Ivan

The room plunged into a thick, suffocating silence. Ivan sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. The longing for Andrew was no longer just a feeling – it had turned into a physical, exhausting ache that filled every corner of his mind. His thoughts were tangled, and the ringing in his ears was so loud it felt tangible.

Suddenly, the air in the room grew cold. Ivan felt someone's presence disrupt his solitude. He slowly raised his gaze.

Right in front of him, materializing from the half-light and heavy shadows, stood something. Ivan froze, but not in fear. Standing before him was his own dark, slightly distorted hallucination. It completely mirrored his face, but possessed a disturbingly serene, deep gaze.

The apparition took a step forward. There was no threat in its movements – only a strange, hypnotic fluidity. They reached out a hand, pale fingers barely touching Ivan's cheek. The chill of this touch paradoxically brought relief, easing the throbbing pain in his temples.

In that moment, Ivan acutely felt how tired he was of the endless torment and how desperately he needed someone to understand him – as perfectly as he understood himself.

It gently yet insistently pressed down on Ivan's shoulders, drawing him backward. Ivan, who had always been distinguished by a hidden vanity and egocentrism, stared mesmerized into the eyes of his idealized, albeit dark, reflection. Seeing himself in this guise strong, taking control flattered his wounded ego. His internal resistance vanished completely. He madly enjoyed this absolute attention directed from himself toward himself.

Ivan obediently leaned back. The dark figures smoothly settled onto the bed, pulling him into the circle of their cold arms.

"I don't understand..."

Ivan muttered, biting the inside edge of his lip as they began to descend, touching his body in the most unexpected places. His gray cheeks flushed.

"I thought you only cared about the legacy... It's all a joke for you, isn't it?"

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