[ ivan, as much as his masks presents him as a put-together person, is not as mentally strong as he seems. “mysterious,” the other children called him. “mature.” that was fine. being mysterious means people ask you questions expecting that you might answer. it means when you keep to yourself, nobody thinks it’s because you don’t want to tell for any other reason besides being “cool,” especially when you smile at them.

similarly to how the other kids felt about ivan, ivan felt about till: unreadable. it hasn’t been a negative. usually. there are times when it hurt, but ivan came to accept till would never be “for him.” part of why ivan has always chased so resolutely after till is because he posses so much of what ivan does not, and that fascinates him, is part of what created his love for till. a love not meant to be returned, but ivan grew used to that.

ivan picks his head up a little— till is shifting against the wall. is till moving to hit him again? should ivan get up? be ready for a fight?

…no?

ivan is finding it difficult to parse what till’s asking. like everyone else? well, no. but not important. ]

Of course I’m different from the other children. Everyone knew that, even if it wasn’t the way that you, Sua and Mizi knew.

[ perhaps mizi least of all. ivan had thought sua and he were similar, but… ivan didn’t even have that, in the end.

ivan is hung up on those last few words: why it’s not the same. ]

…why what isn’t the same? We were never like Sua and Mizi, if that’s what you’re asking. I know that, too.