[ His examination is clinical. Thorough. And nothing more. He doesn't linger on the unnecessary. His hands won't roam over Ivan's skin. That remains a barrier he would not cross. This is all a means to an end. The end is relief. To alleviate his worries, his concerns. To bandage over guilt. To forget that happened. To find his foothold, he doesn't want to be lost. He doesn't want to feel like time has stopped. With no blemishes or marks anywhere on Ivan's body, perhaps it's possible. The only trace that they left the garden is the brand close to Ivan's wrist, like the one on his neck. Subconsciously, he reaches out to touch the raised marking spelling out his name. A finger traces the first letter. How surprising that the branding wasn't skewed after all his struggling.
Ivan thought it pointless. He saw it useless to fight. He would be collared and leashed, bindings only growing tighter after every fight. Maybe he shouldn't fight it. He should perhaps accept this. Maybe he can welcome this. It can erase the ugliness, and he can embrace what's in front of him. He can find something. Something close to healing.
His offer is there in the form of the costume. They don't have to be alone.
So, of course, Ivan has to reject it.
Because Till is a loser, a friendless moron. His grip on the garment tightens, nails dig into the fabric before he throws it to the ground at their feet. At the space between them. The costume separates them in a way that a lack of understanding keeps them apart. A hurdle that communication could easily smooth, just as it would be easy to step over a costume. ]
You're going back?
[ He can't help but gape at the idiot like an idiot. ]
Why would you go back?
[ That's putting himself at the mercy of these crazy people. Who knows what they would dress Ivan in next? He doesn't understand it, but instinctively, it feels like it's something for entertainment. Disgusting entertainment. ]
no subject
Ivan thought it pointless. He saw it useless to fight. He would be collared and leashed, bindings only growing tighter after every fight. Maybe he shouldn't fight it. He should perhaps accept this. Maybe he can welcome this. It can erase the ugliness, and he can embrace what's in front of him. He can find something. Something close to healing.
His offer is there in the form of the costume. They don't have to be alone.
So, of course, Ivan has to reject it.
Because Till is a loser, a friendless moron. His grip on the garment tightens, nails dig into the fabric before he throws it to the ground at their feet. At the space between them. The costume separates them in a way that a lack of understanding keeps them apart. A hurdle that communication could easily smooth, just as it would be easy to step over a costume. ]
You're going back?
[ He can't help but gape at the idiot like an idiot. ]
Why would you go back?
[ That's putting himself at the mercy of these crazy people. Who knows what they would dress Ivan in next? He doesn't understand it, but instinctively, it feels like it's something for entertainment. Disgusting entertainment. ]