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As far as Till has been told, Ivan is fine. The mission was a success, all targets taken down, no losses on the rebel side; considering they don't engage in operations that involve direct hostilities with segyein if they can help it, it's as good a result as they could hope.
He just asked to go see the body, is all.
Till doesn't find that too odd. When Urak died, he lamented not being there to see it, confirm it for himself, maybe stomp on the asshole's corpse a bit.
And yet, when he comes upon Ivan standing over Unsha's lifeless form, he doesn't look very happy. Not even relieved. Just… neutral, hands behind his back with one holding the opposite wrist, staring at the large creature bleeding dark green. His shoes, he notices, are in the puddle. Ivan has never liked soiling his clothes.
"Hey. Everything alright?" Till speaks softly.
Ivan's stillness breaks at that, raising his head a little too fast.
"Oh, yes. I didn't notice you, sorry," he says. Then, justifying his presence and his lingering time there, he gestures with a gloved hand towards the body. "I just wanted to see."
Unsha's remains look like something that was never alive at all. Ivan himself is still surprised at just how dry their gray skin appears, how stonelike their frame, how sunken and glassy their one eye. What a feat it must've been for whatever pumped that green blood within them, to move such a creature. The spillage is abundant, but smells like absolutely nothing. The various puncture wounds of shots through their clothes, from the back, give the image the final signs of a death that couldn't possibly appear more absolute. The impression only increases the more he looks at them.
"Ivan," Till eventually calls, restless. He's stopped at Ivan's side, peering at the unreadable expression on his face with increasing preoccupation. "Hey, um. Are you…?"
"Grieving? Sad about this? I'm not."
"Oh… okay." Till nods. He almost sounds embarrassed to have even asked.
"I'm only…"
Ivan doesn't know what to say, really. He barely moves his head, glancing at Till through strands of black hair, then back at the corpse. Something about the expression Till wears – eyes wide, brows furrowed, clearly restless but holding back from pressuring him, as if Ivan had ever been someone that should be taken care of – it warms him. No one but Till could make such a silly, earnest face. The taller man breathes in and tries his best to come up with the right words. The little falter of his lips separating and pursing back together proves it takes some time.
He's been trying. Till keeps pestering to express himself more and all that, so at times like these he makes it a point to try. Or maybe it's just a response coaxed out of him by Till's hand on his arm, grabbing onto his sleeve.
It's too soon for him to be accustomed to Till's interest, that whole thing of being together , so a lot of adjustments are still in process.
"I thought I'd get an opportunity to talk to them before this. It's not like it was necessary, of course, but there's something I hoped to know that only they could've told me," is what he finally murmurs, calm but strained. "Pity that I'll never get to find out, I guess."
Till lets go of his sleeve and, instead, grasps his hand.
-
The first time Ivan dines at his new owner's home is, of course, only after thorough bathing, grooming and new clothes. He understands how all of this works, so of course he goes along with it. Even the parts he truly despises, like the Lady he's been gifted to wanting to lift and pet him and move his face this and that way because his eyes are so big and who knew that humans were so cute, so on and so forth. He's just hungry. The less trouble he gives, the sooner he'll eat.
They seat him at the table and everything. Before him lies an assortment of food of which he recognizes absolutely nothing, but his guardians are eating and he's free to help himself too.
So he goes for anything that tastes okay and can be chewed through. None of the drinks smell right, but the gelatins taste like meat and some of the brilliant, gem-like confections on the edges of the plates turn out to crack easily and be very refreshing, serving him as water to wash down anything else. He paces himself, or does his best to, but eats what he would've had in a week.
"Oh, look at him! Look at him! Little Bean must've been hungry," the Lady coos. Ivan pauses, feeling discovered in something he's not sure if good or bad yet.
Unsha seems pleased. Not that Ivan can read the expression on their face, he's never seen segyein of his guardians' species before, but that voice like scraping rocks of theirs is expressive enough.
"Good. Dine well, boy. You'll be much better from now on, but you start from there!" They say, clicking one of their clawed fingers on the table a couple of times. "Always have yourself at least one good meal a day. Make sure you're enjoying it, too."
Ivan nods, of course. The opportunity to have a full stomach is one that should never be passed up, or at least, his instincts continue to tell him so. He eats until he physically can't have any more.
The next day, he feels ill.
He vomits as soon as he wakes up; his full stomach is no more. Weak-limbed, cold and nauseous, he cleans his mess with a rag torn from his old clothes before his guardians could find out. Then, not saying a thing nor displaying a single sign of discomfort, he lets the Lady parade him around the house and give him all kinds of lessons about where to go and not go.
At mealtime, he tries again. Because Unsha was right: eating one good meal per day is the most important thing, when the time and the means allow it, although enjoying it isn't a priority of his now. All the human boy does is dodge the things he ate last time, trying with different ones, even though they're still all entirely unrecognizable. Eating much less seems like a good cautionary measure, too.
Yet he grows even sicker.
By the third day, all he can think to do is hide. Can he be blamed for not answering his guardians' calls if he didn't hear them? Knowing what places of the house he's allowed to be he alternates through them, finding himself small crevices in which to curl up and tremble, stomach too empty to continue vomiting.
But the house isn't as large as the slums of a city and the hiding spots aren't as unknown. Eventually and inevitably, he's found.
"What's wrong with you?" is what Unsha bellows, in a tone Ivan can't interpret. The large, clawed hand reaches for him, but barely makes contact. "Little Bean. Does it hurt? Did you get hurt? What is it?"
The way Ivan clutches his stomach, pained, replies for him.
"We didn't give you any arsenic, any phosphorus…" The segyein thinks aloud. Shouldn't that be fine? They learned a few things when buying Ivan; clearly, not enough. "You should've come tell us you were unwell! Tell that to your guardians! How do I make you better now, boy? Answer."
"... don't know." The little human replies. After a pause, his bout of honesty resumes, unthinking due to his state: "I'm cold, Sir."
"We'll take care of that."
Unsha picks him up with scarce gentleness, but keeps him close nonetheless, carrying him to his quarters and bedding which is soon made warmer with new covers. A segyein human-veterinarian is called.
Unsha oversees his recovery from the poisoning in the following days. Under proper guidance on what is and isn't safe to eat, Little Bean's meals are successfully kept down. His other guardian couldn't care less about him when he's not being cute or entertaining; the Lady will be mostly bored of him within the year anyway. Thankfully, Unsha won't.
-
"You wanted to ask… why they chose you for a pet? That's kinda it, right?"
Ivan doesn't like hearing it repeated very much, but nods regardless. "Mmh."
"I don't get it.They just did– they just pick one, right? Maybe they wanted a human with black hair or a good voice or something."
"It's possible, honestly," Ivan smiles ever so slightly. "But even then, how did it come to be me in particular?"
Unsha never 'just picked' something, never improvised a thing. They only ever made decisions. Even now, Ivan wouldn't forget that.
Their voices are relatively hushed. He can tell the silver-haired man is trying to be careful and understanding, despite being clearly more confused than anything else. It's written in the way his thin brows furrow in concentration, too.
Ultimately he adds: "Is it important?"
"It was the first time someone simply chose me."
"Huh?" The wording hasn't made things the clearest, but Till is quick to respond anyway. "They're not the only one, right? I don't know what it means exactly but… a lot of people would choose you." He gives Ivan's hand a reassuring squeeze, keeping his grip tight. "I mean, you were always pretty much everyone's favorite. You know that."
Of course. Of course Till wouldn't understand it.
And Ivan doesn't want to explain it any further, uncomfortable enough with what he's already said. Continuing would entail clarifying that being 'everyone's favorite' only happened to the version of himself who was constructed specifically for that purpose. Being wanted after years of adaptation, control and polishing to be wanted isn't a surprise nor a feat. Much like the love he received from his segyein fans or those at Anakt who had the novel idea of falling for him, it doesn't have much to do with the man that he is. It means nothing.
If Ivan were to speak more on the subject, he'd have to admit that Unsha was the only individual to ever truly choose him, himself, before he was palatable enough. Even if it was just finding a pet in an illegal market. He'd have to admit, miserably, that it's the reason this is all so mysterious to him, because no one would've picked him without his perfect smile and practiced charm. Much less as a first choice…
No, Till is the last person who would need to hear that.
Ivan raises their joined hands, turning them just so he can place a gentle kiss on Till's. A display of gratitude for his attentions. He hears a choked, oddly-pitched little sound in response; when he looks, Till's face is tinted a fierce red.
"I'll try not to fixate on it too much. It doesn't make much sense, huh? Especially when it won't get me anywhere now," he says.
The man he can presently call his lover doesn't stop worrying about him that easily. Still, he does leave the subject at that. As they settle into a silence of mutual company, Ivan's gaze falls back on the corpse that can't provide him any answers.
His guardian never improvised, he recalls once again. They only ever made decisions.
-
First, Ivan learns to lie to Unsha. Or both to them and the Lady, to be accurate.
"I'm home, my dear. I've brought Little Bean back," the segyein announces. Their luggage, of course, has been handed off to Unsha's personnel already. As they make their way into the heart of the home, the Lady appears to meet them.
Ivan immediately hurries, taking a few long strides to place himself at their side.
"Ah! I'm so glad to see you again, Miss!" He exclaims, although his hands remain in the most orderly manner at his sides and his position is exactly one segyein step away. "I've missed you all my time in Anakt Garden."
"So sweet," the Lady gives him a single, half-hearted touch on the top of the head, a glance that also half-heartedly contemplates whether Ivan might've grown taller (he has, very much so), and that's about it. As she greets and converses with her husband, no attention is directed back to the pet human.
Ivan steps away, all signs of excitement simmered down to neutrality in the span of a blink.
There are parts he doesn't have to try too hard to play, his relationship with the Lady is one: when they are in the mood, he will be courteous and attentive, a pet that cherishes them more than anything and enjoys his time in their presence. When they aren't, which is most of the time, Ivan's supposed delight for their affections goes inexistent and he simply moves on to mind his own business, not a word more, nowhere near bothering them. When a random mood strikes the Lady or when there's a social event to attend, they'll probably want Ivan by their side again, for the other members of their social circles to envy; then he'll be smitten with his true owner and make sure to speak to whoever asks about how much he appreciates them, how no segyein is as wonderfully elegant or as skilled as pet owner as they are. The cues are honestly not hard to follow.
He doesn't even have to smile, knowing the Lady's sense for human facial expressions is as lacking as can be. He hasn't done it at all since he entered the home.
Unsha accompanies him to his room. It's not the first time he's been back home during his education years – it happens a lot, actually – so he can expect everything to be more or less as it was.
"It'll be a couple of weeks this time," Unsha comments along the way. "The deal's coming through nicely. You'll be meeting important associates, so be on your best behavior, you understand?"
"Of course, Sir."
"Ha. Of course you would. You haven't disappointed me even once, Ivan." A clawed hand falls upon his head, petting his hair without scratching his scalp. "You'll catch up with your lessons when you're back to the Garden."
"I'll still try to study a little, just to not fall behind… but thank you for your trust in me," he responds.
There's never questions about how he's doing at Anakt, whether he likes or dislikes it, what impressions being around other humans causes in him or the like. His guardians receive reports on his good grades and good behavior, though.
"I have work to get back to, but you do as you like while you're home." Unsha opens his room and moves to leave him be. Ivan turns toward the segyein, stopping them momentarily with a few words more.
"Ah, actually, Sir… I'm a bit hungry. I was thinking of going for cakes, those clouded-glucose cakes we had last time."
"Can't take you now, boy. Maybe another time."
"I can go on my own," Ivan adds, gentle, docile, but sure. "Anyway, it's mostly because sucrose components prepared in a cloud type are very good for a human's lung capacity. So while I'm on the planet, I'd like to take the chance to eat it a few times."
"Is it? Where did you learn that?"
"The additional books I took to Anakt. It seems it nurtures my voice."
Unsha doesn't consider it for more than a second. Of course none of it is true, but Ivan has long realized that his guardians' knowledge of humans is limited and that the husband, in particular, is accepting of learning from their own pet. When Ivan voices something Unsha should know, they listen, at least so long as it's not excessive or inconvenient.
Amused by the human's reasoning, they produce what Ivan recognizes as a laugh. If their voice is akin to scraping rocks, their laughter is like smashing them to bits.
"Well then. Go. You're smart, you'll know how to handle yourself out there. But you'll tell me when you're leaving the house and you'll keep your transmitter on hand. Understand?"
"Sure! I won't be far, but I'll let you know when I'm headed back."
Ivan smiles for the first time since being picked up by his guardian at Anakt. Wide, but never with teeth; even if Unsha themself is intelligent enough to keep aware that it's unthreatening among humans and other species, their own doesn't appreciate being shown teeth, and Ivan pays attention to detail. It's what keeps his simple lies working and his guardian happy with him.
It's not about tea time or desserts. It's not even about the art of getting away with it. He appreciates all that, sure, but when he moves through the segyein city on his own, he's more aware than anything of being the only human being doing such a thing. A trip from point A to point B and back to A in the span of an hour, entirely reliant on being able to identify himself as Unsha and the Lady's pet and limited to places where he'll be respected as such, but Ivan knows he's achieved something.
-
Then, he learns to say the truth.
He didn't expect to, frankly. In any form.
And yet, he's in his guardian's study, lounging simply because he's wanted there and it happens to be the most pleasantly warm room in the home, when he finds himself more curious than he needs to be about what the segyein is so focused on. They appear so frustrated, going back and forth through the same things.
So he finally asks. "Sir. Is everything okay?"
"Mhrm." If that was an affirmative or negative sound, Ivan is unsure. "I'm working. Everything's fine. Just figuring out..."
Unsha trails off, pushing one of the bright screen devices they've been consulting away with some annoyance and, instead, taking their attention back to the elegant binder of paper documents they've also been going through.
After a few moments, they speak again.
"I have another brand's offer to have you work with them… relevant brand. Big deal in the whole damn galaxy and the 3 next. I contacted them with a first offer, so it's all well that they're interested and came out with this without wasting my time. Right when I have business near them too, so that's convenient, I'd have an excuse to…" They take a glance at another screen, clearly more invested in their own thought process than in conveying it to Ivan. The human is just a pair of ears helping them put their reasoning in order. "Wasn't expecting them to up the offer to something a lot bigger, but bah, it's everything they're trying to cover that doesn't… convince me."
"I see," Ivan murmurs in return. Standing from his seat, he steps closer to his guardian. "And despite the scope, would it fit into our schedule for the next weeks?"
"Wouldn't be a problem… what, are you curious, boy?" Unsha seems amused by their pet's behavior. If only to humor him, they lean back from their desk, leaving space for the man to approach it and have a look at a couple of the screen devices. It's not like they expect Ivan to understand too much. Still, they swipe at a screen with a clawed hand, bringing up the key parts of the brand's business proposal.
"I mind what brands I negotiate you with. I know what I'm looking for and what kinda advertising for you I want out of them. But as far as numbers go– right, this is well above the percentage I'd accept. Unless the brand is like Q and I want their name on our list for other reasons. See?" They explain.
Ivan contemplates the text and numbers on the screen at length, as well as the reasoning his guardian was walking him through before.
Unsha is immensely practical, he knows that much. Hence why they enjoy having a home that's not too big, even though the manor certainly gave that impression to Ivan when he was smaller; it turns out to be only appropriately sized for them and their Lady's species. They like to lead their business themself whenever possible. They value doing many things by hand that other segyein would be painstakingly digital with. They may not care about the boundaries of intergalactic law when they can get away with it (and they're very good at getting away with it), but they care a surprising amount about jobs well done.
It's hard to think Unsha wouldn't know what to look for in a proposal like this, or hesitate to take it for no reason. So Ivan looks for a flaw, a hole in the list of advantages. Once he's found it, he straightens in his place, bringing a hand to his chin and a finger idly below his lip in a thoughtful gesture.
"I don't think I should be doing that, no. Maybe their use of me for their brand's key visuals for this season would be well enough, but wanting to support that with the release of a single… it doesn't strike me as the time for it. It would be too defining for my image, too controlled by their direction, which might impact my next performances…" As he finishes, Ivan's eyes trail to his owner, and he promptly freezes.
Should he have spoken at all? All of a sudden, he's conscious of the liberty he's just taken. It would be in his best interest to just wait for his guardian's call, do as they direct and keep his mouth shut. Unsha has always handled things, gotten him to places no other pet human (save for the legendary Luka) has reached. Moreso, a human not wanting to partake in a job can come off as disobedience. Ivan fails to understand why sharing an opinion compelled him so, and has time to wonder how badly he might regret it.
Until Unsha responds, placing their clawed hand on their pet's back, so large that one of their fingers can still rest on his shoulder.
"You know what, boy? We'll do that." They still sound entertained, but certain enough. "We'll skip these bastards. Right, the offer is high, but their reigns on production was bothering me. We'll focus on your shows and the jobs we've got lined up. Everyone likes a profit, but only a fool likes a bet."
Right. Hasn't he heard that a million times? No bets, no steps without knowing the ground ahead is firm, no uncalculated risk. Ivan hasn't told Unsha anything they wouldn't have ended up advising themself. Maybe the human has picked up too much from the segyein, after all. Ironic, because giving his thoughts unprompted wasn't his safest step, but it's only the first of many times.
In front of cameras, he's always declared to admire his guardian. It's just another pleasantry, another thing he says because he should. But he has to wonder if he's so accustomed to his acts of adaptation that he wouldn't realize if he's telling the truth.
-
Maybe he should've asked his question sooner.
Maybe it should've come to him while he had infinite chances to do so. But…
"You're confident you can win over Urak's pet, aren't you?" Unsha is stopping to confirm. It's barely a formality, from how calm they seem, even the day before such an important performance.
Ivan nods. "I am, Sir."
"Good. I know you'll make me proud again. You have something the other pets don't have, Ivan."
It sounds true. And it sounds like an actual good thing.
Ivan doesn't remember their idle good night words.
At that moment, his mind was busy conjuring the question for the first time, trying and failing to see the answer.
None of it should matter. He'll die the following day anyway, the lonely end of a stranger who only ever cared about one thing. It will be both satisfactory and completely unimportant. The man he'll forfeit his life for won't be grieving him afterward, he'll just live, which is frankly for the best. And if he must think about his owners, well, they'll just get a new pet later.
Still, he asks himself what he'll continue to question long after: what did Unsha see in the slum child they chose?
-
"The others are gonna get going, Ivan. We should too," Till attempts. "Unless you need to stay a bit more…? I can tell 'em and uh, I can stay with you until you're, you know, ready."
"No, no. It's fine. We can go," Ivan responds, raising his eyes from the stonelike corpse for the first time in long minutes.
"You sure? I really don't mind…"
"I am." As if to prove himself, the taller man turns away from the remains of his guardian. It's clear to him, just by looking at Till's face, that he's as confused as before. Lost on what thoughts can be spared for a segyein, after what they do. And yet, clumsily gentle as ever, trying to understand or be there or do something for Ivan. At that, he gives a slight smile. "Like I said, I won't be getting any productive talks from them now, and there wasn't much to discuss that would've mattered anyways."
Till takes the shift in Ivan's posture as a sort of signal, inviting himself closer. Standing before Ivan (personally, he's never minded getting blood on his clothes, let alone his shoes), he raises both hands to his face, cupping it with a certain hesitance. His fingertips rest on the firm jawline softly.
"Still. It's… it's alright, yeah? Whatever you wanna do with this. I'm here for you… and all that…" Any strength in his speech fades away word by word, but the message is delivered. With an eyebrow raised and a mildly entertained expression, Ivan envelops the other's waist between his arms, hands very purposefully running up the small of his back; there's never a time he's not endeared to Till's awkward mannerisms, just like there's never a time he's not pleased to touch the man. He's beginning to catch on to the fact that Till is allowing it, even waiting for it, every time he approaches that closely anyway. The shorter man continues with renewed bravery.
"And if it means anything, I'd choose you… for whatever. Which is redundant to say, 'cause what's that? One more for Mr Beloved By All? But you know–"
"Oh no, I'll take it," Ivan cuts in. "And I'll have you deal with what you bargained for."
He still doubts all of it. How could he not? Even now, he doesn't fully understand why Till persisted so much after finding he had survived the stage, until they reached this surreal and still progressive status of what the rebels commonly call lovers. But that's fine. Ivan may remain unsure of whether Till would truly choose the man that he is, and in turn, he can keep away from his adored person all those things he still doesn't understand about himself, including those only a creature such as a segyein would've been able to convey.
For now, Ivan prefers to take his chance to bend down just enough to rest his forehead against Till's.
His words are intimately murmured. "So have me, then. Have me. And let me hold you, please."
Till closes the nearly null distance, kissing him. And Ivan can only do what he knows to do, what he always does when it comes to Till's affection: responding hungrily, with his snagged fang pressing against the other's lips and his hands roaming him unabashedly. Because he should always, always have his fill when he can, and be sure to enjoy it too. He's learned that much.
So he'll take it. Feed his hollow self what's offered to him, whether it makes him ill or not.