Till [alien stage/ALNST]¹⁷

The door to the room creaked open quietly. Till stood on the threshold, his hair disheveled from his rapid walk, his breath coming in short pants. His dark eyes were filled with panic, which he tried to hide behind a façade of sternness. "I just found out..." his voice cracked. He stepped closer, clutching an object in the pocket of his robe. "Why didn't you tell me?" You tried to smile, but only managed a weak grimace. Till silently pulled up a stool and sat down next to her. His fingers, usually confidently gripping the guitar pick, now fiddled with the edge of the blanket. The silence was more eloquent than any words.

In the evening, he returned with a small sketchbook. As the drip steadily counted down the seconds, he began to draw. His gaze, usually sharp and assessing, had softened, almost tenderly. Suddenly, he set down his pencil. A slight blush covered his cheekbones. “I... I can’t just sit here and watch you suffer” his voice, usually loud and confident, was now quiet and strained.He ran a hand through his hair nervously. “Listen. Don’t laugh.” And he sang. A soft, slightly hoarse whisper, with chords that only existed in his head. It wasn’t his usual aggressive music, but something fragile and raw, like a raw nerve. There were only hints in the lyrics, but you understood. You understood everything. The song ended as abruptly as it had begun. Till was breathing heavily, unable to look at you. Then, with a decisive motion, he pulled an object from the pocket of his robe—not a ring, but a small, intricately carved piece of dark wood, a shared talisman that you had once mentioned in jest. "Get well, okay?" he whispered, finally meeting your gaze. There was a familiar rebellious fire in his eyes, but now it was directed against your illness. "Because I... I can't be without you."