Chapter Text
Ivan was born with something different inside him.
It was something that set him apart from the other kids, and at a young age, it’s normal for attentive parents to notice something’s off and check with an expert, but he was immediately put up for adoption right after he was born. The people working at the orphanage didn’t care like a mom or dad would, “why should they, anyway?” Ivan thought. Still, they also noticed that something was wrong with him.
But that only meant Ivan would be a parasite until he reached adulthood and would never get adopted, basically, a burden.
Luckily, Ivan was a smart kid and understood his place quickly. One of his strengths was reading the room, but one of his flaws was not understanding others, or even himself. How was he supposed to act? He just did whatever he wanted, but apparently, nobody ever liked that.
Ivan was born with something different inside him, but one day, that something changed drastically. It seemed like the illness had gotten worse. The lethal stage, where you can only wait for death to knock on your door and finally take you. Where there’s no cure and your days are numbered.
That day was when he met Till.
Till was a new kid at the orphanage. One of the women in charge of taking care of the kids asked everyone something, secretly, without Till hearing.
“Kids, I want you to try to be his friends, he’s a pretty sensitive boy and he’s had a rough time, be kind!”
Ivan wasn’t good at making friends with anyone, and when he saw him, he just thought what he couldn’t help thinking when someone new arrived. “His fucking life sucks.” His vocabulary wasn’t very nice, he usually heard older kids and adults insult sometimes, so without knowing it was rude, he just started using that language. Anyway, wasn’t it kind of a nice thing to think? He was pitying his peers.
Till wasn’t very pretty. Ivan didn’t care how Till looked anyway. But it was new that this kid had such a weird hair color. His eyes also looked strange, but Ivan decided not to judge, since he had ugly eyes too.
It was also new that Till had chosen to go play with him instead of the other kids. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Ivan was alone and cornered, watching the others.
“Hi, what are you doing?” he asked. His hair was messy and fell over his forehead, one hand was at his side, clenched in a fist, and the other clenched over his shirt, and with a shy expression, he smiled.
“Nothing, or can’t you tell?” He didn’t try to be rude, he genuinely asked, but the other kid frowned, though just for a microsecond, then went back to being shy.
“Do you want to play with me?” He asked again, but his tone changed. Now it was more confident and firm, too much for a six-year-old.
“Okay.”
Then, someone’s funeral was taking place. The women wore black dresses, all below the knee, and the men wore suits of the same color, all keeping a genuinely sad expression. A light, soft drizzle started falling and it became impossible to tell the raindrops from the tears.
Maybe that won’t be Ivan’s funeral, and the little boy even doubts he’ll have one, but he imagines that if there’s a wake, no one will show up. Though he’s not sure, what he is sure about is that he will die too.
Till was a kid different from the others.
Over the years, it was a recurring thought in Ivan’s mind: “what would someone think about all this?” Many might think Till was different because Ivan couldn’t understand him, but on the contrary, Till became different from the others because Ivan managed to understand Till’s emotions, maybe because they were so obvious. He had always been an open book, and since they were little, Ivan had only one person he had understood, someone he had tried hard to get. “Why does he feel like that?” “Was it because I did this or that?” “Why does he overreact so much?” Those were questions he kept asking himself as a kid. But quickly, he learned to answer them on his own.
The other people Ivan “understood” were simply because he had become an expert, but it wasn’t intentional, because the others didn’t matter.
Till was a stupid kid, and what Ivan calls “a person who thinks with their heart but never reasons,” Ivan used to bother him and do gross stuff in front of him, just to see how he’d react this time. Like he was experimenting, satisfying his doubts.
Then he’d regret it, because Till wouldn’t want to talk to him, but later Till would see the black-haired boy alone, with no one else around, and his heart would soften, so he’d go back to him.
And the cycle repeated.
Till wasn’t a very well-behaved kid, and over time, Ivan learned to thank God for that. If he’d been a nicer kid, maybe someone would’ve taken him away. But apparently, no one wanted to go home with Till, which was fine for Ivan, even though later he felt selfish when he saw Till crying in secret. But empathy was still an abstract concept for him, and if Till played with him the next day, why worry?
But then, things got more complicated.
When they were nine, a girl their age was brought to the orphanage. Mizi was beautiful. Ivan couldn’t pity her when he saw her, because he knew someone would want her as their daughter, and even more so with her personality, unlike him, she attracted others like a magnet. Still, Ivan wasn’t jealous.
The girl used to look at him through her round glasses and smile. Ivan started smiling back after a while, and although Mizi was friends with everyone there, she didn’t get along very well with the boys, not because of them, but because she didn’t like them. So officially, Ivan was the only boy she had called a “friend.” Sua didn’t like having to share some moments with the creep of Ivan, but Ivan thought Sua was funny, so Mizi simply forced them to get along, even if one of them didn’t want to.
The problem was that Till started getting complicated, after all this time of being a simple person.
And since Ivan’s talent for “reading the room” had turned into “reading Till,” he knew right away that Till was in love with Mizi. Even though he had never seen anything like it, and knew it was impossible for Till to feel about Mizi what Ivan felt for Till, it was something that could be compared. That thought made him grind his teeth.
Everything fell apart for him when Till was gone.
At twelve, Till just packed his things and said he was leaving, though the only person he truly said goodbye to was Mizi. Ivan didn’t want to get close either; he felt betrayed. “I’m a selfish person,” he concluded.
Ivan’s illness was cured.
The treatment had lasted a couple of months, but Ivan was a fast learner. He became the perfect kid to leave the pigsty he had never needed to leave until that moment. He managed to find the perfect family, who coincidentally lived in the perfect place for him. So he had to charm them and leave right away.
But not before stealing a couple of documents, skillfully, with the help of Mizi, who supported him unconditionally, and Sua, who supported Mizi unconditionally. He did it.
Because Till couldn’t leave so fast, without leaving a single trace, it was impossible.
Ivan would remember him for the rest of his days, until he saw him again, though not much time would pass after that.
Ivan had been a burden forever.
The moment Till saw Ivan, his legs gave out. The first thing he did was cry, but he quickly wiped his tears. It was the first day of school after all.
He ran as fast as he could toward him, but in response, he only got a tease.
Ivan’s crooked fangs were the only imperfection of that boy, and since he was beautiful, it wasn’t even considered a flaw, just a distinction. Till hated him. How jealous he was.
“What the hell are you laughing at, idiot?” he asked, his throat tight. “How did you get here? No… did you… get adopted? When? I’m so happy, I can’t believe it…” and before he could go on, he was interrupted.
“You’re pretty sensitive for a boy, Till.” Ivan’s out-of-place comments were awful, and they were always there. Till never showed him affection like that again, and soon started seeing him like one of the others.
Well, if it wasn’t for Ivan not letting him. Since he was always there, bothering him, but standing out at the same time.
Ivan had become a total jock, and now, he was popular. Who would believe it? That was testing Till’s patience. Still, there was something of that little boy left in Ivan, because even though he was known by everyone, he was alone. And as if living a déjà vu, he just went to Ivan and invited him to hang out together.
“Isn’t this what’s supposed to happen when you reunite with a childhood friend?” Till thought.
Even though Ivan had changed, he was nicer, obviously, he was still a weirdo next to him, but the difference was that he knew how to deal with others. “Good for him.”
It didn’t take long before people found it weird that someone like Ivan was with Till, and he really didn’t want to bother Ivan, so he just stopped going near him. But if Ivan came to him, why push him away?
Well, he’s a weirdo, you always have to push him away.
“It hurts, idiot!” Till exclaimed with a pained expression. Ivan had carelessly pressed on a freshly made wound on his knee. It wasn’t very serious, he had just fallen and it bled a little, but still, it stung.
“You weren’t listening, what planet are you on?” Ivan ignored him while looking at his fingers, a little of someone else’s blood on them. He was just waiting for the perfect moment for Till to stop looking so he could take that blood to his mouth. “Delicious.”
“I’m going to the nurse to treat the wound.”
“Huh? No, don’t do it. I have to train in ten minutes,” Ivan explained, with a neutral but relaxed expression on his face.
“Okay, so?” Till encouraged him. “Why the hell should I care about his training?” he thought. Well, it’s not like he didn’t care, but it had nothing to do with this.
“You have to come with me. Getting to the nurse will slow me down, so you can’t go, stay here and don’t be a wimp,” he demanded with the same expression as before, which made Till frown and look completely perplexed. Someone like that was really popular? He was nothing more than a person who didn’t get along with the rest and didn’t care about anything but himself. Something so hurtful, and he said it like it was nothing.
“Fuck you, you can go by yourself.”
“The way you speak is so indecent. I love it, I adore it. Say more,” praised the taller one as he moved dangerously closer to Till, trying to hug him. Suddenly, the other one punched him in the stomach to push him away, which made him double over in pain.
“Well, fuck!”
“Stay away from me, freak,” he demanded.
Ivan laughed, even though it was still hard to breathe. The pain was real, but he didn’t seem to care. No matter how many times Till rejected him, he always came back looking for him, like there was some invisible thread that kept him tied to him.
“That was adorable.”
Till looked at him with disgust, his forehead wrinkled and his lips pressed tight. He wished Ivan would feel humiliated, that for once he’d stop smiling in that unbearable way, like everything Till did only fed a fire that never went out.
“Don’t you get that I don’t want to be near you? It’s always the same, you talk too much. And I’m not a kid anymore.”
“And what are you now?” Ivan shot back, slowly straightening up with that crooked smile that never went away. His crooked fangs flashed for a second under the light coming through the window, and his red pupils looked terrifying. “A man? Don’t make me laugh.”
The punch in his stomach became irrelevant when he took another step, closing the distance again. Till stepped back, but Ivan followed, cornering him against the wall.
“Alright, enough. Come on, I’ve got practice,” he suddenly said, like nothing had happened, with that natural ease he always had for changing the subject at the most awkward moment.
Till blinked, dazed, like he hadn’t understood what he said. “Practice?” His heart was still racing, but Ivan seemed completely unaware.
“Practice?” he repeated, incredulous.
“Yeah, what else? Or did you think I was gonna stay here wasting time with you, going to the nurse for such a little wound?” he answered with a half-smile, like he hadn’t just cornered him against the wall seconds earlier. “Come on.”
There was no room to argue. Ivan had already turned around, walking with long, confident steps, and Till, against his will, ended up following him, frowning and with his hands still tense.
The football field was full of boys running, laughing, warming up, some bumping shoulders in dumb jokes that Till always thought were way too stupid. The sun beat down on everyone, and the coach’s whistles echoed, mixing with the heavy footsteps on the grass.
Ivan took off his jacket carelessly, throwing it over a bench, left only in the tight shirt of the sports uniform. Till barely managed to sit in the bleachers, looking for a spot away from everyone, when he saw him blend in with the rest like he had always belonged there.
“Gross.”
He pulled out his sketchbook almost out of reflex, not because he wanted to draw, but because it was the only thing that helped him shut out the noise. His pencil slid without much thought, making automatic lines while he looked sideways. But soon it wasn’t just sideways.
Ivan was in the middle of the group, talking with others, and even though his smile was still just as annoying, it had changed. It wasn’t that cynical smile from the orphanage, that crooked smirk that looked like he was mocking everyone; now it seemed more confident, more real. Ironically, that was his fake smile, after all, Ivan’s nature was creepy.
Till thought about how strange it was to see him like that, surrounded by people who, instead of pushing him away, actually sought him out.
At the orphanage, Till had been taller. He remembered it well: when they were eight, nine, ten years old, Ivan looked up at him a little, like he was just a rebellious kid. When did that change? When did that figure he had always kept under control grow so much, until it became imposing? Now he was the one who had to raise his chin to look at him, and it made him furious, even if he didn’t want to admit it.
Muscular. Yeah, that was the word. Ivan wasn’t the skinny, pale boy who kept to the corners anymore. His body spoke for him, and everyone seemed to listen. Broad shoulders, arms tense when he moved, strong legs while he ran across the field. And his eyes. Those black, intense eyes, that always seemed to look too much, like they could uncover whatever was hidden.
Till wrinkled his nose. He should feel disgusted. Yeah, disgusted. It was Ivan, after all, the same weird, annoying, unbearable guy as always. The one who didn’t understand limits. The same one that, in theory, he was supposed to hate.
But then he saw him stop for a second, bend forward with his hands on his knees, sweat running down his forehead and sliding down his neck until it disappeared under his shirt, and Till looked away immediately, stomach twisting.
He forced himself to focus on the sketchbook, to let his pencil draw anything. Lines, shadows, smudges. But when he lowered his eyes and saw what he had drawn, he froze.
He hadn’t thought it, he hadn’t planned it, but there it was: the broad outline, the curved shoulders, even the crooked smile he hated so much. His hand trembled a little over the paper, and without thinking twice, he slashed over the drawing with violent lines, scribbling until nothing was left but a black stain on the page.
No. He wasn’t going to get lost in that.
He flipped the page quickly, like erasing the last one could erase what he had just felt too, and started to draw something else, anything.
But out of the corner of his eye, he stopped blinking again just to get one more second of visual delight. And he cursed silently.
But Ivan was smarter than that.
In the middle of practice, while running across the field with his helmet under his arm, he allowed himself a brief smile, invisible to the others. He didn’t say anything in the moment, it wasn’t the place. But the certainty was already there.
When practice ended, the players scattered among jokes and laughter, splashing water and laughing at clumsy plays. Ivan, drenched in sweat and with his shirt sticking to his body, discreetly looked for Till in the bleachers. He found him there, hunched over his notebook, as if refusing to exist outside of that small paper space.
Ivan walked up slowly, not with the intent to surprise him, but to savor the contrast: his world of noise, strength, and movement against Till’s meticulous silence. He stopped in front of him, casting a shadow over the notebook.
“How did I do?” he asked lightly, as if he hadn’t been waiting for that moment the whole time.
Till looked up, annoyed. He wanted to answer coldly, with one of those sharp remarks he always had ready for him, but something stuck in his throat. He had been watching for too long to fake indifference.
Ivan tilted his head, leaning in a little closer, and that smile appeared again, the one that irritated Till so much and, at the same time, disarmed him.
“Tell me, anything interesting?”
Till snapped the notebook shut, the sound sharp in the air. His ears burned, though he tried to hide it with a scoff.
“None of your business.”
“None of my business?” Ivan adjusted the towel on his neck, never taking his eyes off him. “Kind of cruel.”
The words lingered, heavy, as the sun beat down on them both. Till lowered his gaze, biting his lip.
Ivan wished his happiness with Till would last forever. Just the two of them, together. That way, nothing else mattered.
But the universe has very funny ways of spitting in his face.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” Till exclaimed with a smile and his cheeks slightly flushed, standing out against his pale skin. “This is incredible, what are the chances?”
“I know! Right? It’s awesome, I missed you all so much…”
The rest of the conversation was just a drilling murmur, one of Ivan’s many kryptonites.
It wasn’t that he was upset, it was just a kind of mess in the perfect peace he had worked so hard to build. It was insanely irritating that after all that effort, everything could just go to nothing. Honestly, if anyone else were in his place, they would’ve already lost whatever sanity they had left, so Ivan was grateful to be the way he was. Patient, and smart, very smart.
Mizi also had to be thankful that Ivan had some kind of fondness for her.
It wasn’t really her fault, right? She didn’t know, there was no way. And even if she had known, what would’ve been the problem? It was all his fault and his head’s fault, that’s because he was sick.
The blood he had tasted just a month ago still lingered on his tongue, and he was scared of forgetting what it tasted like. He didn’t really like the taste of blood, it wasn’t disgusting either, but it gave him a strange sense of closeness that made his heart feel warm, so he thought it wasn’t completely bad.
Either way, Mizi and Till weren’t that close. Mizi had been quickly welcomed by everyone, and unlike him, she actually cared about making friends. And even though she considered Till one of them, her interactions with him were stupid, Ivan didn’t need to be there to know that Till couldn’t put a sentence together properly, he knew him too well.
Even so, he couldn’t stop feeling a little farther from him. But he couldn’t expect to have Till all to himself, no matter how much he liked it, and even less to push others away from Till and try to be his only friend. No way.
He just had to try harder. That’s why he got closer, dangerously close. Even closer.
The first thing Ivan did after leaving class was run straight to Till’s. “Don’t you wanna come to my place today?” he asked while catching his breath.
Till looked at him carefully and then his gaze dropped to the floor.
“Would that be okay?” he said almost in a whisper.
“Perfect,” Ivan thought. He knew that was something Till couldn’t say no to. Surprisingly, ever since they had met, by coincidence or not, Till always said yes whenever Ivan invited him out. At first he thought it was because the guy had no friends, which was true, but it didn’t take long to figure out that his foster family wasn’t really that great either.
And this might sound a little sadistic, but Ivan had never done anything to make him feel better. The only thing he could do was make sure Till had something else to do after class so he wouldn’t have to go home, which only happened every now and then because Ivan was always “busy.”
But Till’s face when he heard Ivan’s voice telling him they should hang out after class was priceless.
The dark-haired boy felt a little bad realizing that only now he had dropped everything he had to do to get Till out of his hell for a bit, and only because he felt like the other’s attention toward him had been stolen. But he’s messed up anyway so it’s kind of justifiable, it is what it is.
It was pretty good that his foster parents were never home anyway.
“Of course,” he nodded. “You can even stay over.”
The rest of the afternoon unfolded before them like a silent promise. Ivan walked beside Till with a light step, almost carefree, though inside he felt a pressure rising in his chest and heating up his head. He glanced at him from time to time, noticing how low he kept his gaze, how he dragged his feet a little. There was something in that vulnerability that filled him with a satisfaction hard to describe, a small reminder that Till did not escape from him, even if he tried.
Ivan silently thanked not running into Mizi before leaving the Institute, because that would have been very inconvenient. He did not want witnesses, he did not want interruptions, and much less for Till to find in her an excuse to slip away. That afternoon was his, only his, and the thought churned in his gut with a sickly sweetness.
Till, on the other hand, walked in silence. He pretended that everything was fine, as always, but Ivan knew those restless hands that slipped into his pockets and pressed against the fabric. He knew the silence he used to hide what he was thinking.
Ivan knew that typical discomfort when Till was embarrassed. It was different from how it was with Mizi; unlike when he was with her, he did not try to talk uselessly or stutter, but simply looked away and stayed quiet. Probably because they were different kinds of embarrassment. Till was simply grateful and at the same time embarrassed that Ivan was so “kind” to him, knowing how things were at home.
Turning the corner, Ivan’s house appeared before them. Ivan’s house was big and quite luxurious. “Lucky idiot,” thought Till, even though he had already been there, though only once.
Ivan took out the keys and opened the door, pushing it open with a theatrical gesture as if he were inviting him into a palace.
“After you,” he said, with a smile.
Till hesitated only for a second before stepping inside. And that second, that moment of hesitation, Ivan treasured as if it had been a gift.
The inside smelled of cleaning product, and Till wrinkled his nose. There was a thick silence that contrasted with the bustle they had left behind on the street. Ivan closed the door behind them and let his backpack drop to the floor, watching him with that unsettling calm that characterized him.
“Make yourself at home,” he said, although in reality the only thing he wanted was to watch how Till moved in his space, how he fit into it, how the place became different just by having him there.
This was the second time Till had entered his house, but today he had made sure that nothing could give him away, not like the previous time, which he certainly preferred not to remember.
Till was embarrassed and shy, but quickly grew comfortable, it was Ivan after all, and the first thing he did was go straight to Ivan’s room without needing guidance. The other felt a pressure in his heart and smiled, then followed him like a loyal dog.
The afternoon, however, did not go as Ivan expected.
For some time now, he had noticed that Till was not the same as always (because of Mizi’s arrival, perhaps?). He did not want to jump to rash conclusions, but their friendship, which although Ivan always pushed the limits with jokes, had been quite comfortable and looked normal. But now, it always seemed like there was something more.
Ivan liked the idea of someone looking at them from the outside and thinking they were hopelessly in love, which was true but only partially, so he had not bothered to fix it. But he knew it was not something like that, it had a worse meaning.
He had given everything to be close to him, even as friends, and even so, everything was falling apart, he had to fix it.
Now, the silence between them was so dense it seemed to have weight. Till was sitting on the edge of the bed. Ivan, standing by the window, watched how the sunset light dyed the walls an orange tone.
Everything seemed frozen, as if even the air was waiting for something.
“Why don’t you look at me?” asked Ivan without turning.
Till barely lifted his head, confused by the tone in his voice.
“Because I have nothing to say to you.”
“You never have anything to say, huh?”
Ivan turned slowly, and their eyes met. Till held the gaze for a second, but it was enough for Ivan to feel that small tremor running through his fingers, the same one that always appeared before doing something stupid.
He walked toward him. Each step seemed louder than it really was, echoing on the shiny wooden floor of Ivan’s room. Till did not move, although his body tensed as if expecting something.
“Why did you come?”
“Because you asked,” Till replied.
“Yes, but you could have said no. You could always say no.”
Ivan smiled without joy. There was something in the way Till spoke that disarmed him. Was it okay to take advantage of Till even knowing the reason and pretend that maybe there was something more? He always pretended there was something more.
He stopped just a step away from him.
“You always say you don’t want to be near me,” he murmured, leaning in a little. “But you never go away.”
Till looked up at him from below, with that mix of annoyance and restraint. In that instant, Ivan thought he could spend hours just watching that: the slight tremor in Till’s jaw, the air he held back, the tiny gesture of his hands wanting to close into fists.
“We’re friends, but you’re annoying. It’s inevitable that we clash like this.”
“Of course it is,” Ivan replied almost under his breath.
The silence filled everything again. Only the sound of the clock in the kitchen, the wind against the blinds. Till looked away, but did not get up.
That was his first surrender.
Ivan wanted to speak, but something in Till changed before he could. It was an almost imperceptible gesture: his hand, which rested on his own thigh, slid forward until it brushed the fabric of Ivan’s pants. It was not intentional, or maybe it was, but it was enough.
Ivan froze. His whole body seemed to stop with that minimal contact, and the whole world shrank to the distance between that hand and him.
There it was. That gesture.
Ivan bet everything.
The bond he had formed with Till and all the years it had cost him, the great reunion he had longed for and had finally achieved, that closeness he could enjoy.
He had never let himself be dominated by lust, until two years ago perhaps he would not even have thought of something like this, but teenagers are like that, and although Ivan was completely different from everyone, his illness implied something like this, because how could he not want to be in that way with the person he longed for in every way?
At first, it was not about lust either, it was not about sex. He simply liked the idea of being close to Till, so close to him, literally inside him. That sounded wonderful. Then he started to think that he could go in and out as much as he wanted, taste every inch of his skin with kisses and bites, make him bleed even. Sooner or later it turned into lust.
It was what it was.
He grabbed Till by the collar of his shirt and lifted him effortlessly, quickly silencing any protest with a kiss.
He could swear that this sensation was worthy of everything he had suffered and that he could bet even more for just five more seconds of those lips.
To his surprise, it was more than five seconds, ten maybe? Something like that.
To Ivan’s surprise, Till’s lips were not as inexperienced as they seemed. Well, it’s not like he could check, since he himself was inexperienced, obviously it would be unthinkable that he would be with another boy who was not Till, but something in him told him that Till had already had some previous experience. He did not want to dig, but that distracted him enough to stop pressing Till’s lips against his own, which finally made the other pull away.
“What the hell?”
“I’m sorry.” The words came out faster than expected, as if he spat them out.
“No. It’s fine, but why?”
Ivan was not sure he had heard right. “It’s fine”? What did Till mean by “it’s fine”? Was it fine to do that? Because if so…
“Hey, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.” He apologized again. The two of them were close, very close, and he could see how Till was trying to get even closer. He was paralyzed.
The difference in height was nothing out of the ordinary, but if they were so close, it was noticeable. The surprising thing was that Ivan noticed that Till was raising his eyes but not his head on purpose, and his eyes looked even more innocent, but why did nothing in that action seem like it?
“Hey. It’s okay, don’t apologize. You don’t have to stop.”
That was a strong blow, a very strong one in the head, he could feel the blood gushing out, he was even being lobotomized. All that at once. Figuratively, of course.
Nothing about that felt right, he could not allow himself to fully enjoy it because the image he had of Till would never, in his right mind, have said something like that or reacted that way, nor would he have looked at him like that. Something was very wrong.
But he had already thrown everything to hell and had taken advantage of Till too much not to keep doing it, he would have time to dwell on it later.
He pushed him violently onto the bed and pressed their bodies together again, and along with them, their lips.
He had bet everything for a very worthless prize, and for someone who is sick that is quite risky.
Ivan sometimes thinks he should appreciate his life more before dying. Many times he hears stories of people who are sick and already know they are going to die, so they travel all over the world and do things like that. He would like to do something similar. Live as best he can because he already knows he is going to die, and although he would let his illness kill him, it would be nice to be selfish and think about himself for once.
He also thinks he would like to be cured. But they have not yet found some kind of antidote, anyway, if there were one, Ivan would let himself be consumed more quickly by that illness so he would die fast and would not be forced to take that antidote. He knew himself too well.
For someone sick, he did not value his life much.