Work Text:
Sometimes Till missed the smell of the old music shop. He missed the dim light of it, the dusty stacks of records. Though, lately he’s forgotten to miss it.
Where there was once a quiet displeasure, music now filled the halls of the old moving castle. Till navigates his way through it, humming and waiting and swaying along to the movement of the castle. Down the stairs, a fire crackles in the hearth. Till collapses in front of it.
Till has just dozed off when the dial for the castle door clicks onto black and the door swings open. Ivan steps through the threshold from the vast abyss. He smells of gunpowder and smoke and blood. Till wrinkles his nose as he blinks into consciousness.
He pushes up from where he sits next to the fire, the chair scraping against the wooden floor as he stands. Ivan’s body is covered in dark feathers, his gaze empty as he stares ahead. If Till didn’t know any better, he would have called him a monster.
But he does know better. He knows Ivan, knows what he fights for.
“You look terrible.” Till wants to put his hands on him, wants to comfort him in some way, but his hands remain in fists at his side. It’s not fear that keeps him at bay, he’s not sure what it is. Ivan groans and settles into Till’s spot on the chair.
“The fight is getting worse.” His voice is rough, scraping against the cool night.
Till steps forward, reaches out so that his hand hovers just over Ivan’s singed feathers. Heat rolls off him in waves. “You need to be more careful.”
Ivan tilts his head back, pinches one eye closed as he looks up at Till. “You worried about me?”
“What–No, I just–Who’s gonna run the castle if you get yourself killed?”
Ivan huffs a laugh as his feathers fade from his skin. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”
He rolls out the muscles in his neck and shoulders and a feather falls to the floor, disintegrating on contact. With much effort, Ivan sits up. His clothes are clean, his face no longer bristling with feathers and ash. He smiles up towards Till.
“I have a surprise for you, Till.” He stands and walks over to the door. When he turns the lock, the dial clicks on to blue. Ivan holds his arm out for Till to take. “Come.”
In a haze, Till does as Ivan says, looping his hand through Ivan’s arm. He can’t shake the image of Ivan, drowning in the darkness without him. Alone, without Till.
When Ivan swings the door open, Till has to squint. Sunlight streams into the castle in thick beams and it's a stark contrast to the war-filled darkness that he had arrived from.
Flowering meadows roll out in front of them. More green and lush than anything Till had ever seen in his life. Ivan steps over the threshold, pulling Till along.
“What–Where are we?” It feels as if he’s floating along the soft grass.
“I used to study here,” Ivan says simply–despite it never being simple. Studying implied schooling, implied a childhood tucked away in the far reaches of nowhere.
“Did you make these flowers grow?” It all feels so impossible–the wide and hungry sky, the blossoming spring at the end of the summer, the echo of a childhood. He glances up at Ivan but there isn’t a hint in his expression.
“Only a little.” Ivan smiles and there are little creases in the corners of his eyes. “Just for you.”
Till thinks about Ivan using his magic for something lovely and soft and it warms him. Till’s hand drifts from Ivan’s arm and he wanders a few steps ahead to the top of a hill. The view extends out over a pond and an endless expanse of hills. Tucked into the bottom of one hill is a little cottage.
“Oh, Ivan, it’s beautiful,” he calls out.
Ivan’s expression softens into something almost readable, something childlike. He’s remembering. He’s taking it all in one last time–
He’s planning on leaving.
“What are you thinking about, Ivan?”
“You could bring some of these flowers back to the music shop,” he says. “I think it would really brighten up the place.”
Till thinks of the shop, full of flowers and music and how empty it would still feel without Ivan.
“Where are you planning on going? You’re scaring me.” Till’s voice catches in his throat. He can feel the burn of tears in his eyes.
“I’m–”
“Is this about the war? They don’t need you, Ivan–I need you.”
Something dark flickers across Ivan’s sharp features. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“I don’t care if you’re a monster. You’re good.” Ivan’s gaze meets Till’s and he repeats it, “Good.”
Ivan doesn’t respond, just lets Till’s words hang in the air, unwilling to own up to them. For someone so brave, so adamant about doing the right thing, he was really such a coward. Till steps forward, back down the hill to meet Ivan where he’s at.
Ivan buries his gaze in the dirt at Till’s feet. “If I don’t have my magic anymore, what good am I?”
“You can come work with me at the shop,” Till suggests. “You’ll be alive and we will be together. That’s what’s important.”
“And the war?”
“I know I have no magic and all I am good for is my music, but–”
Ivan’s jaw tightens. “Don’t say that.”
“But I–I love you.”
Ivan stills and the world around them stops with him. The wind ceases to blow through the flowery fields. Ivan’s mouth curls into an incredulous smile.
“You love me?”
“I do. Magic or no magic.” Till is breathless as he steps forward again. Ivan doesn’t move, remaining as still as the sky. “Let me. Okay?”
Ivan’s eyes widen as Till leans in. He presses his lips to Ivan’s unmoving mouth and the wind sweeps back through the hills. Ivan’s eyes flutter closed and his hand finds Till’s chin. He kisses him back as if he’s pouring himself into Till.
It feels like magic.
Ivan’s smile softens into something real, something Till can run his fingers over. “I love you too, Till.”