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Error: No Better Option

He knows as soon as he wakes up that something is severely wrong with the universe.

But his brain is addled, every sound swimming around aimlessly in his ears, senseless shapes floating across the back of his lids. It feels exactly like the time Ivan clapped his hands over his ears from behind, just to be funny. His tongue feels leaden in his mouth and he can't locate any of his limbs in this comfortable darkness.

But a voice— that voice— was like a crack in the domain, a single point in which all his hope resided, breaking through the fog and reaching out a tender hand.

"Till?"

At the sound of his name off those lips, he fights to open his eyes even harder, more and more pressure building in the back of his skull with every breath. But he needs to wake up, needs to see her.

"Till, are you awake?"

Till groans, rolling onto his side and pushing his strained body up. "Yeah, I'm— I'm awake."

As his vision clears and the hazy smog subsides he sees Mizi sitting directly in front of him, breathing heavily and eyes blown wide. He wants to reach up and smooth out the pinch between her eyebrows but a flash of blue stops him.

It takes him too long to realize that it's him. His hair, it's. . . Mizi hiccups, and Till immediately looks at her, forgetting about his hair in an instant. He still can't locate his limbs, numb as they are. His voice trembling, he asks, "Are you okay?"

Mizi worries her bottom lip between her teeth, a strange light settled in her golden eyes. She swallows hard, and looks to her left and right rapidly, as if afraid of something.

A fierce shiver wracks Till's body. Something about that glint in her eye feels familiar, how nervous and hopeful and determined she looks, like he'd been—like she'd seen —

"Oh, my God, M-Mizi!" Till gasps, lurching forward and grabbing her by the shoulders. Her skin is warm under his touch, and he distantly notes that she's shaking.

Mizi's eyes widen, like she's frightened, but she places her small hands on his biceps, holding him up all the same, and holding on tight. "Till." She says, her voice small.

"Mizi, t-thank God you're h-here!" Till exclaims, his throat tightening. "Thank God you're here, I gotta, we have to—"

"Till, calm down first, we've gotta get away fro—"

"Mizi, you're—" Till interrupts, choking on the tears that are now pouring down his face, his words coming fast and slurred. "Y-You're gonna save Ivan, rig-ht? We're gonna save him?"

"Ivan. . . ?"

"Mizi, I— I fucked everything up and, and he got shot and then he— then I—" Till's vision blurs and he slumps forward, his head falling onto Mizi's shoulder. His neck is chilly. Cold sweat slides down his jaw and Till prays distantly that it doesn't get on Mizi's clothes. His voice is hoarse, raw with emotion as he speaks, "I'm so sorry, I— I know it's all, I mean it's all my fault but please Mizi, I don't know what else to do, I—"

"Till." Till stops, nearly choking when he swallows. Mizi draws in a breath, letting it leave in a gusty sigh. "Your clothes, they're. . ."

"I know!" Till wails, "I know they're covered in bl-blood, I know I killed him." His breaths are coming in hot, panicked puffs. There's a weight on his chest like he's being stepped on when he says, "I was right th-there, how could I not know?"

"Oh, Till. . ."

"So we have t-to." Till forces out, his teeth clenched together tightly. "We have to go back. We have to save him, Mizi, he was our best friend, we can't just—"

"Till." Mizi whispers, her expression carefully blank. "Ivan's gone."

. . .

For a moment, there's nothing.

No sound, no light, no color, no feelings.

And then there's confusion.

"I know." Till states, his brows furrowing. A tear slips down his cheeks, wetting his lashes. "'Cause they took him away. . . but we can still get him back. We just— that's why we have to go now—"

"Till—"

"He could still be alive, Mizi. The— the aliens got him but maybe they haven't locked him up yet, they— he could still be. . ."

Mizi doesn't speak. Till buries his face deeper into her shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he can. He's scared to look up and confirm what deep, deep down he already fucking knows.

"I'm sorry, Till, but. . . Hyuna's hurt, and we. . . we already tried."

Till stiffens, his back going ramrod straight. Mizi's tone holds nothing like composure, or hope in it; it carries only sadness. "You what?"

"We tried, Till. . . he's gone."

No. No, no, no, no, no. . .

"We couldn't save Ivan."

Till stares blankly over Mizi's shoulder, eyes open yet unseeing, his grip on her loosening with each agonizing second of silence that passes.

Mizi says nothing.

"We couldn't save him." Till echoes.

No reply.

"And I. . . I was right there, but I. . ."

Mizi's face crumbles, shaking her head and shutting her eyes tightly, as if in denial. The tears that leak from the corners of her eyes look cold.

"I couldn't even look at him." Till whispers, feeling the breath leave his lungs as if he's been punched.

Pressure builds behind his eyes and he thinks it might be strong enough to crack his skull open and spill bloody brain matter all over the floor, all over Mizi.

. . . Maybe he'd scream, then. Maybe he'd be capable of feeling anything besides this numbing buzz that fills his entire body. Maybe, after his brains lay poured out over the floor, then Mizi would be able to see every black spot festering in his mind, each one worse than the last, eating away at him until only thoughts of Ivan remained.

She would have to know, then, that Till's existence is a worthless one. He's no use to her without him.

"Till. . ." Mizi begins hesitantly. And Till can hear it in her voice, her tone lilted with pain— she's going to suggest they leave. Suggest they leave Ivan behind. "We have to go."

And if Till was any better of a man, if he were any less scared, he wouldn't have agreed.

But as Mizi places a hand on his shoulder and leans down to look into his eyes, a damn butterfly makes an awful lot of racket in his stomach. He swats at it, makes useless grabs for its tattered wings, but still it persists.

The butterfly gets away, flapping its way up his throat and out of his mouth in the form of one word. . .

"Okay."

If I Stumble