Incredibly, that light is also digging back, becoming starlight over his sea. He can't tell which of them is more scared at first, or if it's entirely his own heart he's failing to keep from flitting wildly. Till's levee fully bursts, and Ivan gasps with premature ecstasy, hit all at once by what it held back.

And everything he feels is familiar. Uncannily, achingly so— ]

Oh, Till...

You still don't know what you mean to me.

[ In a way, Ivan guts himself.

Gladly, he opens himself wide, his intentions are a dagger to his metaphysical stomach, spilling his everything everywhere.

It's only the second most impulsive thing he's ever done. Till, once more pushing him to great and stupid lengths. This time, at least they won't be separated. Till won't be alone. Won't be scared alone, won't be sad alone. Their sorrows will swim together until neither of them know the source. Ivan will lure him to touch old beds of scar tissue, from loathing himself long before their meeting. Till will know he's not wretched when he sees true wretchedness intermingling with him.

Ivan's lashes loosen, and their eyes instantly lock. His lips form a crumpled smile as he focuses on capturing Till's image to plant in his mind, how beautiful he looks from his perspective. In the bad, there'll be one good thing for him to find. He has to leave him something, some crumb to make up for his plague-like desire, surely so suffocating to experience. There's no escaping it now either, this longing that was never asked for, which will now poison Till with the poor fate of knowing about it.

Read my soul
Yes, my soul— ]

Edited 2025-08-15 16:24 (UTC)

[Closed] Ivan

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OPEN | Week 1

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[Closed to the Penthouse] Nebulous time | Chillax option maybe?

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1/2

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