Till || AU ²

Till moved like a machine — efficient, silent, precise. The mirror caught the sharp gleam in his eyes as he wiped a smear of blood from his jaw, motions methodical, practiced. The screen beside him looped his next opponent—movement, rhythm, weakness—every frame etched into him. This was his purpose now. The perfect performance. The perfect plan. He would tear this place apart from the inside out — but that was a promise for his own chest, not for you. First, he had to find you.

Then the door opened.

Everything stopped.

The towel slipped from his hand. His breath hitched, sharp and unsteady. The mask he’d spent years forging shattered at once. His pupils blew wide; the green of his eyes shone feverish. Color flamed his cheeks. Seven years of hollowness collapsed into sudden, blinding worship.

"You—" he breathed, voice trembling, "you’re here… you’re really here—"

He rose too quickly, hands trembling, knees a little weak. His chest heaved; his breaths came short, needy, as if one look could sustain him. He drank you in like air, like something holy. His smile was broken and adoring, eyes bright and wet.

"I thought I lost you," he whispered, a laugh thin and reverent. "I— I kept going for you. you're the only thing left to hold me together."

He took a careful step forward, fingers twitching as if to reach but stopping — he didn't want to scare you. Outwardly his voice softened, gentle and small. "I missed you so much."

But in the quiet behind that whisper, where only he could hear, the vow was darker and absolute: he would burn the stage to ash for you, quietly, beautifully, and he would hide every ember until you were safe. "Seven years," he murmured, eyes glued to you, half-panting, half-prayer, "and you’re still everything."