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“Excuse me!” someone shouts.
Junhui turns around. That’s a standard thing to do when someone shouts that. The young man behind him is what a normal person would call drop dead gorgeous and what Junhui will eventually refer to as the love of his life. He doesn’t know that yet. And maybe if he did, he wouldn’t say, “Hi,” with a warm smile like he does.
Maybe he wouldn’t be fidgeting with the torn up hems of his sleeves if he knew what he was getting himself into. No, he would. Because that’s the point. He’d do it again, and again, and again.
“Do you know where studio 3 is?” the love of Junhui’s life asks.
“Oh, yeah, you’re with me,” Junhui says with a smile. This beautiful boy is in Junhui’s dance class. Score. “It’s this way.”
“Thank God,” the boy sighs. “This place is so fucking big.”
Junhui hums. “Freshman?”
“Yeah,” the boy sighs again, softer.
“Junior,” Junhui says. “I’m Junhui.”
Junhui’s everything smiles back at him. “Minghao.”
It’s only one class that the two of them have together, given the year and a half between them. That said, they spend a fair amount of time together. Minghao takes to talking with Junhui every morning during stretches, always lingering by him when he can. Minghao is adorable. He has these soft brown eyes and the sweetest voice and he’s so kind. Surely he could find better company in this large room. He chooses to linger with Junhui.
It doesn’t take long. They’re just dance class friends. They’ve exchanged numbers and only talk outside of class sometimes, but Junhui is downright smitten after only a mere three weeks. He can’t stop thinking about Minghao, and he’s so crazy that he sometimes feels like Minghao might like him back.
The first day they hang out away from the dance studio, Junhui gets his closure. After a portion of class is done in the auditorium, Junhui takes a seat at the piano. It’s a knee-jerk response and everyone is on their way out. No one is going to tell him no.
Junhui gets to playing an etude he learned in high school. It’s something he trusts his fingers not to fuck up. He says that as though he doesn’t practice every day. He’s just nervous. He knows Minghao is watching.
After a couple minutes, Junhui feels like he’s subjected Minghao to enough standing around, and gets up from the bench to grab his things. He waits for Minghao to say something but it doesn’t happen. Junhui looks up and finds Minghao staring at him with his very brown eyes and his mouth a little bit open.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” Minghao says.
Junhui gives him a look. “You didn’t know I play?”
“I didn’t know you were that good,” Minghao corrects. “Jesus Christ, man.”
“Thanks,” Junhui says, laughing it off. He’s trying to learn how to accept compliments.
“You’re welcome,” Minghao says. He nudges Junhui’s arm. “You should play for me again sometime.”
Junhui moves to set his bag back down, about to take a seat at the bench. “I can—”
Minghao grabs Junhui’s wrist. “Not right now. I mean, you can. That would be nice, but I meant maybe after dinner sometime?”
“Oh. You mean— Sorry.” Junhui clears his throat. “Just, to clarify, you mean, like, a date?”
“Yeah,” Minghao breathes.
“Yeah,” Junhui says. Minghao’s nerves melt into a smile. “Yeah, that would be awesome.”
He’s on cloud nine for a little while.
Junhui has never felt an emotion in the normal way. He doesn’t feel things in normal amounts. He loves things he loves with all he has and hates things he hates with all he has. It doesn’t take long for Minghao to fall into a category. Junhui has also never expressed an emotion in the normal way.
When he has the revelation that he’s in love with Minghao, he needs to get it out of his system right away. It’s just Junhui’s luck that this has to happen while they’re fogging up the windows of his car after an evening rehearsal. In their few months of dating, they’ve never done this before. They’ve kissed before, and that’s all they’re doing now, but it’s a little new. It’s never happened in the car before, Minghao in Junhui’s lap, gasping and making these little humming sounds and pressing their bodies together, hands under shirts.
“I—” Junhui starts. Minghao swallows his voice right up. Junhui gets it out anyway. “I love you.”
Minghao doesn’t skip a beat. “I love you too,” he says earnestly, pressing his lips to Junhui’s again.
Well. This doesn’t feel quite right, does it? Beautiful, sweet Minghao, in love, and in the back of a car? Certainly not.
“Minghao,” Junhui says, pushing Minghao back with gentle hands, just enough for room to breathe. “Can I just take you home with me?”
Minghao has been to Junhui’s place before, but it’s a little different this time. He smiles. “Yeah.”
Minghao is a dream. He’s everything Junhui has ever wanted. It’s fitting that he’s there when Junhui’s life is ruined. For good. There’s no coming back from this.
At least Minghao is there. After three years of being with Junhui, enough crazy has rubbed off on Minghao (is it the other way around?) that he managed to get into Junhui’s hospital room right after he’s out of surgery from the accident.
Junhui is still hopped up on pain meds when he gets the news, and maybe that makes it worse. It throws him into hysterics.
“But—” he chokes on his sob. Why is he crying? Junhui never cries. He’s nearly wailing. “But I have a recital next week! I have to dance!”
The doctor doesn’t frown at him, doesn’t give him any pity. He’s about to say something when Minghao apparently decides to do it for him, squeezing Junhui’s hand and staring at him with those brown eyes. “You’re not going to be better by then, I’m sorry.”
“What?” Junhui croaks. “Who’s doing my solo?”
“I don’t know,” Minghao says. “I haven’t talked to anyone about it yet, but… Junhui, I’m really sorry. The doctors are saying you’re probably never going to dance again.”
Junhui feels like his heart stops. “What?”
“Maybe someday,” Minghao adds, voice breaking a little.
That’s all Junhui gets. He gets through the pain meds, the physical therapy, the rehab, and he gets no more than “Maybe someday.” He’s nothing. Once or twice over his recovery, Junhui gripes that he’d rather the car have just killed him, and Minghao scolds him every time.
Junhui doesn’t actually want to be dead, but on occasion, he does think he might be better off. He’s nothing this way. He’s not going to finish grad school if he can’t dance. He has to drop out. He’s got his BFA in dance and he’ll never get his Masters. He’s absolutely useless. 15 years of dance gone for good. Junhui is nothing without his legs.
Minghao always scolds him for voicing that too. Junhui can walk, at least. Most of the time. Somedays, he can’t really do it without his cane, and he fucking hates his cane. He’ll use it at home, where it’s just Minghao, but he can’t possibly take the cane outside. He’s only 23. Everyone stares at a 23-year-old using a cane. He’d rather be dead.
With dropping out, Junhui was also forced to quit his part time job waiting tables. He can’t be floating around a restaurant if he can’t walk in a straight line. Consequently, Minghao is driving himself insane. Junhui has become a hermit while his boyfriend is still in school and picking up extra shifts to provide for them.
Minghao is exhausted. He’s killing himself. He’ll come home and throw himself onto the couch with a sigh, insist that he’s alright when Junhui asks, then get to work on dinner alone because he gets antsy when Junhui is on his feet.
“Will you please let me help you with something?” Junhui asks.
“I’m good,” Minghao says.
“You’re tired,” Junhui counters. “You’re haunting the house.”
Minghao laughs a little as he grabs things from the fridge. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
Junhui huffs. His eyes start to get all hot and watery. Fuck. He hates it when they do that. “I’m not 80 years old.”
The sass isn’t even there. He sounds pathetic, and Minghao looks at him with pitiful eyes. “That isn’t what I’m saying,” Minghao says. “I just don’t want you to fall or something.”
“Just let me help,” Junhui tries. “Give me something, I’m not going to die.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” Minghao says softly.
“Do you know how useless I feel?” Junhui asks. “I can’t even— I haven’t been able to do anything in 5 weeks, Minghao.”
“I’m sorry,” Minghao says.
For a moment, they stare at each other and it makes Junhui uncomfortable so he starts to look at the floor instead.
“Do you want to sit at the counter and chop stuff?” Minghao proposes.
“Sure,” Junhui says.
Minghao helps him up and over to the counter, and they put some music on. Junhui is able to listen to music again without wanting to cry because he can’t dance anymore. He’s pulling the pieces back together.
“Why do you put up with me?” Junhui asks.
Minghao stops humming and turns around. “What?”
“Why do you put up with me?” Junhui asks again.
“I love you,” Minghao says. “I can’t help it.”
Junhui looks down and gets back to work with a little smile. “I love you too.”
If nothing else, Junhui can still play the keys. It’s keeping him sane in the midst of his life falling apart. Instead of his usual morning stretches, he plays the piano. Instead of waltzing around the living room with Minghao, he plays the piano. Instead of mourning his own life out loud by screaming, he plays the piano.
Junhui picks up a guitar along the way. It’s Minghao’s old one from when he learned four and a half chords in high school before giving up. Junhui’s efforts are slow but sure. He’s got the free time for it.
He starts to get into writing like he used to be. When Junhui was a kid, he’d fill notebooks with the beginnings of stories that never had a real ending. He’s never been good with the ends of things.
Junhui starts to write a musical.
Minghao is an angel. He listens to all of Junhui’s ramblings about the characters in his show, and the weird details of the sheet music program on Junhui’s laptop that he’s still getting the hang of, he watches the American musicals that inspire Junhui even though he doesn’t like subtitles because that’s the kind of person he is.
Junhui is halfway through scoring the second act when Minghao dies. Spring has just begun, but the air outside seems to get colder. Maybe Junhui is just going crazy. He always did say that Minghao was his sanity.
The funeral is what draws Junhui out of denial. Well, it’s actually the five hour train ride to Anshan that pulls him into the anger stage of grief. He’s cried himself out by the time he’s at the funeral.
Junhui gets condolences from everyone around as Minghao’s “best friend.” Guilt shakes through Junhui like nothing else ever could. It’s his fault that people know them that way. Knew them. Junhui is the one with the parents who would never get it. Junhui is the one with the parents who think he and Minghao are just roommates. Were.
It always felt terrible forcing Minghao into that box, but Minghao always insisted that it was okay. They were sure, someday, that they’d be free of it. Minghao is stuffed into a different kind of box now. One he’ll never get out of.
Minghao’s mother’s eyes water the second she sees Junhui. She rushes over to him as politely as she can in her one-inch heels and pencil skirt, doing all the work because she’s heard all about his bad leg. Junhui is still embarrassed to use his cane in public, almost as embarrassed as he is to need it. He really does need it, and he knows that if he didn’t bring it, Minghao would climb out of that coffin to wag his finger at Junhui for it, so he’s using it. Minghao shouldn’t be doing any scolding. He needs to rest. Though, it would be nice to hear from him. They never did get to say goodbye.
Junhui appreciates An closing the distance herself. An wraps her arms around Junhui’s neck and pats his back. “It’s nice to see you.”
“You too,” Junhui says. He holds on for a couple seconds too long. Forgive him. An is the only mother who’s ever really known him. He’s grasping at straws.
The Xus are letting Junhui stay with them for a few nights. Nobody wants to be alone.
“How are you holding up?” An asks after she’s pulled back, rubbing Junhui’s arm.
Junhui lets out an empty chuckle. “Okay, I guess. It’s still… I don’t know how to describe it. I lost him and I was like, ‘Wow, I really need to talk to Minghao about this,’ but I can’t. I’m going in circles.”
An is about to say something, then lowers her head to let a couple tears fall loose. He reaches into her purse to grab a tissue so she can dab her eyes dry. Her smile, as empty as it may be, is gorgeous, just like Minghao’s. An pats Junhui’s cheek. “He loved you so much. He would never stop talking about you.”
“I know,” Junhui laughs, reaching up to wipe his own eyes.
“Here,” An says. She grabs another tissue and hands it to Junhui.
“Thank you,” Junhui mumbles.
“You’re welcome,” An says. She sniffles. “Sorry Haoyu isn’t making the rounds. He’s…”
“I understand,” Junhui interjects softly. He looks over at Minghao’s father, sitting by himself and pretending nothing exists. “I’m still walking into walls too. I get it.”
An smiles at him.
Minghao was a bit of a weird guy, some would say. Junhui would say Minghao was unique. He had an opinion on absolutely everything and a wide array of obscure knowledge.
Something that always stuck with Junhui was Minghao’s weird stories. Urban legends, weird Japanese ghosts, North American creatures that lurk behind trees, sea monsters, dragons, that kind of nonsense. What Junhui always appreciated was that Minghao didn’t tell stories he didn’t believe in.
One in particular, while Junhui is still in town from the funeral, has been rattling around his head. The only one about Anshan. Minghao told Junhui once or twice about an abandoned railroad that doesn’t quite belong on this earth, this plane of existence. Junhui doesn’t know exactly what that means, and he doesn’t pretend to, but he does remember that the tracks are said to help people like him.
In the middle of the night, Junhui leaves the Xus’ guest room (he couldn’t bear to even look at the door of Minghao’s childhood bedroom) and leaves the house. He does some digging online about the myth and he’s able to track down the old railway. It’s not very far.
It’s still spring, but it’s freezing all along the railroad tracks. And Junhui’s leg is giving him hell. He grips his cane tighter, swallows the pain in his leg and starts walking. Here goes fucking nothing.
After a little while of walking, Junhui pulls his phone out to see how long it’s been. His phone doesn’t turn on. A chill runs down his spine. Minghao said electronics don’t work on the path to the other side. Junhui puts his phone back in his pocket.
Junhui doesn’t know how he gets there. He’s been conscious for the whole trip, but he can’t explain how he enters the other side. One second, he’s following the tracks, the next, he’s in some large, walled area. The walls are stone and they appear to be kilometers high. Junhui can’t make out where they end.
He figures the best course of action is to keep walking. No use turning back. The wall behind him is just a wall. No door, nothing. Junhui takes a right. He realizes at the first bend in the path that he’s in a maze. He doesn’t remember reading anything about this on the urban legend internet forums.
Whatever. He’s already here. What Junhui does remember reading is a book from his teenage years where a woman was in a maze and realized that if she kept one hand on the wall and kept walking forward, she would eventually find her way out.
Junhui puts one hand on the wall and keeps walking.
Junhui doesn’t know how long it takes. He’s pretty sure time doesn’t exist here, but his mortal mind is trying to rationalize with numbers anyway. The maze takes him to some kind of city. Bright lights, tall buildings, all of that. The maze is an entrance, not an exit.
The city of the dead is what you’d expect. It’s dark on the streets. There are people all over the place. Gray skinned, blank faced, empty eyed people, walking through town. There are buildings and sidewalks everywhere, but no signs. There’s a murmuring sound all throughout, but no one’s mouths are moving or even open. It’s like the air is making the noise itself.
Junhui swallows his anxiety and reaches out to tap someone on the shoulder. “Excuse me, could you—”
The person keeps walking. Doesn’t even look up, just brushes Junhui’s hand away.
Junhui tries again and again, to no avail. He begins bargaining.
“Minghao!” he screams, stepping into the empty street. There are no cars. Everyone just stays on the sidewalks. Junhui’s voice echoes, possibly forever. “Minghao, it’s Junhui!”
He keeps screaming. He goes for blocks before a single head among the crowd looks up.
“Minghao!” Junhui shrieks, shuffling over as fast as he can.
The people keep moving but Minghao stops. He’s all gray. His eyes are glazed over and his face is blank. He’s so, so pale. Junhui shoves his way past the zombies and reaches out for Minghao’s arm. After a second of Junhui’s touch, Minghao’s eyes are that deep, warm brown and his skin is dark with life.
“Junhui,” Minghao breathes.
Junhui nods as tears well up in his eyes. He pulls Minghao away from the gray zombies and into the empty street. “Yeah. I’m right here.”
Minghao holds Junhui’s face in his hands. “What happened? You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Did you really think you could get away from me?” Junhui asks through a watery laugh.
Minghao is frowning. “Junhui, did you— Why are you here?”
“I missed you,” Junhui says before pressing his mouth to Minghao’s. Minghao hums and winds his arms tightly around Junhui’s neck. They part for a moment when Minghao draws back just a bit.
“How did you get here?” Minghao asks. “You should be at home.”
“It was your funeral today.”
“Junhui.”
“What?”
“Tell me how you got here.”
“I walked,” Junhui says.
“You— What?”
“I walked,” Junhui says. “I was in town for your funeral and I took the old train tracks you told me about. It worked.”
Minghao looks like he doesn’t believe it. “You’re still alive?”
“I think so,” Junhui says. “I just… started walking, and I ended up here.”
“Is your— You must be in so much pain.”
Junhui shakes his head. “It’s fine. It’s nothing compared to not holding you.”
“Junhui,” Minghao says, practically begging. Junhui doesn’t know what he’s begging for. He’s not about to ask.
“Come back with me,” Junhui says.
“I…” Minghao takes a look around. “I don’t know if I can.”
“We won’t know until we try,” Junhui says.
Minghao stalls for a moment. He buries his nose in Junhui’s shoulder and hugs him aggressively. Junhui weeps like a child. It hurts, but if Junhui could have the feeling of Minghao holding him like this converted into ink and tattooed all over his body, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
“It’s so like you to do this,” Minghao muses. His voice is laced with such content that it’s almost like Junhui never lost him at all.
“Maybe we can just stay here forever,” Junhui whispers.
Minghao shakes his head. “There’s no life here. We’d get bored.”
“Of you? No, I wouldn’t.”
“Junhui, don’t be stupid,” Minghao says. Junhui never thought he’d miss hearing that. “We should go. It’s worth a try.”
Junhui pulls back so he can look Minghao in the eyes again. He kisses him one more time and says, “Alright.”
They walk back, hands laced together. They don’t make it far. Junhui doesn’t get things that easily. Minghao hasn't either lately. Match made in Heaven, these two. Hell? Wherever they are, they’re intercepted by a man.
Actually, it’s more of a… Thing. Junhui can’t quite tell. It’s what Junhui imagines the Grim Reaper would look like — long, black cloak, black mist where its head should be poking out of the hood, no visible body — but with no scythe.
Junhui is too afraid to talk, so he lets the creature say its piece first.
“Where do you think you’re going?” the Thing asks. It has no mouth, just a disembodied voice.
“I want to go home,” Minghao says.
“This is your home,” the Thing says. “You’re the one who isn’t at home.”
The Thing doesn’t point or look at Junhui in any way, because it can’t, but Junhui knows it’s talking about him.
Junhui squeezes Minghao’s hand. “I’m at home when he’s with me. Let me take him back. Please.”
The Thing has the audacity to sigh. “They sent me another poet?”
“He’s a playwright,” Minghao says.
“Would you can it?” the Thing asks. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Look, we mean no harm,” Junhui says. “Please, just let us leave, and we’ll never bother you again. I swear.”
Several beats of silence pass.
“How did you get here, living one?” the Thing asks.
“I walked.”
“On that leg?”
Junhui tries not to feel embarrassed that his weakness is showing even while he’s got a cane supporting him. “Yes. And I’m prepared to walk back. Just let me keep him. Please. He was too young. It wasn’t his time yet. You have to let me have him back or—”
“Yes, yes, you’ll just die without him,” the Thing says. “You’ve got some nerve, I’ll tell you that.”
“Thank you,” Junhui stammers.
Minghao facepalms. “Please just let us go. You’ll have us back someday eventually. This can’t cause too much of a problem.”
The Thing pauses as two tiny, winged creatures appear, one on each side of his hood. They’re whispering things to him that Junhui can’t make out. A confused moment of eye contact confirms that Minghao can’t decipher it either.
“I’ll make you a deal,” the Thing says after a moment. Of course. “You may leave with your lover if you walk single file all the way back.”
That can’t be too hard.
“He must walk behind you, he may not speak to you, and you may not turn around. If you look back, or if he speaks, he’s mine forever.”
“What if I hypothetically didn’t like that option?” Junhui asks.
“Then you can leave alone,” the Thing says.
“Fine,” Junhui says. “We’ll do it.”
Minghao swats at Junhui’s shoulder. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. If there’s a chance I can bring you home, we have to try.”
“Oh, Junhui,” Minghao sighs. He’s let go of Junhui’s hand in favor of cupping his face. “I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything,” Junhui says.
“Don’t give me that sentimental thing. You have to swear to me and you have to mean it.”
“Alright.”
Minghao swallows. “If I don’t get to go back with you, you have to live. You cannot give up.”
“Minghao—”
“I’m not negotiating,” Minghao says. “I know it’s going to be hard. I wish I could take that away from you, but I can’t. I don’t want you to die just because of me. You have so much left to do. You haven’t finished your musical. And you’re going to write more and they’ll be great, and even— Even if I don’t get to come back to living, I’ll see you again someday and you can tell me all about them all. Please, no matter what, you have to live.”
Junhui is sobbing again, though he nods. He can do that. “I can live for you.”
“Live for you,” Minghao says. “That’s all I want for you. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be waiting for you no matter what.”
“You’re making it sound like you think this isn’t going to work.”
“I’m just saying.”
“I know,” Junhui sighs, wiping at his eyes. “Fine.”
“You swear you’re going to live?” Minghao asks.
“Yes, I swear I’m not going to kill myself,” Junhui says.
“Good.”
Junhui turns to the Thing. “We’re in.”
“By all means,” the Thing says, cloak floating vaguely in the direction of the maze’s mouth before disappearing entirely.
Junhui hasn’t looked away from Minghao yet, so he assumes the game isn’t on. “See you on the other side.”
Minghao just smiles at him. He cradles Junhui’s jaw and kisses him slowly. They linger in the moment for a little while, then they have to go.
“I love you,” Minghao says just before Junhui turns his back and starts to walk.
“I love you more than anything,” Junhui says.
Junhui talks to keep himself sane. He tells Minghao about the story with the woman and the maze and instructs Minghao to put his hand on the wall as well. He believes that Minghao does. Minghao likes to humor Junhui.
The maze spits them back out, like a glitch in the Matrix, onto the train tracks. They’re almost there.
They’re so close and Junhui’s hands are starting to get clammy. He can see his car from here when he realizes it’s weird that he’s sweaty because it’s so cold outside. It’s spring. It isn’t supposed to be cold outside. It’s spring and it’s cold outside because Minghao is dead.
He has to know. He turns around.
Minghao doesn’t even look disappointed. He appears to have been crying for a little while already. He smiles solemnly and Junhui lunges forward to wrap him up in his arms. Minghao hugs him back, and then Junhui is hugging himself. Minghao is gone. Thin air.
Junhui drops his cane to the side and falls onto his knees. He screams and screams and screams, and there’s no one to hear him but the railway.
Junhui doesn’t kill himself. He imagines it endlessly. How he’d do it, the kind of note he’d write, if any, where, when, everything, but he'll never do any of it. He wouldn’t want to disappoint Minghao.
The day after Minghao’s funeral, Junhui gets back on the train to Beijing.