[ His irritation is mounting, accompanied by confusion and denial. It's not easy to dispel doubt when all his senses told him that the man before him had died. He had seen it happen in a place where reality could not be warped, as opposed to here at the resort. That may explain why Till is touching Ivan once more as if confirming his solid form despite previously pulling his hand back due to that scandalous comment. ]
Both can't be true!
[ Don't add anymore to that!
There is no more. There is no at the same time!
The person he knows, Ivan, is dead. Yet. Here before him is Ivan. The whole thing causes him to roughly rub his face as if that can alleviate building pressure. He can only turn his anger and frustration toward the one person who has not left him once. He may have been dead and gone, but he was always there. When Till closes his eyes, there is Ivan. When things grow too quiet, when he is alone. When on the verge of sleep, he hears his voice. Why must he always see him drenched in red, only for him to show up like this? His gaze darts away, he takes in their surroundings as if looking for an explanation from anything but the person in front of him.
Yet when his attention returns to Ivan, he is still here. He has not vanished into nothing.
Forget it! He has to know. Who cares about what weird, wild ideas are assumed! Returning to his destruction of the garment, he is stopped by Ivan holding his wrists. He struggles against him, he tries to continue tearing at the fabric, but the difference in strength makes it impossible for him to continue. Yet he still fights. He needs to know. ]
Shut up! I don't fucking care about what they want!
[ Otherwise, he wouldn't be halfway out of his own costume. Don't try to lecture him now! This is ridiculous! Why was any of this happening? Wait. What did He say? ]
And don't tell me you were—
[ Walking around naked until they slapped the dress on him. ]
How is this even possible? There was so much blood. Too much. No one lives after that.
no subject
Both can't be true!
[ Don't add anymore to that!
There is no more. There is no at the same time!
The person he knows, Ivan, is dead. Yet. Here before him is Ivan. The whole thing causes him to roughly rub his face as if that can alleviate building pressure. He can only turn his anger and frustration toward the one person who has not left him once. He may have been dead and gone, but he was always there. When Till closes his eyes, there is Ivan. When things grow too quiet, when he is alone. When on the verge of sleep, he hears his voice. Why must he always see him drenched in red, only for him to show up like this? His gaze darts away, he takes in their surroundings as if looking for an explanation from anything but the person in front of him.
Yet when his attention returns to Ivan, he is still here. He has not vanished into nothing.
Forget it! He has to know. Who cares about what weird, wild ideas are assumed! Returning to his destruction of the garment, he is stopped by Ivan holding his wrists. He struggles against him, he tries to continue tearing at the fabric, but the difference in strength makes it impossible for him to continue. Yet he still fights. He needs to know. ]
Shut up! I don't fucking care about what they want!
[ Otherwise, he wouldn't be halfway out of his own costume. Don't try to lecture him now! This is ridiculous! Why was any of this happening? Wait. What did He say? ]
And don't tell me you were—
[ Walking around naked until they slapped the dress on him. ]
How is this even possible? There was so much blood. Too much. No one lives after that.
Does it hurt?