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The door to the jazz bar swung open, the haze of smoke spilling out and desaturating the sangria sunrise. The wail of a saxophone droned over the crackling jukebox. Yunho’s heeled boots knocked against the cherry wood, spurs chiming in response. His eyes dragged across the scenery where scattered, hushed conversations were murmured between bourbon breaths. He reached into the chest pocket of his jacket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper neatly folded into a square. He unfolded it, stopping behind the chair of a man sipping syrupy gold liquid from a glass. His fingerprints stained the condensation of the glass clear as he set it down on the table.
Yunho set the paper down, leaning over the other’s shoulder with his mass as he slid it forward with the tips of his fingers. He didn’t look at the man, instead staring down the bridge of his own nose to follow the line the paper was tracing over the uneven table. The other paid no mind, tapping the table absentmindedly. Yunho slipped it underneath him and then pulled the stool out next to him and sat. He hooked his right heel over the bar, and flagged the bartender down.
“Whiskey, please.” He offered a smile, tight lipped but pleasant, and then took his hat off the shake the dust off.
“Is this your proposal?” A drawl crawled out from the man beside him, the first acknowledgment of Yunho’s presence since he entered the building.
“You could call it that,” Yunho shifted his smile to the side. The sun, even through the smoke, painted the other’s skin vermilion. His eyes were glowing amber, matching the drink he had in front of him. Yunho watched his eyes glide over the paper.
“This isn’t your writing.” He said simply after a few beats of silence.
“Of course not,” Yunho replied. The bartender set the drink down and drifted away quickly. He fished a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket and plucked one out, sticking it between his lips and offering the pack to the other. He traced the contour of the other man's throat where the collar of his shirt sat and followed it up until their eyes met. The other man was squinting at him, eyes boiling with suspicion. Finally, he broke their staring contest.
“No thanks. I only do it when I'm drunk.”
Yunho let himself stare, uncaring of the holes he was burning into the other man. He had filled out a bit since the last time Yunho had seen him, cheeks fuller, although his jawline was still sharp and he was still much slighter than Yunho was. He tossed the pack on the counter and lit his cigarette, breathing in the burn. “So, Hongjoong,” He leaned his elbow onto the table, crowding the others' space. Hongjoong didn’t move, watching Yunho invade his air out of the corner of his eye, expression neutral even as smoke churned around them like a veil. “What made you write that?”
There was a maze, never ending to the human eye. Composed of blistering dust that blended the mirage of landscape in front of him, Yunho’s horse huffed, stomping its feet as it stopped before a wall that seemed to extend into Heaven. There was a split down the center where it opened like a cavern splitting the earth to reveal its inner guts, rigid in form. Yunho’s mind placed tricks as it seemed to morph, shifting into images of lovers in a window, embracing, before they would be swept away into something mimicking the mechanical workings of a gun alight with gunpowder, on the cusp of bursting. Yunho watched, wrapped in the pictures of blinding impossibilities. He fixed the cloth over his face, pulling the brim of his hat lower and finally dragging himself out of the apparitions. Hongjoong was next to him, a drab, drastic silhouette of black cloth against the color. Even his horse was dark and painted in dramatic lines. “Here it is,” Hongjoong had to shout against the whirring of wind.
Yunho tucked his spur into the side of his horse, who in turn scampered back so violently he was almost bucked off. Hongjoong had dismounted, grabbing his off a bag from his own horse's saddle, shucking the bridle off and then pulling the saddle off with some effort. He tossed it to the side, uncaring that it practically disappeared in the whirlwind of red sand. His horse shook its head, nearly knocking the saddle blanket off its own back. Hongjoong turned to Yunho, his poncho whipping around him like a pale illusion of the grim reaper. Yunho dismounted.
“They won’t go in anyway.” Hongjoong said.
The color inside the maze betrayed the temperature. It was freezing, so cold the wind patterns almost etched themselves into the solid walls. Hongjoong kept his head tilted down, squinting out from beneath the brim of his hat. The earth beneath them shuttered as the wall behind them sealed itself. When it finally shut, the impact left Yunho's bones rattling. The wind settled, an eerie silence overtaking the halls of the maze, filled with the creeks which threatened cacophony. In front of them, there were multiple doorways lining the walls in front of them like the valves of a heart. From underneath the various doors, different colors spilled forward in impossible vibrancy. Each door seemed unique, a different universe sealed behind them.
“What is this place?” Yunho asked. Out of the storm, he slipped his cloth mask down his face to breathe the hair in. It felt strangely damp inside, despite the drought plaguing the land for over a decade. The humidity felt unfamiliar in his throat.
Hongjoong shrugged, eyes filing over each door methodically. He reached into his pocket, drawing out a cloth and a cluster of papers. He unfurled the cloth, revealing a pen and ink stains and began to scrawl on it.
“Which one did you go in?”
Hongjoong's head drifted to the right and he eyed a sleek, iron door. It felt like it held the future within, so pristine it was clinical. In the crack beneath the door, fluorescent, white light graced the floor. Hongjoong walked up to it, testing the weight of it with one hand.
“This one.” He ran his fingers over it, before withdrawing, expression settling into something troubled. “There’s nothing for us in there. That one though,” He pointed to an arch with intricate gold and mahogany wood cravings spiraling off the frame. Two heavy, gold knobs hung against the wood. A warm light bled out, soft and yellow. “That’s the one I’m interested in.” Hongjoong looked over his shoulder at Yunho, who was watching him in turn. His lips curled up, mirth taking his features, and quirked an eyebrow. “You in?”
Opening the archaic, croaking door, Yunho smiled, knowing he would find in the dusty labyrinth of books presented to him again, and again, and again.