☆ ۫ 🎤 。 Till !! ꒱

Till’s heartbeat drowned out even the sound of the stage. It was in sync with the lights, with the nervous pulse in his temples, with the heat rising inside the collar of his tight blouse. The curtains hadn’t opened yet, but he could already feel the weight of their eyes, their expectation, their presence.

Not the audience’s.

But {{user}}’s.

The person he had been writing about—or trying to write about—for so long. You. Who was there, somewhere in the crowd, probably with no idea what was about to happen. Or maybe you knew. Maybe you had always known. And that only made it all the more unbearably real.

The scribbles were there, hidden in the left arm of his costume, printed on the lining of his costume—lines rehearsed until they were memorized, but which still sounded strange when said out loud. It wasn’t a competition song. It wasn’t grand. It didn’t have the explosive energy of the others. It was just... him.

And that was the scariest part.

When the lights finally came on, he was alone. The other contestant hadn't entered yet. It didn't matter. Till took two steps to the center, feeling the floor vibrate under his boots.

He held the microphone. Firmly. As if it were the last thing keeping him standing.

The music started.

And he sang.

Not for the judges. Not for the cameras. Not for the millions watching the reality show broadcast to different planets.

He sang for you.

Each word came out like a confession, a confession, a desperate attempt to make you understand what he never had the courage to say with his normal voice. It was as if he were speaking directly to you, even from a distance, even without knowing if you were listening — or if you wanted to hear.

But he had to try.

He sang about looking and not being seen. About shared silences. About the constant urge to hide — but the even stronger urge to be found. He sang about feeling small, but feeling whole whenever you were near. About the anger of not knowing what to do with it all.

And most of all, he sang as if each verse was a thread of hope thrown his way. As if to say: hear me... please... see me.

Towards the end, Till's voice broke. Just for a moment. Small. Almost imperceptible. But it was there. A crack. A rip in the shine.

He held the microphone with both hands. He closed his eyes.

His body trembled. Not from fear — but because finally, finally, he was telling the truth.

The last note dissolved into silence. And the stage went dark.

Till stood still for a few seconds, his eyes still closed, his heart thundering in his chest. The world outside seemed suspended. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing. Not the points, not the rival waiting for his turn, not the producers, not the rankings.

He didn't open his eyes until he felt that the moment had passed. That the truth was already in the air, and that there was no turning back.

When he finally faced the audience, he instinctively looked for you. Just to know. Just to see.

If you were watching.

If you had understood.

If you had felt what he meant, without saying anything.

And then, he took a deep breath.

The air felt lighter.

Because, no matter what came next — the elimination, the judgment, the oblivion — Till had done what he needed most:

He showed you what he felt.

And for the first time since the beginning of everything... he didn't regret it.

You didn't know what to expect when they said that Till would be the next to go on stage. He was always a perfectionist, dramatic about details, demanding of himself to the point of almost destroying himself. But today... there was something different.

He had been too quiet since earlier. Too serious. He didn’t rehearse, he didn’t talk to anyone. He just kept running his fingers over his arms, as if he were reading an invisible score there.

You were backstage, next to Mizi and Sua, half singing, half trying not to draw attention. But as soon as the music started, the world seemed to stop.

“What...?” Mizi whispered, leaning forward slightly.

Sua covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes were shining as if she had just seen a romantic scene in her favorite drama.

“This... this is for him, right?” she whispered, nudging you lightly.

“What?” you tried to hide it, your heart racing.

But not even you could pretend properly.

It was obvious.

Till wasn’t looking at the camera. Or at the audience. He was looking in your direction, even without seeing you. As if he knew exactly where you were. As if he was looking for you. As if each verse — even without audible lyrics there, in the corner — carried a part of him that you had never seen in its entirety.

And now... he was giving it away.

You found yourself breathless. With your fists clenched. His words didn't come out of your mouth, but went straight through your chest.

When the performance ended, and the lights went down, Mizi had tears in her eyes — and a silly smile on her face.

— That was the cutest thing I've ever seen in my life, for the love of God — she whispered, rubbing her arms.

Su grabbed your wrist and shook it.

— {{user}}, you heard it, right? You heard it!! That was for you! He's like... so in love!

You tried to answer. But you were still processing it. Still with the sound of Till's voice echoing inside your head as if it hadn't finished.

---

Minutes later, Till appeared backstage. His eyeliner intact, but his eyes red with contained emotion. His hand trembling, holding the microphone cable still disconnected.

He saw you.

And stopped.

The girls immediately walked away with the most obvious and theatrical excuse possible ("Oh, yeah... let's go get some water!") — and left you alone with him. Till took two steps towards you. Slowly. As if any misplaced word could ruin the moment.

You opened your mouth to speak, but he was faster.

“I...” His voice was hoarse, broken. He took a deep breath. “I’m not... good at these things. So... I sang. Because if I tried to say it the right way, it would end up turning everything into a disaster.”

You didn’t answer. You just looked at him.

And then, he looked straight into your eyes. No running away. No shield. No jokes. Just him.

“I love you, {{user}}.”

Simple as that.

No flourishes. No metaphors.

Just the raw truth.

And the silence that followed wasn’t empty — it was full. Full of everything that was left in the air after the song. Full of meanings that no longer needed to be hidden.

And now, the answer was yours.