Even though he was awake, Yao had the strange, unshakable feeling that he was dreaming.

The house was unnaturally silent, so quiet that Yao could even hear the tired thumps of his heart. The curtains were drawn closed, and Yao could only sit motionless in the dark wondering if he'd wake up any moment now to find that the last twenty-four hours were all just a long, vivid nightmare.

None of this felt real — he didn't feel real.

Viktor was gone, and all that was left for Yao was this cold, empty house.

He flopped down to lie on his side on the couch.

"He'll text me," Yao said, just to hear his own voice. He cringed at the sound of it. "He'll text me soon and it'll all go back to normal, just like it always does."

He heard a metallic shudder nearby, and realised that the canary was fluttering around anxiously in its cage. Yao groggily sat up and found the canary staring at him through the cage, its little eyes regarding him as if waiting for something. It struck Yao that it probably hadn't left the cage very much at all lately. He got up and opened the cage door.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Yao said faintly. "I must be like a stranger to you."

The canary barely moved.

"Go on, Bǎobèi," Yao sighed. He left the cage door open and flopped back onto the couch, feeling tired to the bone. His stomach growled but he didn't want to eat. He couldn't even care to open the curtains and let some daylight in. He didn't want to do anything but wait.

Time always passed by painfully slow in this limbo between Viktor's rage and Ivan's grace.

He's probably at work, Yao thought. But by five or six he'll surely call me. Or should I call him?

Yao's fingers itched, and with a knot in his stomach he grabbed his phone and called Ivan's number. His body trembled with the nervous pounding of his heart. Ring, after ring, after ring…

He shut the phone. It was too early anyway.

He would try again later.

Yao sat back at the couch, watching the canary fidget and edge towards the cage door but never leaving. Everything was so still, and awfully familiar of his days before Ivan, and in that silence Yao felt an unusual discomfort — as if he was being watched, as if there was someone else in the room. He kept glancing at shadowy corners, paranoid that each time he looked he might find something there. But there shouldn't be, right? It was just Yao, and the canary, and no one else.

His fingers itched to do something again, so he stood up and paced around. The violin looked embarrassingly dusty and untouched in the corner of the room, and Yao felt irritated just looking at it. It was like some stranger had left their belongings in Yao's home. This was not him anymore.

He picked up the violin, and decided that he'd just put it away and clean it later. The music room would do.

As he set the violin down in the corner of the music room — which looked equally as dusty, and smelled stale — he noticed a notebook lying open on one of the chairs. It wasn't Yao's, and in picking it up he saw the little homework assignments he'd written in for Jia Long. It felt like looking at someone else's handwriting entirely; he couldn't imagine himself being so put-together anymore.

"Ugh, Jia Long… What am I supposed to do with you?" he muttered, noticing the last entry date. Almost two months ago. The last time he'd spoken to Jia Long, he'd been —

Something clattered in the next room. Faint, almost like something scratching the floorboards.

Yao froze, waiting for that sound again.

Silence.

It must have been something outside.

He shut the notebook closed and had the sudden idea to call Jia Long. Get the notebook back to him, maybe see if he was continuing on with his lessons after all. Yes, Yao thought, I'll ask him what's been going on lately, too, since he was acting strange last time…

Yao went back to the living room and picked up the phone, a tremor in his fingers. The phone rang once, twice… He waited and thought to hang up when a woman's voice picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, so sorry to bother you. It's Wang Yao, Jia Long's music teacher. He hasn't turned up in some time —"

"Oh. We thought he'd spoken to you about that. He's decided to stop his music lessons."

"Ah." Yao hesitated, not sure if he should press. "Can I speak to him?"

There was silence on the other end, and Yao immediately felt that maybe he was overstepping some boundary, that maybe he should leave this be. But he couldn't not know. He couldn't not say anything. Jia Long had been acting so strangely last time, like he was troubled and keeping it all bottled up. Yao had to try —

"He's here," the woman said. Yao waited.

"Yeah?" Jia Long said, his voice dripping with annoyance.

"Jia Long, you left your notebook here."

"Oh. Yeah, I don't know. Just throw it out or something. Is that it?"

"No, of course that's not it," Yao sighed irritably. "You can't just disappear from lessons. What is going on with you?"

"Going on with me? Teach, you were the one who disappeared. I turned up so many times and you just weren't there. The house was empty. It was creepy, too…"

"Why didn't you call me?"

"Because I was getting bored of violin anyway. And I have extra schoolwork now, too." Yao could practically sense him rolling his eyes. "Why are you so —"

"Because something is wrong, I know it," Yao said, his clutch tighter on the phone. "Whatever it is, please talk to me. T-to someone at least."

The line fell silent for a moment. Yao felt a strange lump in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. Why was he feeling so worked up about this? What could possibly be even happening in Jia Long's life that he should be so concerned about?

"I'm fine, Teach. Really. Anyway, y-you're acting weird and I've already explained myself. I'm gonna hang up now." Jia Long hesitated for a moment. "Sorry."

The line fell silent. Yao stood there for a little while longer, still trembling and not knowing why. What was he expecting? Somehow, he felt he had all these words stored up in his head, all these explanations and reassurances he'd been saving up all this time for no one or nothing in particular.

Was he imagining things? The strained tone in Jia Long's voice? The same avoidant expression he'd once, long ago, brushed off as a personality quirk in Kiku…

Yao set the phone down softly onto the couch, staring vacantly into the air.

It was getting dark outside. How was it late afternoon already? It would only be a little longer, then. He would just have to wait for Ivan a little while longer.

.

The next three weeks felt like one long, tortuous day.

The sun was setting outside — at least, that was what Yao could guess from the grey, fading streaks of light escaping through the curtains of his bedroom window. He'd barely left the bed all day. He'd barely been leaving the bed the past few days — weeks — either. He preferred to dream, or not feel anything at all.

Physically, he was fine, if you ignored the dark circles under his eyes and the pallid look of his skin. He wasn't injured or ill, and insomnia could easily explain the fatigue, but this was different. He felt heavy, not quite numb, but perhaps so wounded that his senses had become blunt. He would wake up thinking of Kiku, with no rhyme or reason. Kiku. Kiku's face. Kiku's hands. Kiku's gentleness. Kiku's long sleeves in the summer. Kiku's long, quiet stares into dust-ridden air.

He thought of Ivan often, too, though that wound was so fresh it stung unbearably. He preferred wallowing in old memories, in pretending while his eyes were closed that Kiku was just in the next room waiting for him to wake up. That in sleep Kiku touched his hair and tucked him in, and that whatever Yao was doing Kiku was there with him, somehow.

Time slipped by. Hours passed easily in complete stillness.

By the time the room was completely dark, Yao's body had started to ache. He slowly got out of bed, his vision blurring as he stood up.

(I should probably eat.)

He walked slowly out of the bedroom, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight of a flyer on his doormat. Even from a distance, he knew exactly what that leaflet was. He'd recognise a picture of that theatre anywhere, and there could only be one reason it'd be advertised. He picked it up anyway, his pulse fluttering as he read the flyer.

(So Ivan's symphony is finally making its debut...)

He let the flyer slip out of his hands. He'd done his part as Ivan's pretty muse, it seemed. Now the symphony was finished, and Yao was of no use.

Just as he trudged into the kitchen, the canary swooped out of its cage, landing on the counter but making scarcely any noise at all. Yao wasn't sure what to do about it — he fed it well, let it roam around the house. So why was it so silent? Was it dying? Yao brushed away the thought, watching the bird pace strangely on the counter. Taking care of the canary was arguably the only thing keeping him moving.

"I'll take you on a walk tomorrow, Bǎobèi," he said, his barely-used voice croaking. "How does that sound?"

The canary fluttered off elsewhere.

He opened the fridge and sighed, too tired to put any effort at all towards cooking. But his stomach was begging for a proper meal, and if he was too dizzy to even get out of bed — let alone walk — what would happen to his canary?

Yao ended up making a soup, chucking whatever he could salvage from his fridge into a pot with some water and boiling it. He sat at the kitchen table and sipped at it half-heartedly, his mind inevitably drifting off to conversations with Viktor gone wrong, to things he should have done better and things he shouldn't have taken for granted with Ivan.

Ivan had not called for the last three weeks. He had not spoken or sent a message to him since Viktor left him in that hospital room. Yao felt his chest begin to tremble at the thought — Ivan was gone from his life, forever.

The canary flew into the kitchen, fluttering past Yao's shoulder and startling him. His spoon clattered in the soup bowl.

In the silence following, all seemed normal for a moment.

Except, there was the faint smell of smoke.

Then Yao heard it: something scuttling across the floor, like broken claws. In the shadows beyond the doorway, a figure emerged: a deformed mass on all fours, crawling up on its hind legs and morphing into something barely human. Yao stood abruptly from his chair, knocking it over. He opened his mouth to scream —

"Hush, now," the creature spoke, voice unexpectedly low and smooth. In the scarce light, Yao could see that its body was completely charred, crackling and smoking with movement. Burnt pieces shed off to reveal a man underneath; Kurou's moon pale face smiled. "You'll scare the bird."

Yao pressed back against the counter, speechless, his heart hammering in his chest.

"I should probably congratulate you first," Kurou said. "I always thought you'd try to poison me, or stab me in my sleep. Burning down the entire theatre at your own expense, though, I'm not sure if that was stupid or noble. The two often go together, I suppose."

"What are you doing here?" Yao asked, gripping the stone-cold counter behind him. Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? The smoky air surrounding Kurou stung his eyes. He could even feel the residual heat emanating from him, like a dying out ember.

"I'm here for your benefit, Yao." Kurou leaned close to Yao, his cold limp little smile too close for comfort. "I'm here to make it all go away."

"W-What's that supposed to mean?" Yao swallowed, feeling sick as he turned his face away. The smoke escaping Kurou's lips was sickly sweet, and making him dizzy. "I don't need you. Leave."

"It hurts, doesn't it? Having to stay awake while all these emotions run rampant within you. I'll ease it, just a little. Let me try."

Yao's breaths felt heavier, like the oxygen in the room was running out. He needed to sit down, somewhere…

"Here."

Yao suddenly found himself staring vacantly at the ceiling, lying down on the couch. Kurou pulled a blanket over him, taking his seat next to Yao and caging his arms around him.

"You've forgotten just a little bit already, haven't you?"

Yao groaned, his head swimming if he so much as turned it slightly. His body felt leaden and pinned to the couch, yet he somehow felt lighter, too, unbothered by any of the usual anxieties and insecurities. They all seemed so silly to him now…

Kurou stroked his hair, his ink-dark eyes watching him carefully. Kiku had looked at him once that way, before.

"You remind me of him," Yao said gently, a longing note in his voice.

"You said that to Ivan, once."

Yao furrowed his brows, fuzzily remembering his first date of sorts with Ivan. "I guess I did."

"You just love being miserable, don't you?"

"That's a foolish thing to think… Of course I don't."

"But you liked how sullen and brooding he was. It was Viktor you were enamoured with first. You really thought you were going to ease that pain for him, didn't you?"

"How would you know?"

"I've been with you for a long while, longer than you'd think," Kurou said. "And I know you well."

Yao felt like he was slipping away, barely able to string his words together. "Anyway… I should have been able to. To help him, at least…"

"That, Yao, is foolish thing to think. Viktor was a self-pitying, hedonistic gambler when you first met him, and a desperately poor one by the time he left you. You were just too eager to be loved to see that."

Yao melted away into an oblivion, the smoke in his lungs like a weight on his consciousness, dragging him down into dark, murky depths. Something about what Kurou said bothered him, but he was too far gone to question it.

He let himself disappear, even if it was just for a moment.

.

The days bled through to each other easily with Kurou; sleepless nights and hazy mornings stitched together, entire afternoons gone to the sickly-sweet smoke Kurou carried with him. When Kurou wasn't around to dull his senses, Yao often spent his time restless and bored. He tossed and turned in bed for hours on end, struggling to sleep.

The cut on his hand had nearly all but healed. It was just a faint little mark now, but the memory of it was vivid and playing over endlessly in Yao's mind. He'd clumsily dropped the glass and had somehow managed to cut himself, and Viktor had looked at him almost hatefully. Like Yao was a stranger who'd tripped over at his feet and inconvenienced him.

("You already know where the gauze is, anyway.")

What had Viktor meant by that? He must have known, then, how Yao tended to nurse his wounds after Viktor's rages. How thrown ashtrays and spur-of-the-moment shoves left bruises and marks on his body. Viktor had known, and seemingly didn't care.

Or how about the times Yao had expressed discomfort with something — with the way Viktor was touching him, with the morbid jokes and derogatory little names he gave him — and Viktor had fallen into punishing silence, or worse, exploded into terrifying rage?

And then there was the ring, that awful lie… Was none of Viktor's affection real? Was it all a ploy just to hurt Yao? Or was Yao, in the end, just not enough for Viktor to stay by his side, like he had once promised him?

One stray memory led to another. One innocent little curiosity snowballed into a painful thought, and another, and another — Why did I say that? Why didn't I do that? How could Viktor say such a thing? Did he say such a thing? Am I so unreliable that I'm twisting it all up in my mind? — and before he knew it his chest was aching unbearably, his tear-streaked face buried into his hands. He couldn't move, couldn't stop thinking.

He could feel Kurou's presence, close by — he never strayed too far. Soon he would show up and press until Yao finally admitted that he was worth nothing and had nothing to live for, save for the little deaths the intoxicating smoke gave him.

The curtains swayed softly against his bedroom window. There was a full moon out tonight, casting its faint glow with each movement of the curtains. Yao felt strange seeing it, like he was in a dream, like he himself wasn't real. There was complete utter silence, and Yao had the sudden need to feel something, even if it was pain.

He stood up from his bed with a sudden flood of energy, his fingers trembling as he paced around the room in a frenzy. His heart was racing as he considered if he should really do it. It'd be stupid to do it, he knew this, but wouldn't it feel better, too? Wouldn't it release him from the awful pain trapped inside? His fingernails dug into his palms hard, his breathing heavier as he frantically looked for some sort of escape, some good reason not to.

Something vibrated in the other room.

Yao's heart leapt to his throat. Ivan.

He rushed back to his bed, grabbing his phone from the tangled up sheets and checking the screen. The screen flashed open and his heart sank reading the text he'd gotten from Yong Soo:

Hey. I know we haven't talked in a while, but do you wanna go buy groceries tmr?

Yao flopped back onto his bed, lump in his throat. Stupid Yong Soo, raising his hopes like that. Why wasn't it Ivan? Why wasn't he calling Yao? Wasn't he worried?

A heavy sigh left his lips, and he sensed he was about to spiral into another episode of uncontrollable crying. He felt so pathetic, being so unable to control his emotions, which were like violent tides seeking to drown him. He felt like he'd rather die than feel like this — this agonizing, open wound in his chest that felt as permanent as it did unbearable.

In a brief moment of clarity, Yao realised he could not imagine himself ever leaving this home. He could not imagine his life beyond this week, let alone this night. He somehow felt certain that his life would end some way or another in this house.

As if clinging on to his last remaining lifeline, Yao's fingers trembled as they tapped on Yong Soo's number. He shouldn't be doing this — it was 3 am and he would likely be asleep — but if he didn't then…

He kept the phone clutched close and curled back up into bed, focusing only on his breaths, on the shaky exhales and inhales as he listened to the dial and waited for a response.

A groggy voice broke through the line: "… Hello?"

Yao swallowed, unable to think of something coherent. He was hyperventilating, his voice wobbly. It was probably obvious that he'd been crying.

"H-Hey, Yong Soo… um…"

"Yao?"

"I'm sorry, I just didn't know who else to call."

"Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Yao sighed, glancing out the window and fighting not to break down into tears again. How was he supposed to explain himself? He clutched at the bed-frame, squeezing hard just to feel anything else at all.

"Where are you?" Yong Soo asked, his voice a little gentler now, cautious maybe.

"At home," Yao said. "Tried to sleep and couldn't."

"Okay. Do you want me to come over?"

"N-No, no, I just…" Yao hesitated. "I don't know."

There was a pause, and for a moment Yao wanted to smack himself for being so stupid and calling Yong Soo at 3 am. He probably had to be up early for rehearsals, too.

"Okay, so… Listen," Yong Soo finally said. "Here's what we can do. A) you can finally talk to me about your problems, and I won't give you any dumb advice, I'll just listen. Or, B) I talk, and distract you with a really cool thing I found out the other day."

Yao sniffed. "Honestly, you make option B sound a lot more appealing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, tell me about the really cool thing."

"Nice. Okay, so, I was playing League of Legends with my little cousin the other day, and she mentioned this neat cat cafe like literally a ten minute drive from your house. Thing is, this isn't just any cat cafe…"

Yao nodded along to Yong Soo's excited chatter, relieved by the distraction. He felt blissfully outside of himself, completely removed from the Yao who wept and ruminated. His tears soon completely dried up, and almost imperceptibly, without realising it, he found himself drifting off to sleep.

.

Yao groaned as he woke up to the sound of something banging outside. He groggily sat up in his dark bedroom, noticing blearily there there was the faintest streak of light coming in through the curtains. The banging persisted — was that on his front door?

"YAO, OPEN UP!"

He shot out of bed, recognising Yong Soo's voice. He hurried to the front door and opened it, instantly regretting not cleaning himself up a bit first. Yong Soo barged in, wrapping him clumsily into a hug.

"Yao, you're okay!" Yong Soo sighed, arms clutching onto Yao's head like it was a football he was guarding dearly. Yao squirmed and attempted to extract himself.

"Of course I'm okay!"

"When you stopped responding —"

"I know," Yao swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"I'm so stupid, I thought the worst was happening," Yong Soo said, pulling away but keeping a strong grip on Yao's shoulders. "I even packed a bag of like, stuff. I don't even know. It's not even first aid kits or anything, just useless stuff, like… a book, and playing cards, and… food…"

At this Yao couldn't help but smile weakly. "Did you think I was literally dying of boredom?"

"Maybe! I don't know. But I'm so glad you're okay. You… are okay, right?"

Yao hesitated for a moment.

"T-That was a stupid question," Yong Soo said hurriedly. "But you don't need to go to a hospital, right?"

Yao almost shuddered at the thought of even going back there. "No."

"Okay, okay… that's good…"

The air at the doorway was so cold, but it was sunny outside — sunlight that Yao hadn't seen in a long while. Seeing Yong Soo at his doorstep was like a breath of relief, as if coaxing, ever so slightly, the old Yao out of him.

Behind him, in the comfortable shadows of his home, Yao heard those familiar claws, the chilling presence of Kurou right on his heels.

"Can we get out of here?" Yao asked. "I want to be anywhere but here."

"Sure. Any idea of where you want to go?"

Yao thought for a moment, though he had the sudden, immediate urge to see one person in particular. He wasn't sure if it was a good idea, but how bad could things get if Yong Soo was there? That is, if Yong Soo wanted to go in the first place.

They brought the canary with them in its little walking cage, taking a quiet drive to the Shanghai coast. There, the sea breeze whipped wildly around Yao, chilling him with his last true memory with Kiku. They had scattered his ashes here, on a grey morning. No burial. No place to come back to, no named gravestone to bring gifts or offerings to. It had been what Kiku wanted, though Yao had sometimes selfishly wished otherwise.

The canary was quiet in its cage — Bǎobèi had never been to the coast before — and Yong Soo paced anxiously beside Yao, looking uncomfortable.

"Are you talking to him?" Yong Soo asked out of the blue.

Yao leaned against the pathway rail. The water lapped at the shore beneath them. "No. Mostly just thinking about him."

"Oh. You should talk to him. I-In your head, I mean. Like. He obviously doesn't respond but —"

"I know what you mean."

"Y-Yeah."

Yao watched the expanse of dark ocean draw in and out of the shore, feeling somewhat underwhelmed. He wasn't sure what he was expecting — maybe he'd anticipated to feel Kiku's presence, maybe he thought that whatever has been trapped and choking him all this time would finally come out, that he'd finally open up and the misery would leave him. But there was no Kiku here. Kiku was gone forever, and Yao could only stare ahead numbly with that realisation.

"Do you ever wonder about what you could have done differently?" Yao asked.

Yong Soo looked a little startled. "With Kiku?"

"Looking back, there were so many obvious signs, you know? I had so many opportunities to do something to help him, and I didn't."

"You didn't know, though. I didn't, either."

Yao chewed his lip, wanting to refute that somehow — but I should have known that something was wrong, I should have —

"And either way," Yong Soo continued. "You can't change what's already happened. What's the point torturing ourselves with what-ifs?"

"I wish my brain could work like that."

Yong Soo didn't say anything. For a moment, Yao felt stupid for saying it, until he felt Yong Soo's hand on his shoulder. It wasn't a pitiful or even a sympathetic gesture. For the first time Yao realised that whatever he was going through, Yong Soo had been right there with him the whole time. They had both lost Kiku, but if Yong Soo could live on resiliently, hopefully — then why couldn't Yao do the same, too?

"Oh, look," Yong Soo chuckled. "On your sleeve, Yao."

Yao blinked out of his daze, glancing down at his jacket sleeve. A pale blue butterfly was resting on it, its tiny wings trembling in the sea breeze. It fluttered away before Yao could even reach for his phone to take a picture, soaring away towards the horizon.

"It must have thought you were a sweet flower," Yong Soo laughed.

"Stop that," Yao grumbled, jabbing at him with his elbow, though he could help but smile a little.

"Come on," Yong Soo said, pulling Yao away from the shore. "Let's go get something to eat."

.

When Yao got home, he didn't feel much different from when he left.

It was still the same dark, quiet house, which flooded him with unwanted memories whenever he entered. He never felt quite alone here, and not in a comforting way. Kurou, he was sure, would appear soon.

He set the walking cage down and opened it, the canary fluttering off to its main cage. The living room was so dark, despite the sun having finally emerged from the clouds outside. It was still blustery and rainy, but with a rare interlude of sunshine. Yao yanked open all of the curtains in the house, letting the house bathe in long-forgotten natural light. He opened a window, too, letting a breeze sweep through the house.

Whatever nightmare-like feeling Yao had, it disappeared at the sound of clothes lines rustling, and cars lazily driving by in the tiny, winding roads of his neighbourhood, reminding him of the gentle world that existed beyond this house.

The cage rattled behind him, and Yao startled as he turned around just to see the canary fly past him, soaring out into the streets.

"Bǎobèi!"

Yao could only watch it flutter further and further away from him, as it chirped and crooned — as if it was laughing, as if it was delighted to finally leave.

"Bǎobèi, come back!" Yao yelled out again, tilting his head up as the canary landed on the power lines where pigeons usually sat. The canary seemed completely uninterested in returning, which might have saddened Yao if it hadn't been singing, too, crooning a familiar melody. It stirred something within Yao, rekindling an old memory.

The piano used to be here in the living room. Yao wouldn't admit it, but he'd kept it just for Kiku. Kiku would play for entire afternoons, free-form melodies turning into improvised little symphonies that would never be played the same way twice. Yao would sit in the chair just in the corner there with his violin, struggling to both play and admire the way in which Kiku's hands effortlessly flitted from chord to chord, the way Kiku made funny little scrunched up expressions when the piece was particularly complex.

Yao could see him so clearly now, in that empty space in his home. There was that awful urge again, that deadly itch, which compelled him to feel anything but this. Before that feeling had a chance to peak, he hurried to the music room to grab his violin. He brought it back into the living room, pulled up a chair, and perched the violin onto his shoulder.

How long had it been since Yao last played? A month, maybe more? It felt like longer than that, like an eternity and an entire lifetime away.

Yao began to play — hesitantly, quietly, as if not trusting his hands to do the work they were trained for. He played a single phrase, grimacing at how he stumbled with the notes, at how forced this all felt. Would this really make him feel any better?

He continued playing, louder now, bringing a rich and sombre tune to life, sending chills down Yao's back. Without noticing, his body fell into old habits, playing automatically and without thought, the melody pouring out of him effortlessly. Warmth crept across Yao's skin, a small smile gracing his lips.

With his eyes closed, Yao could almost hear Kiku playing with him, his raindrop-light notes and sweeping crescendos carrying Yao into that bygone era, of his midnight walks to the theatre with Kiku when it was just theirs and no one else's, when their duets were like a secret language not even Yong Soo could decipher.

When Yao finally put the violin down, there was a sense of weightlessness in his chest. Even though the Kiku he knew was gone, and the house was as empty as it'd ever been, Yao felt the slightest sense of relief that somewhere in his numb body was still a musician, a Yao who was capable of these euphoric feelings before there ever was an Ivan in his life.

The front door letter box snapped in the other room, startling Yao. He went into the hallway to find a letter on the floor. Tearing it open, he expected an overdue bill or advertisement.

Instead, his heart dropped.

A handwritten note from Ivan, and a ticket, reading:

Yao, I'm so sorry. Please come see me at the debut tomorrow evening. I promise I can fix everything.