#// ivan and luka can have the interactions that follow his round since. r5 and 6 will happen the next 'episode'

[weptsorrow]

a few days had passed since the introductionary rounds. till had been in a worse shape than ever with his head bleeding and shoulder dislodged, but ivan still found the way and time to sneak into the infirmary where the younger was recovering. ivan simply sat by his side, wordless, motionless, save for the ocassional brush of fingertips either against till's own or his cheek. he never once woke.

the atmosphere had been heavy in the garden ever since. he hadn't seen mizi in a long time, always secluding herself away and dealing with her grief. ivan didn't blame her. the kids who didn't make it through the preliminary rounds were taken back home by their owners; for all that it was worth, their time at the music school had ended. as was luka, given that he didn't even belong to their class; so the big, spatious garden had suddenly become that much more empty. no more laughter. no more play. just the ever-looming dread of further death in the upcoming semi-finals.

it finally all clicked together, the religion classes they had; the lies they fed them about death and the afterlife. it was to brainwash them to ensure they didn't fear coming onto the stage for the first time. but as was expected... it was difficult to keep those beliefs after witnessing the murders first-hand.

so with mizi gone and till unconscious, it was just ivan by his lonesome. he didn't really mind that much, as he'd been used to solitude, but it was lonely without till around. every so often, he went to visit the wegyein beast back in the walls, and every other day he had an ad shoot to model for that unsha had secured for him. from a schedule of classses to follow had developed a routine. he imagined this was what his life would be if he were to win. good thing he wasn't going to.

unsha didn't have time for him to keep an eye on him at home, so it was only convenient for ivan to still be welcome to stay at anakt garden for the duration of the entire show. it was that evening that he returned back, still all neat and well-groomed, with glitter dusting his cheeks, that he went to check back in on till once again. it's been three days... surely he was awake by now?

  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎everything  goes,  the  dim  flicker  of  consciousness  snuffed  out  with  brutal  efficiency,  leaving  till  submerged  in  the  oppressive  black.  he  doesn't  get  to  look  at  her,  doesn't  even  catch  a  fleeting  glimpse,  and  that  magnetic,  almost  cruelly  withheld  attention  drifts  down  to  the  floor  like  just  out  of  reach.  he's  yanked  back  into  the  cold  embrace  of  familiar  nothingness  —  a  void  too  brief  to  heal  but  long  enough  to  drain.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎a  dull,  gnawing  pain  blossoms  in  his  neck,  creeping  in  and  soon  joined  by  the  persistent  throb  behind  his  temples,  each  beat  louder  than  the  last.  'such  black,  black  sorrow,'  a  low  voice  sings,  its  melody  cutting  through  the  haze.  it  takes  him  a  moment  to  register  ivan's  familiar  tone,  and  by  then,  the  thin  fabric  of  oblivion  has  unravelled  completely.  another  round  has  started,  and  the  ballad  is  already  at  its  crescendo.  a  twinge  of  regret;  he  likes  ivan's  voice,  even  if  ballads  weren't  his  thing.  what  he  heard  sounded  nice. 

his  collar  shines green.

'you  are  my  black  sorrow.'

  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎a  sharp  pang  slices  through  his  shoulder,  jagged  and  unrelenting,  forcing  him  to  turn  his  attention  inward.  teal  hues  dart  down  to  the  source,  his  injured  shoulder  now  grotesquely  misaligned;  the  restraints  hold  fast,  their  grip  ensuring  he  can't  attempt  to  fix  it.  then  from  the  corner  of  his  eye,  a  flash  of  pink  draws  his  attention.  her.  he  ignores  the  agony  and  the  last  echo  of  a  melody  to  look  at  her,  but  mizi  doesn't  flinch.  doesn't  even  seem  to  notice ...

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎his  gaze  slowly  shifts  after a few seconds to  the  screen  for  one  last  glimpse  of  ivan.  he's  not  there.�� the  stage  is  empty,  the  older  man  already  gone,  likely  slipped  backstage;  there's  no  chance  he  lost...  the  pod  doors  hiss  open,  all  but  his  responding  to  the  automated  timer,  and  the  faint  rustle  of  those  exiting  fills  the  air,  a  sound  both  mundane  and  hollow.  mizi  remains  frozen,  he  doesn't  move  either;  can't.  his  collar  flashes  back  to  red.