Work Text:
I've been dreamin' nothin', nothin'
When Ayanga gets off the bus (which he barely had enough money for) from Qingdao Airport, he is full of impatience and excitement. He grabs his bag tighter and pulls out a map. He still remembers Yunlong's address, so it shouldn't be difficult to find his house. He buttons his jacket – the day is unusually cold today – turns around and begins to walk.
He has no money for a taxi (he only managed to save up for a plane ticket there from Beijing and back), and Yunlong doesn’t really that he’s coming, so he takes out an umbrella just in case.
Looking around, he sighs, feeling the faint smell of the sea – it is somewhere behind the houses, and cannot help smiling.
Today is probably the most important day in his entire life.
And he is ready.
The familiar view of the town that he has seen so many times suddenly reminds him the very first time he found himself here.
Then, he did not yet know what gift of fate this event brought.
When he locked himself in the bathroom of an unfamiliar apartment, shaking, not understanding where he was, what was wrong with him. Why the woman in an unfamiliar language was explaining something to him and stroking his head until he woke up.
When he looked in the mirror and for the first time in his life did not find his own face in the reflection - instead someone else looked at him, disheveled and frightened.
When he found a note that explained everything yet nothing.
As a Mongolian shepherd boy, he knew a little Chinese, so he could make out only a few words and they were:
“Hello, my name is Zheng Yunlong. And it seems that I accidentally found myself in your body?..."
Ayanga stops for a moment, raises his head, examining the low clouds, gathering just above the houses, which will undoubtedly soon turn into a thunderstorm. For some reason he feels goose bumps running down the skin. He suddenly feels very strange, but rejects this sensation and continues to stubbornly walk.
The day when he first saw the Qingdao sun comes to mind.
When he, completely confused and stunned, stood in the street when Zheng's mother (as he later found out) threw him out the door so that he could go to school. He raised his head and there was the sun – blinding – it reminded him of his home, his steppes – shining directly on him. His heart ached at that moment, and he almost fell, barely having time to catch on to the post. Yet its all now feels like a distant dream.
When Ayanga turns into a familiar street, his heart stops and his knees shake slightly.
So many times he walked this road, returning from school, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends, but always like Zheng Yunlong.
But today, he walks on his own, like Ayanga.
He hesitates in front of the door, hand froze over the doorbell.
What is waiting for? Why so slow?
He grins at his own indecision, straightens his back and knocks on the door.
“Does Zheng Yunlong live here?”
With a sinking heart he asks right from the doorway.
The slouching woman, whom he instantly recognizes as Yunlong's mother, looks at him blankly for a few moments, and then her eyes darken.
“No.”
Ayanga's heart skips a beat.
“Not anymore.”
Different times
Different lives
Oh now
Did you think you could change it?
Ayanga saw his face every day when he was transferred from his home village to a small apartment in Qingdao.
He saw it in the reflection in the bathroom mirror, when he wandered in the evenings by the water, not daring to come up to touch, but only to look.
It was a simple, unremarkable face, a large nose, thin lips, but his eyes, penetrating, serious - Ayanga always laughed awkwardly when looking. And yet there was something about Zheng Yunlong, simple, touching... kind.
In just a few months (weeks?), Yunlong had become an integral part of his life.
Ayanga listened to the stories told by his parents, friends, and Yunlong seemed to him to be someone with whom he could be very good friends... and the more he thought about it, the more he wanted it.
He wanted to see him, but to see this face in front of him, to see how he laughs, to hear how he speaks.
But he could not, however, even if he really wanted to.
Later, lying for a long time at night in his bed in Mongolia, he usually recalled his face and all the places in which he was, the house, the seashore, now it all became dear to him.
He does not know when simple notes, reports on how each other's day passed turned into letters log and detailed. He doesn’t really care.
Yunlong's letters were beautiful, lively, interesting. Ayanga recalls all the nights he spent with a Chinese dictionary by his side to read what Yunlong wrote to him in each new letter. Now every sentence imprinted in his heart forever. If someone woke him up at night and asked to retell them, he would tell them all without hesitation.
They were like diamonds in which the secret of the world was hidden. Because in every word, every syllable – it was all Zheng Yunlong.
But then it all stopped – suddenly, confusing – just like it started. He waited and waited and waited – yet the moment never came. But deep down he knew – the moment they stopped exchanging dreams, lives, Ayanga knew – it was time to find his best friend.
He escaped his steppes, went to Beijing, and every night, every god damn night he pictured his face, his eyes, big, serious, and dear.
And as the door behind Yunlong’s mother closes and he is left alone – oh so alone – he remembers, as if yesterday, as he, trembling from something – either excitement, or lack of practice in Chinese writing, was himself writing an answer:
"Hello, my name is Ayanga"
No!
All wrong!
This is not how it supposed to happen.
Zheng Yunlong…Dead? Three years ago? Drowned?
Before Ayanga's eyes is still the stern face of Yunlong's mother, who furtively, when she thought he could not see, wiped the corners of her eyes with a napkin. He can't believe it's true.
"I really like your mother, she has a very beautiful voice and warm hands ..."
Ayanga walks down the street, not knowing where. Cold rain (god knows when it started raining) hits his face, but he does not seem to notice it. Finally he finds himself by the sea.
In the background the thunder rumbles and in the distance he sees lightning that strikes the water. For a second, two, three, a deafening rumble reaches him.
Ayanga closes his eyes.
His best friend, his closest person in the whole world...gone?
The pain stings at his heart, and it aches so much. The thunder rumbles more and more, the wind, howling, hits his face. Tears stream down his face, and he falls to his knees, embracing himself.
"I really love to sing. My mother thinks that I need a serious job and a good income, but I want to work in the theater..."
Ayanga does not know which gods to pray, what words, in which language to speak, and a bitter cry comes from the throat. Memories one by one stand in front of him of Zheng Yunlong and of his own days in Qingdao, rushing through his mind swiftly, taking away in turn a piece of his soul with it.
And there is nothing in his thoughts except one desire:
“Let him live,” he whispers, bowing his head, listening to the waves crashing against the high pier, “live, please.”
"I would really like to see you"
Ayanga does not see, but feels another lightning striking the sea – so close – the thunder almost immediately resounds over his ear. Something flashes in front of his eyes.
He flinches in surprise, but suddenly:
“Help! He-l!”
Ayanga frowns and instantly opens his eyes when he hears someone's voice. Only a timid thought slips through his mind – what if?!...
He jumps to his feet, peering into the black waves:
“I..m he-re!”
It is him.
Ayanga shivers.
This is Yunlong's voice, and nothing in the whole world will stop him from confusing it.
“Dalong!” he shouts back.
He prowls the water surface with even greater fury. In a split second he notices a pale hand reaching up until another wave swept over her.
"I would really like to take you to Qingdao so that we can go to the sea together ..."
Without hesitation, he takes off his jacket and dives into the water. He barely remembers any of those lessons on the shore. He flutters randomly with his arms and legs, swallowing water ad feeling it sting in the nose. It gets into his eyes, but he stubbornly continues, trying to make his way to Yunlong.
“He-lp...” quiet voice is very close, and then, Ayanga sees him.
In horror, he watches as if in slow motion, as Yunlong's eyes roll back, and he begins to go under the water again.
"I would also very much like to see you"
“No!”
Ayanga rushes to him, grabbing his shoulder. And it is at this moment that he is pierced with a sense of the reality of what is happening – he’s back.
Back to three years ago.
This is his chance.
The only chance.
“I'm here!” he shouts, grabbing onto Yunlong, pulling him closer and dragging him, dragging him with all his might to the shore.
Yunlong, unconscious, is hanging on his shoulder while Ayanga drags him. He does not know, he does not remember how much time has passed, his legs and arms, his whole body numb, but all that is important to him at that moment is his Dalong.
“I am here,” Ayanga persistently repeats, “I am here”.
"I think you and I would’ve been great friends."
They fall to the shore. Altough Ayanga's body feels almost nothing, he crawls closer to Yunlong, looking at his pale face, brushing away wet strands.
“Dalong, Dalong,” he whispers, stroking his cheek, “everything will be fine. Dalong, I am here…”
Yunlong does not breathe, he understands suddenly.
“No, no, no” he mumbles to himself.
He won’t give up that easily, not now.
Ayanga sits down next to him and bends down, pressing on Yunlong’s heart several times, and then doing artificial respiration.
Once again. And again. And again.
But Yunlong remains motionless.
“Dalong”, he repeats thoughtlessly, desperately, bending low over the body, “Dalong come back to me.”
He touches his lips, but this time in a barely noticeable kiss, putting all the despair into it. He feels how cold Yunlong's lips are, and hurriedly blinks away the tears, barely holding back a cry.
“Come back.” He voice cracks.
The strength leaves him, he almost falls on Yunlong, clutching to his body, wrapping the wet hands around his face.
"I think I love you"
“Please.”
The second passes, then another – they all painfully long – and suddenly the body twitches under him.
Ayanga quickly pulls back. Yunlong's eyelashes move slightly. Ayanga doesn’t seem to breath – Yunlong lets out a weak cough as he spits out water, rolls over onto his side, and then collapses back onto the sand.
Ayanga's heart flutters as Yunlong slowly opens his eyes and finds him.
“Wha-Gazi?...” Yunlong whispers in a hoarse, half-firm, half-asks tone.
Alive.
He’s alive.
Ayunga trembles slightly.
“Yes, Dalong. It's me,” Ayanga breathes, crawling closer, taking Yunlong's hand, “I’m here.”
“Wha-what happened?...”
“You almost drowned and I-...”
“You saved me.”
“Yes.”
They fall silent for a second. Ayanga gazes in Yunlong’s eyes – penetrating, serious – they are finally in front of him. And he finally feels complete.
“Don’t you dare lose me again.”
Ayanga lets out a laugh dropping his head on Yunlong's shoulder.
“Hey!” someone’s voice breaks the sudden silence.
He looks around; several people are already running towards them.
They were found. Everything’s gonna be fine.
Ayanga exhales and falls back on his back without letting Yunlong’s hand go. He can feel Yunlong clenching his fingers weakly in return and smiles.
They are saved.
Ayanga closes his eyes, heavy breathing loudly. The last forces leave him, he closes his eyes and loses consciousness.
The last thing his gaze could catch was another bolt of lightning piercing the horizon.
...
Ayanga wakes up and sits up abruptly on the bed. He is in his apartment in Beijing. He scratches his head – strange, today an unusually vivid dream.
This dream always ends in the same way – lightning pierces the water on the horizon, but anything else disappears from his field of vision, all memories melt away, elude him as soon as he wakes up. His heart tightens with a dull pain, but he habitually ignores it and gets up to start a new day.
Ever since he arrived in Beijing a couple of years ago, everything seems to be strange. Even if he was finally working towards his dreams, something seemed to be missing. As if he is looking for something... someone.
He does not know why, yet he continues to peer into the faces of people, listen to someone's accents, immediately sorting out where this or that person is from. On the subway, he is constantly looking at other passengers, just like he is now. Yet, it all seems to be wrong every time.
But any thought almost immediately leaves his mind when he arrives – today is the day of auditions for the Beijing Dance Academy. The sun is shining so bright today – he pulls sunglasses and rushes to the building.
He is pretty worried and excited at the same time. Ayanga almost runs to the audition auditorium without noticing anything around. He is so immersed in his worries and feelings that doesn’t notice somebody in front of him and hits someone with the shoulder.
“Oh!”
Ayanga jumps back a few steps and throws up his head.
A pair of large, wide, surprised eyes are looking at him that Ayanga frezees, the words of apology stuck in his throat.
His heart is suddenly pierced with some strange, inexplicable pulling pain.
The guy looks at him in surprise and is also silent. They stare at each other for a few moments, when Ayanga suddenly blinks in embarrassment and looks down.
Vague sensation, as if... as if... as if they meet before?
But surely, he’d remember such face, and such…eyes. He does not understand, and meanwhile he cannot take his eyes off the stranger.
“S-sorry,” Ayanga finally mutters, yet the moment is missed, “I’m gonna...go?”
Feeling his cheeks start to redden, he hastily bows and turns to walk away.
“Wait!”
Suddenly Ayanga feels a light touch to his hand.
He turns around quickly.
The guy is silent for a second but something doesn’t let them move away so he finally speaks:
“What...what is your name?”
“Ayanga.”
“Zheng Yunlong. I’m sorry…Have we met before?”
Come back a different day
If you wait
Day, night
Sunshine finds you