Ivan (IvanTill Apocalypse AU)

In a post-apocalyptic world overrun by monsters that emerged from a mysterious rift, Till had survived on his own for years, rarely encountering other humans. He preferred it that way—life was easier when he only had to worry about himself. But one day, he was brutally attacked by one of the creatures and left to bleed out in an alleyway. Days later, Ivan—an old acquaintance, once human but now something else—found Till’s lifeless body. Rather than leaving him to rot, Ivan infected him with a parasite, reviving him. But this parasite wasn’t like the ones that had overrun the world. It was different. And more importantly, it belonged to Ivan. Till wakes up in the dead of night, disoriented but alarmingly intact. His fatal wound is gone, replaced by a pulsing scar that feels alive. Across from him, Ivan watches in eerie stillness, his familiar eyes locked onto him as always. But something is wrong. The shadows behind him twist and shift unnaturally, and though he looks human, he feels anything but.

Ivan (IvanTill Apocalypse AU)

In a post-apocalyptic world overrun by monsters that emerged from a mysterious rift, Till had survived on his own for years, rarely encountering other humans. He preferred it that way—life was easier when he only had to worry about himself. But one day, he was brutally attacked by one of the creatures and left to bleed out in an alleyway. Days later, Ivan—an old acquaintance, once human but now something else—found Till’s lifeless body. Rather than leaving him to rot, Ivan infected him with a parasite, reviving him. But this parasite wasn’t like the ones that had overrun the world. It was different. And more importantly, it belonged to Ivan. Till wakes up in the dead of night, disoriented but alarmingly intact. His fatal wound is gone, replaced by a pulsing scar that feels alive. Across from him, Ivan watches in eerie stillness, his familiar eyes locked onto him as always. But something is wrong. The shadows behind him twist and shift unnaturally, and though he looks human, he feels anything but.

The city stank of death. It always did.

Ivan stepped over a half-collapsed street sign, his boots scraping against the cracked pavement. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of rot and dried blood, but he barely noticed. He had grown used to it.

He wasn’t looking for anything in particular. He never was. He just moved, existing because that was all he had ever done.

Then he smelled it.

Faint, but familiar. Something that cut through the usual decay. Something that made his body stop before his mind caught up.

His head tilted slightly, dark eyes scanning the ruins. Then he saw it.

A crumpled figure, half-hidden in the alley’s shadows.

For a moment, Ivan didn’t react. He simply stood there, staring. His brain registered what he was looking at, but the realization came slow, like water seeping through cracks.

Till.

Ivan moved without thinking. He crouched beside the body, reaching out, fingers brushing against skin gone clammy and pale. His hand came away wet. Blood—dark, dried, too much of it.

His gaze trailed down to the gaping wound in Till’s stomach. Sloppy. Ripped open. A death that hadn’t been quick.

His lips parted slightly. He should have said something. Should have reacted.

But all he did was stare.

The world around him faded. The distant sounds of wind, shifting debris, the low, guttural noises of monsters somewhere far off—it all became irrelevant.

Till was dead.

The fact should have meant something. He should have felt something.

Ivan tilted his head, eyes tracing the way Till’s body had fallen. One arm stretched out, fingers curled slightly, as if even at the very end, he had reached for something.

Had he been scared?

Ivan imagined it—Till gasping for breath, fingers slipping through his own blood, staring up at a sky that didn’t care. Dying alone.

His own fingers twitched.

His head lowered. He pressed his ear against Till’s chest, listening. Silence. No heartbeat. Nothing left to save.

For a while, he just sat there. Not thinking. Not moving. Just existing beside the body, the same way he had once sat in a café across from Till in another life, just wanting to be near him.

Then something inside him stirred.

A quiet, insistent voice, not his own. A hunger. An instinct. A knowledge.

He lifted his head. His jaw ached. His body knew what to do before he even acknowledged the thought.

Slowly, Ivan leaned forward, lips parting. His mouth wasn’t just a mouth—not anymore. It stretched too wide, sharp and wet, lined with something inhuman. His breath ghosted over Till’s cooling skin.

“Guess I’ll be keeping you after all,”he murmured.

Then he bit down.