.
Но пусть она вас больше не тревожит;
Я не хочу печалить вас ничем.
Я вас любил так искренно, так нежно,
Как дай вам бог любимой быть другим.
But don't let it trouble you any longer
I don't wish to cause you any more sorrow.
I loved you so sincerely, so tenderly
That I pray god lets you be loved that way by another.
.
TWO YEARS LATER.
Yao struck his bow against the violin. A quick and light melody sprang from his body with each movement, his fingers working effortlessly. He was elsewhere entirely, barely conscious of himself as the music flowed through him. Well-practised, well-versed — an automatic thing by now, which Yao could practically play with his eyes shut.
The canary swooped around the room, chirping in excitement. The windows were open, but the bird flew freely within the house, perching on one of the multitude of plants Yao had grown over the past few years. His home was almost an entire ecosystem of its own, tangled vines and rich green leaves in every corner.
Yao liked to think that the violin helped, that somehow playing good music encouraged his plants to grow. He certainly felt a kind of growth within himself in moments like this — a flushed, euphoric contentment springing from his chest. This was not a common feeling, but it was familiar. It was at times like this that he felt closest to Kiku.
The doorbell shrilled, startling Yao from his trance. He set his violin down with a sigh and got up to answer the door. He expected the newspaper boy, having only just heard the slap of a newspaper on the welcome mat outside, only to swing open the door and find Yong Soo at his doorway.
Yong Soo was just shy of snatching the newspaper off the mat, his eyes wide.
"What exactly are you doing?" Yao asked.
"N-Nothing!" Yong Soo straightened his back, tucking the paper behind him as if Yao wouldn't notice. "I-I mean uh… I thought to stop by and see you."
Yao sighed. "I can't hang out with you right now. I'm rehearsing for the concert tomorrow. You wanna give me my newspaper back?"
He reached for the paper, only for Yong Soo to duck out of his way.
"I can't believe you still read newspapers," Yong Soo chuckled nervously. He dodged each time Yao reached again for the paper. "You know, you're such an old man, sometimes. A-Anyway, good to see you and all, I'm just gonna —"
Yao finally snatched it out of his hands. "What is wrong with you? I don't understand you at all sometimes…"
He was ready to dump it on the hallway table, when one of the headlines caught his eye:
"IVAN BRAGINSKY RETURNS TO SHANGHAI FOR PREMIERE PERFORMANCE"
Yao's stomach dropped. His heart leapt up into his throat. His head felt light and dizzy. Ivan… back in Shanghai…
"Oh."
Yong Soo grabbed the newspaper back, chucking it to the side and into a puddle. "Let's leave town for a few days!"
Yao stared vacantly at the newspaper, which was now soaking in rainwater. The headline ink was bleeding and growing fuzzy, just like Yao's mind, which now felt muddled with every emotion he'd ever felt about Ivan. Initial shock wore into wary hopefulness — would they meet? What would that reunion be like? Would Ivan treat him like a stranger? Or would he embrace Yao, and smile like a single day hadn't passed? Would Yao smile and pretend, too, stuffing away the agony of the last two years of Ivan's absence? Part of Yao craved retribution, a chance to finally string together the right combination of words that would make Ivan finally understand the damage he'd done. Part of Yao also felt so scorned that he wanted nothing to do with him.
Most of Yao desperately wondered if there was some chance Ivan had changed.
"Yao?"
He blinked out of his daze, feeling embarrassed to have been thinking like this in Yong Soo's presence. He was probably all too aware that Yao would be tempted to see Ivan.
"N…No, that's okay," Yao said. "I have the concert tomorrow anyway, and some rehearsals after that. It's fine."
"Seriously, if you want to be somewhere else when he gets here, let me know okay?"
Yao nodded.
"You coming down to Frisco's tonight?"
"Do you even have to ask?" Yao chuckled. "Of course I am."
"Good! You've been so busy lately, even Jin's started missing you."
They said their quick and familiar see-you-later's, Yao quietly shutting the door behind him. Now there was silence. Now there was a little more room for his thoughts to breathe, for those dusty memories to replay once again. Yao felt the pit of his stomach stir, his throat a little sick — was it giddiness or dread? He had a hard time telling to two feelings apart, stuck between hopefulness and trepidation.
Yao had spent the better part of the last few years in therapy just to crawl out of the pit his life had fallen into. He no longer blamed himself for Viktor's cruelty, and day by day it had been getting just a little easier to pull himself out of bed and the endless nightmares that came with it. When Yao cried, it was brief, and left him feeling relieved. When Yao couldn't sleep, he found ways to soothe himself.
He was terrified that seeing Ivan would crumble him back down into the small, listless person he used to be. That all of his scars — once calloused and now fading — would be torn open again.
Yao left his violin untouched while he stared out the window, the sun setting in seemingly the blink of an eye as he recalled his days with Ivan.
.
Yao tiredly rested his head back against the armchair in his therapist's office, watching the rain gently tip-tap against the window. It was high noon now, but the clouds were thick, woolly, and overcast over the bustling city. With the window open just a crack, he could almost smell the earthy scent of freshly soaked shrubberies and trees that lined the sidewalks. Spring had come, but the weather would likely stay miserable for a little while longer.
"You're unusually quiet today. What's on your mind?"
Yao brought his knees up against his chest in the armchair. "I dreamt I was at the theatre again last night. Threw me off. I haven't had a nightmare like that in a while."
"Could you tell me more about it?"
"I'm just outside the theatre, but I'm floating. Like I'm some sort of spirit. It's all exactly as I remember it. The stone steps, the rusty gate out back, the black curtains and the velvet seats. I can even see the engraved vines on the mezzanines. I'm floating through all of it, and then... I don't know. It was weird."
"What felt weird about it?"
"I mean. It was about the fire again," Yao said, waving his hand dismissively. "It's always about the fire. Smoke everywhere."
"And that man as well? What's his name, um — Kurou, isn't it?"
Yao grimaced. "Yeah. And I keep breathing in the stuff. I'm swallowing in all that smoke like it's air, even though I know it'll kill me. Even though, I'm… already dead, I guess? I told you, it was weird."
He shifted in his seat, crossing his legs over, crossing his arms over, trying not to focus on the little lump in his throat.
"That dream really distresses you."
"Of course it does! Why would I do that to myself? Why don't I just leave?" Yao's knee bounced nervously, the little coffee table between them trembling slightly. There was a small box of homemade almond cookies Yao had brought to the session. It was a thank-you gift to his therapist, who for the past year had given Yao a space to organise all of the messy thoughts and emotions that would have otherwise overwhelmed him. His therapist had only taken one cookie so far, and the rest of the box gazed at Yao temptingly.
"Do you mind if I have one?" Yao asked, already reaching for a cookie before his therapist could shake his head 'no'.
A silence fell over as he nibbled at the cookie. "Then again, I could probably ask myself that about my relationship with Ivan. I mean, I did leave eventually. But sometimes I also think about what it might have been like if I left sooner. Or if I hadn't left at all. I still stay up late sometimes thinking about things I could have said or done. Or just…"
Yao trailed off. He felt embarrassed to have to explain to his therapist that he was still a little lovesick with Ivan. In the strictest sense of the word — lovesick. It felt like a chronic illness, which occasionally flared up into something monstrously debilitating, where he could barely get out of bed without thinking endlessly about him.
"So then, Yao, I'm curious. What do you hope to get out of that 'thinking'?"
"I'm not sure," Yao said. "I feel like I'm getting somewhere when I do it, to some sort of resolution. Some way to think about the situation that I'll finally be okay with. Or maybe, some perfect version of events, where I say the right thing and everything turns out okay."
"And how long does it take you to get that?"
Yao swallowed down the cookie. "Well. I never do. Get any resolution. I just sit there, cycling through the painful memories over and over again."
"Ah —"
"I know what I'm doing is ruminating," Yao said quickly. "That it's not helpful. I just haven't been able to stop it lately. Not with Ivan coming back to Shanghai soon. I've been thinking about this one thing in particular lately, with regards to Ivan. I keep thinking — or I guess I keep worrying — that I was tricked somehow. That all the good parts of the relationship were a lie, or an act. That Viktor played me and I didn't see it at all."
"Why does he have to be one or the other?"
"What do you mean?"
"You always talk about an Ivan, and a Viktor. One of them is helpless and affectionate, and the other one is deceptive and sadistic. Why can't he be both, as one and the same person?"
The sounds of traffic and rain muffled in through the windows, Yao's hand itching to reach for another cookie. Now that he thought about it, even years later, he still thought of Ivan as almost two distinctly different people.
"It's an uncomfortable way to think about him."
His therapist nodded, and Yao sat a little longer with that feeling. Was there even such a person? Someone who could be cruel and tender all at once — who could be lovingly destructive and not know it? Yao could barely fathom the idea, but something rang true about it.
He popped the cookie into his mouth whole and leaned back into the chair.
"Maybe," he said with his mouth full, eyes averted to the window again.
.
The idea of Ivan and Viktor as the same person felt impossible. Painful, even. Yao gave it little consideration in the days following. After all, it had been clear from the start that Ivan and Viktor shared distinctly different memories. There had been physical differences, too, from the shape of his nose down to the most subtle mannerisms. Ivan was blameless — had to be blameless — for the pain he inflicted on Yao when Viktor had taken over. If Ivan had known, if he'd seen and understood what Yao was going through, then surely he would have stopped a long time before Yao had reached his breaking point.
So it was obvious then: Ivan and Viktor, two separate people. Yao's therapist was simply too much of a sceptic to accept that a spirit like Viktor could exist.
This was Yao's comfort as he fretted over potentially meeting Ivan at his concert. Once the curtain raised, Yao's mind went blank with the music, but as soon as the curtain inevitably fell, his stomach went back up in knots. Applause bellowed throughout the auditorium, the sound almost distorted as Yao stumbled off the stage steps as if he'd woken up from a disorientating dream. He had the unshakable feeling that Ivan was here, that he had been listening to him the entire time just like in Yao's first audition for the orchestra.
This was, of course, not the same theatre, and there was no audition curtain separating them, either. Yao stared and searched the crowd unashamedly, looking for Ivan's face only to find none like his.
Outside in the lobby, Yong Soo crashed into him with a celebratory hug.
"That was amazing! Did you hear that applause? You're totally gonna make it big-time after this concert. Like, people-pay-to-see-you-and-only-you kind of famous."
Yao laughed and rolled his eyes, though he couldn't help the little swell of pride in his chest. "Yeah, like limousines and private islands famous, right?"
"Of course! Hey, let's go to Frisco's to celebrate? Or wherever you want, it's your night! Jin will come meet us!"
Yao glanced at the corner of the lobby, somehow thinking he'd find Ivan there. He was sure he could smell something unusually sweet and familiar, too, like perfume or cologne maybe.
"Ah crap," Yong Soo muttered. "I forgot my coat. Wait here for me!"
"It's probably in the coat room —" Yao said, only for Yong Soo to run back into the auditorium before he could finish. He'd probably figure it out eventually.
Yao crossed his arms and leaned back against the lobby wall, watching people filter out past the ticket desks and out into the cold night. He caught every face that passed him by, a strange feeling of disappointment sinking in his chest whenever it was just a stranger's. Yet, he had known beforehand that it simply wouldn't happen. Why should Ivan come see him after the way Yao had left him two years ago? But still, he had hoped, or fantasised, of finding Ivan here like nothing had changed.
"Yao?"
He flinched, startled by the voice to his right. He looked over and found Ivan standing a mere few feet away from him, as if summoned by his thoughts.
Yao had forgotten how tall Ivan was; he easily towered over him by ten centimetres or so. But everything else was just as Yao remembered: the soft feathery hair, the woollen scarf wrapped around his throat, the gentle and knowing smile welcoming him. And in Ivan's hands was a bouquet of white lilies, their cloying sweet scent filling Yao's lungs.
Ivan laughed softly. "You look so surprised to see me."
"Because… I am," Yao said softly, feeling his face grow hot. "I didn't know you'd come."
"Why wouldn't I?"
Yao hesitated for a moment — wasn't it obvious? — before shrugging. Ivan handed the lilies over, his fingers brushing against Yao's.
"You played beautifully tonight."
"Thank you," Yao murmured, feeling strange with the lilies flush against his chest. He felt like he did in that hospital bed; unsure of himself, conflicted. "Your show is later this week, isn't it?"
Ivan nodded, still smiling warmly. How could he look at Yao like that? When Yao left, he'd given little to no explanation. He'd reached such a breaking point that staying even one moment longer would have suffocated him. But to Ivan, it must have been like a stab to the heart — Yao had abandoned him.
Yao couldn't stand the little silence between them any longer. "How long are you staying in Shanghai?"
"For a few days at least. Will you come to my show?"
Yao opened his mouth to answer, though he wasn't sure how. Rationally, he didn't think he should go to Ivan's concert. Yet, there was nothing he wanted more than to hear Ivan's music again — to hear it come straight from his fingertips, not from a stilted recording on a tinny speaker like Yao would often listen to in the dead of the night, alone in his car.
In the corner of his eye, Yong Soo was squeezing his way through the crowd, catching sight of the two of them with visible panic.
"O-Or we could go out for dinner, instead," Ivan offered quickly, looking slightly flustered. He was probably as nervous as Yao was. "Let me take you out tomorrow, Yao. We should catch up. Your phone number is the same, I hope?"
Yao nodded. That was all he had to do, and suddenly Ivan was back in his life again.
"Good," Ivan smiled, and it set Yao's stomach into awful butterflies. He missed being looked at that way. "I look forward to it."
Yong Soo grabbed Yao's arm. "Hey! Our taxi is waiting outside!"
"Oh —" Yao awkwardly looked to Ivan, who was still looking at him warmly as he got dragged away by Yong Soo. "See you tomorrow then!"
"Yao, what are you doing?" Yong Soo muttered as the two of them left the theatre lobby, out into a rainy street where no taxi was waiting for them. "You can't seriously be thinking about —"
"I'm not," Yao said, though neither of them believed it.
.
Yao gazed blankly at his reflection in the mirror with a strange sense of déjà vu. He was dressed neatly in almost all black — black turtleneck, black blazer, black trousers and black shoes, save for the gold belt buckle at his waist. His hair was slicked back in a low ponytail, save for a few loose strands which framed his unusually pale face. He looked like one of those models on the cover of a high fashion magazine, flaunting jaunt cheekbones and probably advertising an expensive watch, too.
"Is this too much?"
"Shut up, Yao, you look great," Yong Soo said from behind him, sprawled in the armchair in the corner of the room. "I don't know why you're so eager to impress him."
"I'm not — " Yao pursed his lips, clutching at his churning, aching stomach. Hands cold and clammy. Heart beating so hard he felt he might die from this excruciating nervousness. "I'm not trying to impress him."
"Then what are you trying to do?"
Yao shrugged, sighing irritably as he sat at the foot of his bed. The air of the room was thick with the scent of Ivan's lilies, which sat alone on his bedside table. The smell must have bothered him in his sleep, too — he dreamt of choking in that theatre again, only this time smothered in lilies.
"What if he's disappointed?" Yao said eventually, shakily picking at the fray of his jacket sleeve. "What if he's built up this fantasy of me in all this time? What if I was always just a fantasy for him?"
"Oh, hold on. I think I know what you're getting at."
"You do?"
"Yeah, you want it to be a whole fuck-you moment, right? Like, look at what you've been missing, asshole!" Yong Soo sprang up from his chair, standing next to Yao and appraising the outfit with feigned scrutiny. "Oh yeah. That'll do it."
"Stop that." Yao rolled his eyes. "You're not being serious —"
"I totally am!"
"Why did you come over, anyway? I'm not changing my mind about going."
"I mean," Yong Soo's voice grew quiet. "I still don't understand why you're meeting him at all."
Yao groaned, turning away from him. "See?"
"No but seriously! Yao, I won't judge, come on."
"You are definitely going to judge."
"Okay, maybe just a tiny bit? But I promise I'll be mostly very understanding!"
Yao fell back on his bed, his stomach tightening sharply when he realised it was half-past seven — not long until the taxi Ivan insisted on sending came by to pick him up. Why was he doing this anyway? The Yao from a mere few days ago would have scoffed at the idea, but seeing Ivan and hearing his voice affected him more than he could have imagined.
Yao knew, rationally, that there was no use in rekindling a relationship with Ivan. Viktor had never left, not really.
And yet, emotionally, Yao couldn't help the need to see Ivan again, to indulge — even briefly — in the possibility of a happy life with him.
He couldn't deny Ivan that same chance, either. He couldn't bear to think of the pain Ivan had likely felt the last few years, that however much Yao had missed him, Ivan probably missed him just as much, too.
Yong Soo jumped up from the armchair. "Taxi's here!"
The restaurant Ivan had picked was the same sleek Japanese diner they had been to more than two years ago, the day Ivan had brought a whole van's worth of lilies to Yao's home. Sheltered by the pouring rain outside, Yao and Ivan sat at a table by the window overlooking the busy, neon-lit high street. Ivan was sat opposite of Yao, in a white woolly sweater and plaid jacket, hands tightly clasped together. It gave Yao a small comfort knowing he wasn't the only one in agonising nervousness.
After a few, terse moments of silence, Ivan's tight-lipped smile broke into soft laughter.
Yao swallowed, unable to help himself from smiling in return. "What?"
"So, Yaochka," Ivan said, in a tender way that made Yao's chest ache, "what have you been up to in the last couple of years?"
"Oh. Not a whole… lot…" Yao's voice grew quiet and raspy, his hands restless and sweaty under the table. He cleared his throat. "Actually, I do my own concerts now. I've travelled around the country a bit, too. I still play at Frisco's sometimes though."
"Yes, I heard! About the concerts, I mean." Ivan chuckled, his face a little flushed. "I'm so proud of you, Yao. It makes me really happy."
"T-Thank you," Yao stammered, caught a little off guard by how direct Ivan's gaze was. A warm giddiness was rising in Yao's chest, a dangerous hopefulness. He'd forgotten just how good Ivan's reassurance felt. "And how about you? What have you been doing?"
Ivan sighed out slowly. "I still compose, I guess. I live in St. Petersburg for most of the year, but I travel around. I've been thinking of taking somewhat of a break these days."
"Oh. Are you —?"
"I'm alright, don't look so worried! It's more of a creative break I need. I've lost my inspiration a bit." Ivan leaned forward with a familiar gleam in his eyes. "Inspiration was very easy when I was with you."
"Was it?" Yao laughed nervously. "How so?"
"Well, now you're just asking for compliments."
"I mean —"
"But I will say that you made me feel a lot of things, Yao. Not just affection, or warmth, but… as strange as it sounds, a kind of hunger, too. I always felt like I was yearning around you, reaching for something I couldn't — or shouldn't — have. I don't know how to explain it. But I suppose it made my music interesting."
Yao furrowed his brows. "Yearning? What for?"
"Anyway, is there anyone special in your life?" Ivan asked abruptly, the interruption soothed by a sweet smile. "Your friend the other day was giving me the evil eye. What's his name again?"
Yao spluttered on his drink, choking and laughing all at once. "Yong Soo? No! You didn't actually think that…?"
"If you say so," Ivan muttered, albeit a little darkly.
"I'm being honest! He's like a brother to me. An annoying one!" Yao choked back laughter, wiping tears from his tears. He felt a bit bad for calling Yong Soo annoying, but thought better than to add the caveat that he did truly care about him. "I still can't believe you thought we were dating. You know he plays video games until like, two in the morning, and when he wins he practically screams. It's even worse when he loses. There's no way I could live with that!"
Ivan's face was unreadable then, drawn and quiet.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't think I've ever heard you laugh like that."
"No?" Yao sighed. "That can't be true."
"The more I think about it, the more it seems that you've…" Ivan trailed off. "Anyway. I'm so happy to see you happy, Yao. That you can laugh freely like that. It's like your entire face lit up just then. Please laugh like that more often."
Yao pursed his lips, his chest aching faintly. Why was Ivan being so kind to him? Had he always been this way? Was Yao truly the problem this entire time? A nagging, invasive thought entered his mind: perhaps, Yao couldn't help but think, perhaps he could laugh like that more often with Ivan around, if he tried hard enough at happiness. After all, he's been doing so much better the last year or so ever since he started therapy. Maybe it was all Yao needed. Maybe things could work out this time —
"What's wrong?"
Yao blinked. "Hm?"
"I've said something hurtful, haven't I?"
"No," Yao shook his head, straightening his napkin. "I was just thinking."
Their main course arrived, and with it the conversation fell silent again. Yao could barely eat, his stomach in such an ache that even a single bite made him feel nauseous. He sipped at his water often, feeling as though if he stopped moving or doing something that he might sink. Was Yao wrong about Ivan this entire time? Where was Viktor, where was the monstrous man who twisted every word like a knife, who raged at perceived slights and less than satisfactory displays of loyalty?
Across from him was Ivan, and Ivan only — smiling sweetly and shyly when gazed at, his hands clumsily gripping the chopsticks, and his words overwhelmingly affectionate and kind. Though… yes, his nose did seem to have a slight crook in it with this lighting, and there was something a bit prouder, almost uncharacteristically stiff, about his posture. But it had been a few years, so some things were sure to change.
"Do you miss the theatre?" Yao asked, somewhat impulsively. Ivan seemed a little startled by the question.
"Our theatre?"
"Yes, our theatre," Yao said, unable to help the swell of satisfaction in his chest on saying those words. "I dream about it a lot. I guess I really miss going there. I liked sneaking in with you at midnight, and listening to you play. But it's been so long that those memories don't even feel real anymore. I struggle to remember the details like I used to, and I worry sometimes that I'll wake up one day and forget you, too."
"Surely not," Ivan chuckled.
Yao pursed his lips shut. "I shouldn't have said that."
"I know what you mean, though. It's strange not being able to return somewhere, or to see someone you were once close to. Your memories are all you have left, which makes them all the more precious."
Yao nodded, a tiny lump in his throat. Would today be the last he ever saw of Ivan? Like that theatre, would he, too, become nothing more than a dreamlike memory?
"My memories of you are precious, too," Ivan continued, his voice a little softer now. "I think about you all the time."
Me, too, Yao wanted to say, but he held back. "You can't possibly be thinking about me all the time…" he said instead, laughing awkwardly despite the sting in his eyes.
"You still haunt me, Yao," Ivan said. "I still play our symphony sometimes, and write things I only ever mean for you to hear. I'm still stuck on the day I met you. How different my life would have been if I hadn't…"
Yao tried to swallow down the lump in his throat, looking anywhere but Ivan. He wanted to say the very same things, wanted Ivan to know that his presence had never truly left Yao. But he worried about slipping further, about letting Ivan in any closer.
Ivan reached across the table, hand warm and familiar on Yao's. It reminded Yao of those few, precious golden days just after the theatre had burnt down: affection had come easily, and Ivan had been nothing but tender with him. For those few days, at least.
"Yaochka, what happened? Where did it all go wrong?"
Yao froze, heart still and heavy.
"… You don't know?" he asked quietly.
"Everything was fine, until one day it wasn't. You left without saying anything."
Yao bit the inside of his cheek, trying hard not to snap. He could barely remember what had spurred him to leave, but he remembered quite clearly that it had been just the tipping point — the final injury after many physical and emotional bruises, after many stone-cold silences, and resentful mutterings, and emotional acrobatics where Yao's 'no' was an attack on Ivan's ego. It was feeling terrified to gamble on whether Ivan would speak to him the next day, on staying silent even when the supposed 'banter' hurt. It was Ivan's binges of late-night drinking, the apartment stinking of cigarette smoke and spilt liquor, where no scar-riddled Viktor had seemingly appeared and yet —
Yao felt he couldn't possibly explain it. Not to Ivan. Not to anyone.
"I was going through… something…" was all Yao could say, shifting the food on his plate. He was no longer hungry.
"Yaochka…" Ivan stroked his thumb across the back of Yao's hand. "You're hiding something from me. Whatever it is, I can fix it. Trust me."
Yao shook his head and pulled his hand away. "Shall we get the bill?"
Ivan's expression fell, and Yao felt an awful stab of guilt. "Sure. Do you want to go home?"
Going home was probably for the best, but saying goodbye now felt too upsetting to even consider.
"No, not yet," Yao said. "We could go somewhere by the waterfront?"
Ivan smiled, though it wavered. "I'd like that."
.
On their way to the waterfront, Ivan spoke little, his words getting icy and sparse in a way that made Yao nervous. The river was almost pitch-black, scarcely reflecting the half-moon slanted in the sky. There were no tourists or locals around, not at this hour at least. Ivan and Yao stood by the railing, overlooking the Huangpu River silently.
"I should have been kinder to you in that hospital," Ivan said.
Yao felt his shoulders grow cold. Kinder? He recalled feeling half-dead in that hospital bed, remembered the sickly sweet lilies Ivan had brought him. He remembered the tupperwares of food Yong Soo had brought him. And then… there it was, that painful, undesirable memory — Viktor screaming and hissing at him. Did Ivan really remember that?
"What do you mean?" was all Yao could say, treading carefully.
"I said a lot of awful things to you then. Things I didn't mean, but hurt you nonetheless. I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have done a lot of the things I did when I was with you."
Yao said nothing, trying not to crumble from the inside. Ivan had known — or at least knew now — what he had done. Somehow, it hurt more.
Ivan turned to Yao, looking so stupidly soft and sweet even as he was tearing Yao's wounds up anew.
"I'm sorry, Yao."
Yao only swallowed and gave a shallow nod. "It's okay, Ivan. It was a long time ago."
He looked away from Ivan and towards the dazzling horizon, where the Pudong district buildings across the Huangpu River were slowly going out like dying embers. There was no sound but the lapping of the river beneath their feet, and Yao could feel those painful emotions drown deep within him. He cleared his throat and nudged Ivan.
"Hey… whatever happened to that box of yours?" Yao asked. "The one that kept appearing in funny places."
Ivan chuckled. "Ah. That box." He tiredly wiped his face, the dark circles under his eyes more apparent now. "I stopped keeping track of it. It must still be with me somehow, but I've just accepted it'll always follow me."
"Oh."
Ivan side-glanced Yao, his smile a little strange. "You must think I'm so broken."
"I mean, everyone's a little broken somehow, right?"
"No, Yao," Ivan laughed softly. "We're broken. Everyone else is fine. I think it's part of why we went so well together. It's comforting to see your reflection in someone else."
"Speak for yourself," Yao laughed dryly, even though Ivan's words rang somewhat true for him. "I liked you because you were charming, and kind. And handsome, of course."
"Liked?"
"Well. I… still do, obviously. Think you're — um. Anyway."
"I think it's also important to note that the first night we slept together was also the night you found out I take pills for medically-bizarre phantom scars."
Yao rolled his eyes. "Coincidental."
"Of course," Ivan laughed softly, his arm brushing against Yao's. The close contact stung — in Yao's heart, in his eyes which threatened to well up with tears. Staying here was only prolonging the inevitable. Close to midnight, Yao thought as he checked his phone. He should probably go home soon.
"You're leaving," Ivan said bluntly as he began fishing around in his coat pockets.
"Maybe. Soon."
Ivan took out a pill bottle and poured it into the palm of his hand. The pills were still the same salmon-pink colour, and Yao could recall the bitterness of that first pill in his mouth all those years ago, when Ivan had placed it in there himself.
"You still take those?" Yao asked.
"Have to," Ivan sighed, staring into his palm, the dark waters running beneath. "Hm."
"What is it?"
After a moment's silence, Ivan threw the pills into the water, along with the rest of the bottle.
"Ivan, what are you doing?!" Yao grabbed his coat sleeve. "Didn't you just say you needed them?"
Ivan only laughed quietly, mischievously. "I don't know what got into me. It was too tempting to throw them in there. And it just occurred to me, you know, that — well. Why does it matter, anyway? Whether I'm taking the pills or not."
"For the pain, Ivan. Don't you still get those scars? And it helps you sleep better, too —"
"What good does that do, though? All this time, I've only been putting that pain to sleep. It never truly goes away. If I don't feel it now, I'll feel it later in my nightmares. I'll act it out in my blackouts. It's no use trying to drown out that part of me. This — this vitriolic, bitter man, that's just who I am."
Yao felt his lips tremble, his chest aching. "No, it's not."
"Stop lying, Yao. I think you know this better than anyone." Ivan's jaw hardened, and something in the way he muttered his words sent an old terror into Yao's heart. "Of course, you want me on those pills. I'm nicer to you when I'm drugged up and dopey."
"I thought the blackouts stopped. I thought in that theatre, when the fire —"
"Why would the blackouts ever stop?"
Yao fell silent, his whole body shaking. Midnight struck — the lights of the Oriental Pearl Tower across the river blinked away into the night, the city around them now dimmer. It was at this hour, typically, that Yao used to await Viktor's appearance. But there was no obvious transformation: Ivan had long since already shown bitterness, yet even now there was a vulnerable gentleness about him. There were no flaming scars, no long-dead spirit haunting the night.
Just Ivan.
A hand gently touched his shoulder, drawing Yao into a hug.
"Don't you think we could be a little broken together?" Ivan said, laughing softly though Yao knew he meant it.
Yao sighed, leaning in and breathing in Ivan's scent — cologne and lilies and cigarette smoke — for what would likely be the last time. This was Ivan's tenderness, this embrace, but within the last few hours Yao had already felt the sting of his coldness, too. What would their relationship look like over the stretch of the next few months, the next few years or even decades? Yao couldn't possibly survive it, and he felt foolish for never realising that some core part of Ivan had always been bitter and cruel.
"Goodnight, Ivan," was all Yao could say, before he finally pulled away and never looked back.
.
It was the night of Ivan's final performance. Yao had made the mistake of going to bed early, and now, he was staring wide awake at the ceiling.
By now, he thought, the performance would be over. By now, Ivan would have bowed for his praise, maybe gone out for celebratory drinks with others, and returned to his hotel room.
By now, he might even be on a plane, leaving the country and Yao's life forever.
Yao wanted to feel relieved for it. He wanted some sense of closure, or contentedness, about his choice to leave. But all he could do was groggily daydream, scrambling for some wisp of a connection to Ivan. Falling asleep would likely only bring him another nightmare about that cursed theatre. He felt, almost, that he might as well see it for himself.
He left the house shivering, body enveloped in dewy night air. The streets were empty, and the air was muffled by the distant sounds of traffic. Few skyscrapers were still alight, their brightness peeking through laundry lines and the wet leaves of the trees. Lamps flickered along Yao's path, as his neighbourhood blended with the French concession, where the paths turned from concrete to quaint cobblestone.
Yao remembered walking down these steps with Ivan — remembered seeing into his eyes and realising he was not entirely there with him. Divine, Ivan had called him, holding Yao desperately even though they had barely knew each other then.
He treaded through his childhood park, where that old footpath he and Kiku took had now grown over with grass and shrubs. Yao cut that path anew for the first time in a long while, humming in the dark in almost a daze, his legs seized by something like muscle memory as they guided him to that theatre.
Tape blocked his path. His feet stopped just short of where those stone steps should be, but he was terrified to look. Would he be overcome with emotion? Should he even look up at all? What if it brought back regrets, memories Yao had long since buried? What if the sight of what was once a theatre overwhelmed him? The fire had ravaged much of it, and what was left had long since been scheduled for demolition. There was burnt rubble by his feet. Would that reality hurt him, or would it give way only for further fantasy?
Even if it was all broken — jagged and laid bare in all its injured ugliness — Yao was tempted to walk through its ruins anyway. Just to feel close to him. Just to pretend, for a moment, that they were both still on that stage. In what was perhaps wishful thinking, Yao thought he could feel a presence. Would he look up and find the ghostly apparition of Viktor waiting there for him once again?
Yao clenched his hands into tight fists, nails digging into his shaky palms. What was he doing? Frisco's was only just down this road, where he would likely find Yong Soo and Jin still there, laughing drunkenly and stupidly. Yao could easily walk there instead and have a perfectly happy evening — so why was he hesitating?
He stood there feeling stuck, paralyzed between the two choices. It was a decision he'd been making every day of the last two years, yet it never got much easier. There was always that danger of falling in once more, and today he was tiptoeing on the edge of that intimately familiar despair. He felt his balance waver, his mind swaying one way or another, and with a hesitant swivel he turned back home.
The ruins of the theatre were out of sight in mere moments, though Yao knew he would be tempted to return night after night. But perhaps one day — Yao could hope — when old memories were overwritten by the new, when different melodies sprung from his lips and the fresh scent of lilies no longer stung, he wouldn't walk down this street at all.
A/N: Whether you've been following this story from way back in 2018 when I first starting posting, or came across this fic more recently, thank you so SO much for reading and supporting this story. Your patience and enthusiasm for the story means a lot to me, and I hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I did writing it ;v;
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