The life path numbers:

Ivan 7 (14.02.)
Till 9 (21.06.)
Luka 8 (23.12.)
Hyuna 5 (05.09.)
Mizi 1 (20.08.)
Sua 7 (22.12)

((Do you know your life path number? Actually you have to count your birth year too. But well - 7 sounds very fitting for Ivan.
Till is a 9 and it's also very fitting to his character.

Here is a summary what kind of relationship a 7 and a 9 could have)
well...)

And Till couldn’t do anything except stare at the fake scene unfolding right in front of him.

“…but I care.”

- End

Till stood in the back, unmoving, almost like a statue, while Ivan slipped back into his cheerful role—greeting Mizi, Sua, and the others.

Ivan picked up his book from the floor and started chatting, laughing, blending in.

<UnknownEnd_: It is worth it. — 1:29 a.m.

<post couldn’t be sent>

<post deleted>
---

The classroom slowly filled with students.

<UnknownEnd_: Wtf

No

<UnknownEnd_: r u ok?!

No

<UnknownEnd_: Wanna talk?

No

1:27 a.m.
Till’s fingers trembled as he started typing.
From anger? From fear? He couldn’t tell.

But when he clicked it, his stomach dropped.

It felt like his lungs were being ripped open with shards of glass. His pulse was racing, his heartbeat loud in his ears—so loud it almost hurt.

---
Till was lying on his bed, listening to a new album from one of his favorite bands.

It was 1:27 a.m. when a notification banner popped up:

<_Parasite: new post>

“How… can you say that? This… isn’t you—”

“You don’t know anything about me, Till. Because you don’t want to see me. Because you don’t care.”

He looked to the side, as if it physically hurt to look at Till, who was still holding him there.
And Till felt like something inside him twisted—like all his organs were being knotted into one tight, painful ball.

“Since when do you care, Till?” Ivan’s voice was too calm—cold. It wasn’t familiar. This wasn’t how Ivan usually spoke to Till. Or to anyone.
“It doesn’t matter what I write or what I delete.” Ivan's eyes drifted away.

“You do it every fucking time! You post something on Qitter and delete it right after!”

“…Let go, Till.” Ivan’s expression was calm, but tense. His left temple started to throb—painful, but bearable.

“What did you mean with that ‘sometimes I question myself if this is all worth it’ shit?!”

“You think just because you deleted it that I didn’t see it?!”
Ivan flinched.

“I still don’t know—”
“DON’T BULLSHIT ME!”

Till grabbed Ivan by the collar and pulled him halfway out of his seat. The chair screeched across the floor as Ivan gripped the edge of the table.

Ivan’s brows twitched slightly—maybe Till didn’t notice it. Till could be a bit… dense. Or too blind to see those things.
But this time, Till didn’t seem blind at all.

“What do you mean?” Ivan was genuinely clueless this time. He didn’t like being yelled at.

Ivan looked calm, as usual, when he lifted his gaze to Till.
“Good morning, Till.”

Till looked pissed, as usual.
“Don’t fucking ‘good morning’ me! What did you mean?!”