Yao stood at the polished theatre steps, which were dark and wet from the previous onslaught of rain. He could see, for the first time, the blurry reflection of sparkling lights above.
People jostled past Yao in their attempts to get through to the main entrance doors. The crisp night air was buzzing with excited chatter and stinging with cologne. Sleek black cars pulled up on the road behind him, new and eager patrons piling into the glowing, dazzling tower. Yao had never seen the theatre like before — alive and so bright that you could barely see the stars.
His stomach churned as he considered entering the theatre, the ticket in his hands having gone damp with nervous sweat. Ivan was supposed to have met him here almost half an hour ago, and soon the show would begin.
Yao entered the lobby, assaulted by even more sights and sounds as soon as he pushed through the glass double-doors — the smell of floral carpet cleaner, the bright red of the floors, and the sickly excessive gold of the banisters. Soft shawls and cashmere scarves brushed past Yao, leaving trails of overpowering perfume. He squeezed past new patrons, fumbling to show his ticket at the counter as others shuffled and pushed against him.
Inside the auditorium, Yao felt his breath momentarily lodge in his throat. It was as if he'd been taken back in time, struck by the fresh lushness of the red velvet seats, the soft glow of lamps illuminating the dark mahogany wooden steps, and glittering mezzanine balconies. The yawning dome roof arched dizzyingly high above, golden vines and petals sparkling like stars. Yao had seen the theatre in its renovated form before, but not quite like this, not with so many people filtering in to take their seats, with the humming of the orchestra warming up, with the curtains down and the stage-lights ready and waiting.
There was an unexpected sense of envy within Yao, maybe even resentment. This was his theatre, his home, which these tourists were now invading. This used to be a private, sacred place for Yao, when the carpet was torn up and worn, when the stage was empty and carried only his and Kiku's song. Now it was tainted with memories old and new— of his first meeting with Viktor, his audition, the terrible flames Chun Yan had set herself almost a century ago.
His seat was in the front row, close enough to peer easily into the orchestra pit. He spotted Yong Soo and the other players, the theatre echoing with the distorted swell of sound as they warmed up their instruments. Audience members murmured nervously, a few of them eyeing the ceiling as if beams or screw bolts may loosen and fall once again. The theatre was no stranger to accidents, but Yao's focus was on a blonde head of hair making its way through the orchestra pit: Ivan.
The lights dimmed as Ivan, suited up and hair slicked away from his face, came onstage and bowed. He was covered up more so than usual, with black gloves and a thick woolly scarf. The audience clapped to welcome him and the orchestra, but Yao couldn't help but feel that something was a little different about Ivan today, and it wasn't just the way he was dressed. He couldn't quite figure out what it was. There was something about the way Ivan stepped back down into the orchestra pit, his back straight and poised, his smile strained.
Everything then fell silent.
The curtain rose slowly, and a dancer in white leapt across the stage, gliding in syrup-slow turns as the orchestra swelled tenderly. The melody was all too familiar, reminiscent of those first few days when Ivan had so eagerly shared his early drafts of the symphony with Yao, only in the privacy of that apartment, with Yao between his arms clumsily trying to follow along on the piano with his own unpractised hands.
Yao's chest ached faintly as he watched that lone dancer, soon joined by others in a flurry of vibrant silks and ribbons. He had the unshakable sense he was supposed to be up there, too, somehow, that the scene before him was incomplete.
He watched the ballet unfold like a bittersweet dream.
.
The curtain descended to mark the end of the second movement, the auditorium erupting into applause. Ivan turned around to bow and soak the praise, his smile no longer strained but beaming. His eyes caught against Yao's, and it was then that Yao realised that he hadn't been looking at Ivan at all. He should have known before that dark gaze even touched him.
Viktor motioned discretely for Yao to follow, before leaving the orchestra pit and disappearing behind the curtains.
Yao hurried backstage, hopping up the steps and hoping no one would notice. He breathed a sigh of relief as he entered the frenzied darkness backstage, the dancers and choreographers in such a mad chaos that they barely gave him a glance.
He looked around for Viktor, panting a little, only to be yanked into a shadowy corner, tucked away into the fold of a black curtain.
"You came," Viktor said, his grip hard on Yao's arms. As bruising as the touch was, Yao couldn't help the euphoric shiver that ran through him, having missed and ached for that touch, starved of it for what felt like decades.
"Where's Ivan? What happened?"
Viktor's expression fell, his gaze piercing and almost shark-like. Yao felt like he might throw up.
"You should be grateful you're here at all," Viktor said. "Ivan's been sick with worry about you. He was sure you'd abandoned him for good."
"A-abandoned him?" Yao stammered. "I abandoned him? You made it abundantly clear that you wanted nothing to do with me."
"We fight all the time, lilechka, my scornful little flower," Viktor chuckled. He snaked his arms around Yao's waist, pulling him in close. "Look at you, all flustered. It's very sweet that you're mad about this, but there's really no need to punish Ivan for it."
"You said I cut your heart up into a tiny million pieces," Yao choked out. "That I'm killing you — that I did kill you, that I ruined you —"
"Hush now, Yao," Viktor cupped Yao's chin, placing a kiss at his temple. "I say a lot of things when I'm upset. You know that better than anyone else."
Yao nodded shakily, unable to help himself from burying his face against Viktor's scarf. He could feel the soft heat of Viktor's skin through it, like he was feverish.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. It's all okay now," Viktor said as he squeezed Yao tight, as if he might choke the air out of him. "I should have stayed with you. That was my mistake, lilechka. Back then… I should have stayed and burned with you."
"What do you mean?"
"What if I had perished with you in the theatre fire?" Viktor said, the words ringing with such dark longing in Yao's ears. "I wouldn't be here stealing another man's body. I would have died in peace with you, rather than spend the rest of my god-forsaken life missing you."
"N-No, I would never want that —" Yao shook his head, barely moving in the constraint of Viktor's tight embrace. "Don't say things like that. Please."
"I made many mistakes with you, but this was perhaps the most unforgivable one."
Viktor pulled away from Yao, and there was such an unusually affectionate expression on his face. It was almost a vicious, violent happiness. Yao had never seen Viktor like this. He almost felt that it was a performance, somehow, that this smile couldn't possibly be real, that there was an indecipherable madness behind it which Yao was too scared to uncover.
Viktor adjusted his scarf, covering up what Yao could only briefly notice was a deep, blooming bruise across his throat.
"Are we really okay, Viktor?"
"Of course we are."
Silence settled between them, their eyes locked together. Yao couldn't read him, couldn't see past the impenetrable mask Viktor — no, Ivan — had put up.
A knot coiled in Yao's stomach, burning and tightening with some vague dread. "I have a weird feeling that you're not telling me something —"
"Places everyone!" the stagehand called out from beyond the curtains. Viktor pulled away completely, leaving Yao to untangle himself from the black curtain.
"You'll stay, won't you?" Viktor asked.
"Of course. Why do you ask?"
"Good. I wouldn't want you to miss the finale," Viktor chuckled — in that soft, beautiful way that Ivan usually laughed — and the sound stirred Yao's heart in a painful way. He lingered backstage, realizing that he should probably go take his seat, but something kept him immobilised. His palms were sweaty, and his stomach fluttered with a vague sense of unease.
Dancers swished past him to take their places, audience members settling in their seats as the lights dimmed yet again. The spotlights burst onto the stage, orchestral music reignited with a bang. Yao could only watch numbly as the third and final movement unfolded before him, as he still lingered in the curtains where Viktor had only just kissed him and promised him all was well.
Something felt awfully wrong — nightmarish, almost. Why wasn't Ivan here? Why was Viktor smiling like that, even now as he conducted, his entirely body moving in such ecstatic energy, eyes mad as his smile beamed.
And why would Yao think of leaving?
Maybe Yao was panicking over nothing. After all, Katya, Ivan's manager, was just across backstage watching on calmly. Surely she would have noticed something amiss. Even Yong Soo was lost deep in focus as he played the cello — all going exactly as rehearsed.
The dancers flurried across the stage, like a blizzard of white tulle and silk. A girl in black leapt in the centre, and something in the way she turned, in her lost look on the stage, struck a familiar chord in Yao.
It was the same dance. The same melody, the same…
Dancers whizzed past Yao to leave and enter the stage, bumping into him in the chaos. Yao staggered further against the curtains, the air suddenly thin in his lungs.
"Are you alright there?" a voice asked behind him.
Yao whipped around, heart lurching. He exhaled sharply when he saw Katya waiting for an answer.
"U-Um, I —" Yao swallowed his words. He couldn't speak, couldn't think straight. Was he losing his mind? He felt it — death — looming close. He could see it in Viktor's vicious smile, hear it in those words: I should have stayed and burned with you.
It was all happening again, Yao was sure, only this time by Viktor's hands. Yao brushed past Katya, ignoring her calls and fumbling in the dim backstage chaos, dodging stage assistants and clothing racks, stumbling backwards when he nearly bumped into a moving prop. There had to be a way out of this… something…!
The fire alarm.
Yao's hands were clammy with sweat just looking at it. He could barely breath, heart hammering in his chest.
He pushed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
"Oh no…" Yao mumbled. "No, no, no —"
He pressed the trigger again, and again. Nothing. No sprinklers, no alarm.
And then there it was: a collective gasp from the audience, and within seconds, screams. He ran back towards the stage, stopping dead-still at the sight of a bright blazing fire roaring above the stage.
Yao could already feel the heat licking at his skin, even from his shadowy corner. Dancers and staff scrambled past him, escaping the blinding blanket of fire blazing through the stage curtains. Sparks flew from the stage lights, burning embers and debris spat out onto the dancers, into the orchestra pit, into the front row seats where little flames now bloomed into insatiable fires.
Yao's chest tightened as he stumbled down the stage steps, already choking on the searing stench of burning fabric and plastic. He had to find Viktor. The orchestra players had already abandoned their instruments, swarming and scrambling to escape the smoking pit that Yao was now clambering into. He squeezed through the frantic players who were clawing their way out in the opposite direction.
"Viktor!" Yao called out hoarsely. "Viktor, where are you?"
He tripped over a toppled over chair, crying out as he slammed against the floor. He strained to pick himself back up, barely able to see anything at all, to even breathe, the air thick like water in his lungs. Viktor had to be here somewhere, he was just here…
Yao covered his mouth and nose with his elbow, unable to stop coughing. No gulp of air was enough, his vision getting hazier and muscles weaker with every struggling breath. He felt around for something, anything, to guide him to Viktor, only to collapse again onto his knees every time he tried to get up, having to push through an excruciating ceiling of heat above his head. He could barely move.
Someone gripped him hard by the arms, pulling him up and slinging Yao's arm over their shoulders.
"Viktor…?" Yao murmured weakly. There was no reply as Yao was dragged away, out of the pit and towards the emergency exits. This wasn't Viktor, Yao thought hazily, fearfully. He could feel it. It wasn't Viktor with him — Viktor was still back there somewhere, choking…
"Stay close to me," his rescuer said.
"Let go," Yao choked out, pulling away only to stumble. His ears were pounding, but the air was a little clearer now. He turned to go back, only to be yanked back by the shoulders.
"Stop." Yong Soo was staring him square in the eyes — his eyes wide with fear, with panic, but his voice steady. "Stay with me, Yao."
Others swarmed past them, audience members clambering over seats and each other just to reach the aisle. Yong Soo's bruising grip was the only thing keeping Yao from being carried away, and there was something worse than panic in the air now, a tension as the bodies crushed and piled up against the exits only to budge nothing.
"Where is Ivan?" Yao said, having to shout over the building cries and shrieks of the crowd around him.
"I don't know! We need to find a way out of here." Yong Soo swallowed, violently shoved by the growing crowd. "I don't think the exits are working, Yao."
"The back door…" Yao said, barely able to hear his own voice. This couldn't be happening to him. This couldn't be real. "Backstage, there's another door."
"Yes — let's go."
"N-No!" Yao struggled, only to be trapped against the walls of other people, the air sour with fear and sweat. "Ivan — I can't leave without him."
"We don't have time for that."
"I'm not leaving without him!"
People were screaming. Yao felt his heart strain as if to burst, knowing that they might all die in here any moment now. The look on Yong Soo's face was completely foreign — pale and fraught as he pursed his lips and dragged Yao along with him anyway. Yao shrieked at Yong Soo, clawed at him, spat curses at him and kicked, but all he did was waste his breath. No one could hear him. Everyone else was screaming, too — for help, for mercy, for nothing at all. The air got hotter as they climbed the stage steps, where the flames had nearly all but destroyed and blackened everything.
"It's here, isn't it?" Yong Soo asked, his voice echoing as he shoved open the door to the underground passageway. Yao's vision was thinning at the edges, blurred with the sting of smoke and tears. Cold, sharp air rushed past them, a relief in Yao's lungs until he heard the flames roar even louder behind them, screams turning into inhuman shrieks.
Yong Soo called for others to follow — if anyone was lucky enough to hear — pushing Yao forward as they scrambled down the muddy passageway, the path clogged as others discovered the passageway and pushed through, trampling each other just to make an inch forward. The walls, the crowds, they all squeezed in on Yao, choking him more than the smoke did as he searched panicked faces for Ivan's. He wasn't here, was probably left behind and suffocating back in the orchestra pit, or perhaps crushed, or burned —
There were lights up ahead. A siren blaring in the distance. As soon as Yong Soo's grip loosened, Yao pulled himself free.
Yong Soo shrieked for him to come back, but Yao only pushed back against the crowd, crushed against the wall as he made his way through the passageway and back into the smoking mouth of the theatre.
.
Through the thick veil of smoke, Yao stepped into what seemed like another reality entirely.
The theatre was now empty, devoid of any human trace save for the abandoned coats and shoes littering the floor. The flames had long since eaten up the stage, now feasting on the theatre seats in one great wall of fire aschips of burnt wood rained down from the ceiling. Paint was peeling off the walls as it blacked and curled, the entire building groaning with each crackle of fire.
"Ivan? Viktor?" Yao called out, coughing and choking on the smoky air. He pulled his sleeve over his mouth and nose, barely able to see anything a step or two beyond himself. His skin blazed all over with the heat of the nearby fire, as if it might boil him from the inside out.
Nauseous, he swallowed and stepped further out onto the stage, dizzy as billows of smoke flew ferociously past him. He stumbled, only to bump into something — or someone — rushing past him. Yao fell to the stage floor, and then he heard it: piano keys.
Someone was playing the piano up ahead, leaving Yao the trail of a familiar melody. The notes were like little raindrops at first, sparse and light, only to quickly descend into deep, rumbling waves of sound. It was exactly as it had been nine months ago, on that summer night when Yao had stumbled across Viktor and found his presence, his music, strangely peaceful.
Shadows flitted around Yao, the shapes of legs and tulle skirts, spinning in pirouettes and leaping past him, over him, as if he wasn't there at all. Yao flinched, his heart racing as he called out again, wheezing with breath.
Getting back up was agony — his lungs weak, and the rising heat as he stood up almost unbearable. The air weighed heavily on him as he trudged towards the music, towards those notes which twisted like a knife in his gut. Silk and skin brushed against him, dancers rushing past him in a panicked flurry. Beams and fixtures above creaked, as if on verge of collapse.
And there, in the centre of the broken, smoking stage, was Viktor. He was seated at the piano, drawing out that haunting, piercing melody as though nothing was wrong.
"Viktor!" Yao called out, his throat sore. He stumbled towards the piano, his knees feeling weak as he threw his arms around Viktor's shoulders. Viktor was like a marble statue — cold, unmoving.
"I knew you'd come back," Viktor said, taking hold of Yao's wrists. "You couldn't help yourself. You're morbidly romantic like me. Would rather die than —"
"We have to leave. Now."
Viktor, of all things, laughed. Yao couldn't take it, buried his face into Viktor's throat and choked back a sob.
"Please, Viktor. Don't be stubborn. If you want to punish me, fine, but don't do this to yourself. Leave."
Viktor released his grip, turning in the piano seat to face Yao. He looked so calm, so strangely unmoved by it all.
"Do you love me, Yao?" Viktor asked.
Yao's chest tightened. He squeezed Viktor tighter. "Y-Yes. Of course I do."
"Then stay." Viktor reached up to gently stroke Yao's hair. "You shouldn't be afraid, lilechka. You've done it once before. I'll keep my promise this time, too. I'll burn with you. We'll be reborn into the next life and meet again."
"And if that doesn't happen? If we somehow don't meet? If I'm not reborn at all? If my spirit stays here trapped like you?"
"You'll always be with me. One way or another," Viktor said, dragging Yao into his lap and cradling his face. His eyes — no longer feverish but tired, and dark — flickered over Yao's features as if hearing every frenzied worry running through Yao's mind. "I was always supposed to go with you. This is what I have been waiting for. What Ivan has been waiting for. To die loved would be his greatest happiness, don't you think?"
"I don't want to die, Viktor. I don't want you to die. What do I have to do to convince you not to…?" Yao swallowed, seeing that nothing was changing on that expression of Viktor's, which was so sickeningly calm in all of this. He gripped Viktor's scarf, as though it might keep Yao from losing him. "We can be perfectly happy like this. W-We are perfectly happy."
"But I've hurt you, too, haven't I?"
Yao faltered for an answer. It was true; moments of happiness were easily matched by moments of agony. He could no longer even count the sleepless nights spent crying, the anxious imaginings of should-haves and could-haves, the moments of feeling so scared and fragile in Viktor's presence, as if Yao's mere existence was enough to enrage him.
"I've always hurt you," Viktor said. "I was never good with showing you how much I loved you. Even back then, in that other life, I was always trying to impress you with vain little trinkets and gold instead, as if that would make up for the rest of me. I could barely stop myself from stealing just to earn your affection. Whatever little money I had, I gambled — and lost. I owed too much. I left Shanghai, and you, like a coward."
"It's okay," Yao said shakily, trembling uncontrollably in Viktor's arms. "It's…"
He could now see the full extent of the bruise on Viktor's throat, a rope-like ring stretching up to his jaw.
"I missed you so much," Viktor said quietly. His gaze was trained on the piano keys, and in that moment his eyes looked so gentle — like Ivan's, his soft and pale lashes touching on his cheeks. "I can't bear to lose you again. And I know I'm losing you. I can feel it every time I screw things up. You fear me just a little more every day. Eventually you'll just run."
"I won't run!" Yao fought the urge to cry, biting his own trembling lip as he pulled Viktor close, cradling him against his chest. "I'll stay, I promise. Just — please stay with me, too. Don't do this. I won't run —"
An ear-shattering bang erupted behind them, sending the entire stage shaking violently. A flaming stage light had fallen and buried itself into centre-stage, mere meters away.
"Then you'll stay right here with me to the end," Viktor said, snaking his arms around Yao tightly, hard enough to squeeze whatever little breath out of him.
"N-No," Yao choked, pulling and struggling against Viktor's grip. "Let go — "
"It'll be over before you know it," Viktor said, his breath ice-cold on Yao's face. "You'll choke before you burn. I wasn't so lucky last time… but this time I'll be sure."
Yao thrashed in Viktor's arms, pushing against his shoulders with all his might. Desperate, he clawed at Viktor's throat, and Viktor's arms sprang open with a pained hiss.
Yao barely made two steps back before Viktor lunged at him, grabbing off his jacket. Without thinking, without sparing a further moment's consideration, Yao turned and bolted. His ears were pounding with the sound of blood rushing through his ears — or perhaps it was the roar of the fire, which was cooking the air in the inside of the auditorium. The smoke in Yao's face was dark, black as midnight, swallowing him up whole as he blindly ran for the alleyway exit, propelled forward only by the thought that Viktor was just behind him, his grasp just a finger's width away.
Footsteps splashed in the muddy passageway, his ears deafened by the echo of frantic breaths and the thundering collapse of the inside of the theatre. Yao shoved the back gate open, collapsing onto wet gravel and coughing as gulps of icy air rushed into his lungs. Sirens blasted through the air, red and white lights blinding him as medics and firefighters surrounded him.
Viktor was nowhere to be seen.
Then the nausea hit Yao. He puked onto the ground, nothing more than sour bile and tears coming out of him.
"H-He's still in there…" Yao hiccupped as someone pulled him up, knees wobbly. No one seemed to be listening. He yanked himself away from the medic. "Leave me alone! Didn't you hear me? He's still in there!"
"Yao!" Yong Soo came up and wrapped his arms around Yao, his face mottled with smoke. "Yao, we saw the roof collapse and I thought you —"
Yao shirked him away, feeling like he himself might collapse from the inside. "Don't touch me."
He fell to the ground, tears blurring up his vision. Ivan was gone. Even if Viktor's spirit had managed to survive — if his stubbornness hadn't killed him somehow — the Ivan that Yao loved would never come back. Viktor had swallowed him whole, had so easily taken Ivan's body and had done the most permanent, awful thing to it.
Perhaps Yao should have stayed. Maybe it really would have been better if he'd —
"Yaochka…!"
Yao felt his heart skip a beat. He turned around, wiping the streaks of tears off his face. "Ivan…?"
There, at the gate's rusty door, smoke bleeding out into the sky and firefighters filtering in and out, Ivan stood wearily. Limping, clutching his arm. His face and hands dirtied by smoke, the scarf barely hanging off his neck and shoulders. He looked a little confused, like he'd woken up from a long and strange dream, but the relieved, tender little smile on his lips was undeniably Ivan's.
A cry of relief broke from Yao's throat. He ran to Ivan and threw his arms around him, clutching his fingers tightly into his jacket.
"I was s-so sure you were gone," Yao sobbed.
Ivan held Yao closer still, nuzzling his cheek against the top of Yao's head. He sniffled, and his voice trembled as he spoke. "It's okay, Yaochka. I'm here."
Yao took hold of Ivan's face, feeling like he hadn't seen it for such a long time: the gentle eyes, the tall statuesque nose, the smile unburdened despite everything Ivan had gone through. His throat was completely unmarked.
"You feel so cold," Yao said. "What happened in there?"
"I wanted to ask you the same thing," Ivan chuckled, wheezing a little. "I was sure it was only another nightmare, except — a-anyway. I found my way out to you in the end."
"Good," Yao nodded, leaning forward to kiss Ivan softly on the lips. "Please stay with me. Always."
"Of course," Ivan laughed softly. His hold on Yao felt impenetrable, an all-encompassing boundary between them and everyone else. "Nothing could ever tear me away from you. Not even death."
Yao ignored the little shiver that ran down his back, and only pressed himself closer, listening for the comforting thump of Ivan's heart.
A/N: Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, let me know via review! Your thoughts are much appreciated.
I also just wanted to encourage you, the reader, to reach out for help if you are struggling with any of the issues described in this story. Whether it's a loved one or a professional, just talking to someone is a good first step.
If you don't know where to start, please try out the resources below:
*MIND for info about depression and other mental health issues - mind. org. uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/depression/about-depression/
*The National Domestic Violence Hotline for info about domestic abuse - thehotline. org(slash)identify-abuse/
*UK, The Samaritans - 116 123 or samaritans. org
*USA, National Suicide Hotline - 1-800-784-2433
*For additional helplines worldwide - therapyroute. com(slash)article/helplines-suicide-hotlines-and-crisis-lines-from-around-the-world