Chapter Text
Ivan has nothing.
He’s not like the sky, which has the rain, or the sun, with her clouds and birds to keep it company. He’s not like the sea, which has the wind, and the waves, and the bay by its side. He’s not even like the other kids, who laugh, and sing, and play like nothing’s wrong.
Could none of them see the abyss?
He watches a tied loop of red flowers fly past him, landing in the grass by his feet. A similar necklace rests in the palm of his hand. He tilts his head at them before deciding he hates them; they’re too red. So, he steps on them.
Ivan has nothing.
Except one thing.
“You BASTARD!”
A palm shoves at his face and a forceful kick knocks him to the ground.
He doesn’t have time to react before a scrawny boy crawls on top of him and punches him as hard as he can.
“That’s my ticket in, you idiot!” The boy screams, throwing another heavy-handed punch. Thin as he was, it felt like his fists were pumped full of iron. “How am I supposed to see her now?!”
But those flowers. . .
A crowd forms around them, gasping as Ivan shoves the kid off himself and stares at him for a moment, a wicked grin on his lips. Then, Ivan jumps at him, bringing his balled fist in a furious arch toward his temple.
Ivan rains his fists down and hits the boy beneath him until he feels wet, slimy arms encircle his middle, and the aliens lift him up high in the air before making off with him.
The scrawny boy is left on the ground at the scene, face wrecked and covered in scratches and blooming purple bruises.
Those flowers have cameras. . .
[scene break]
Ivan is taken to the roof.
He doesn’t feel one way or another about this place.
Sometimes the aliens fuck him up, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes the stars are out, sometimes they aren’t. Ivan thinks that’s good. He thinks good things should always be balanced out with bad things. He thinks that if there’s too much good and not enough bad, then something must be done to create more bad.
Unbalance is dangerous; there must always be balance.
The abyss, however, is always there.
And there’s no amount of good in the universe that can counteract it.
So Ivan tries to be good.
He’s compliant as the aliens toss him around tonight, howling and screeching and jumping and spitting and chewing and suddenly Ivan is being lifted into the air, thrust out over the ledge of the roof.
He’s being good, he thinks as his neck lolls and is brought face-to-face with the night sky. He’s being good, he is, he hasn’t even cried yet. Being good because there’s too much bad.
Ivan doesn’t fight. He simply hangs, suspended miles above the ground as the city below him moves on in perfect harmony, blissfully unaware of the horrors right under their noses.
So much bad.
He has to be good. He has to- has to be good.
Ivan has nothing.
But he has one thing.
As he stares at the sky above him, a silver light flashes across the sky, blinking in and out of existence like it took one look at the state of this planet and decided it didn't want to see it anymore.
Ivan thinks that’s typical. What would he do if he were a star?
But as his fascination dwindles, as the aliens shake his limp body again and again, he sees another silver light. Quick and then gone, just like the last. But just then he sees another and another and another, and suddenly the entire night’s sky is covered in rays of silver stars, and Ivan feels the need to be good flow from him, even if only momentarily.
These stars, this astral display of magnificence, spark something hot and fiery in the pit of Ivan’s stomach.
Free.
The stars, they-- they look so free.
As did another such star. One that is very much real and tangible and close.
Ivan’s eyes widen and his vision tints slightly red.
That boy. . . these stars. . . they are so, so alike.
Ivan likes them.
He wonders, briefly, if they are bad or good things.
He finds himself desperately hoping them to be good things.
Because he’s just too tired of trying to be a good thing.