Page 103 of From Beijing, With Love

“One more sec.” Poppy tapped away on her phone. “And now I’m really done.” Sliding the phone into the pocket of her denim shorts, she let out a sigh. Before Daniel could ask another question, she took his hand and pulled him toward the last set of velvet curtains.

The last plaque read “ACT III—HOMECOMING.”

Daniel wasn’t ready for it, or rather, he wasn’t ready for it to end. He’d spent the beginning of his trip wanting nothing more than to fly home, and now he was spending the end of his trip wishing he could stay just a tad longer.

“You should do it.” Poppy not-so-gently shoved him forward.

With his hands wrapped around the thick fabric, Daniel hesitated for a second before pulling the curtains apart.

At first glance, the softly lit space seemed boundless. Everything was a shade of indigo, stretching out indefinitely in all directions like the night sky. The moment they crossed the threshold, the domed ceiling lit up with stars, spelling out the constellations and giving shape to the expansive space.

The floor was cold and smooth beneath Daniel’s bare feet. Looking down, he was greeted by his own reflection, cast in a crown of starlight. Like the dork he was, he poked Poppy and waved at her reflection.

A soft ballad started in the background, and images of cherry blossoms rained from the apex of the hemisphere and down its curved walls. The mirrored floor had a dizzying effect, making it feel like they were suspended in a rainstorm of blushing petals. Daniel was rooted to the ground, dazzled by the display, until Poppy dragged him forward.

“Where are we going?” Daniel asked, but he got no response. He let himself be pulled along.

Once in the center of the space, Poppy gave his hand a squeeze. “I love you too. You can do this,” she whispered, then she let go and walked away.

“Poppy,” Daniel hissed. Whatever she was up to could not be good.

Then he felt a tap on his shoulder that jolted him to his core. His stupid brain must be playing a cruel joke on him, because he could smell that familiar scent of clean soap and sunshine. He froze, not wanting to face reality by turning around, because it couldn’t be … It just couldn’t.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said. His voice.

Daniel’s heart thudded against his rib cage, riotously, achingly. He spun around and matched the voice with the person.

The falling blossoms cast pink shadows across Yang’s face, like someone had raised a paintbrush to those familiar features. Was he real?

Daniel reached up, sweeping his thumb across Yang’s cheek, tracing the color. Yang turned his face, his lips brushing against Daniel’s palm. The simple contact lit Daniel’s hand on fire, the heat seeping into his veins, burning him from the inside and out.

“How are you here?” Daniel asked, then he wanted to kick himself. How was that his first question?

“Taxi, airplane, train, and a bus,” Yang said, a corner of his lips lifting into that lopsided smile that was one hundred percent him.

“Why are you here?” Daniel tried again.

“To see you,” Yang answered simply, like it wasn’t the most loaded question in the world. “You went halfway across China for me, so I owed you the same.”

His smile faltered at the end, his dark brows spelling uncertainty.

“You don’t owe me anything. If you’re here for some kind of face-to-face goodbye …” A sharp pain cut across Daniel’s chest. “I mean … you don’t have to. I don’t want you to …”

Daniel stopped himself and waited for Yang to cut in, to get frustrated, to question if all of this was worth his trip. If Daniel was worth his trip. Daniel might have followed Yang halfway across a country, but Yang had followed him halfway across the fucking continent. Didn’t Yang deserve better than Daniel’s incoherent ramblings, his lack of grace? He deserved better than Daniel.

But Yang just stood there and waited for him to continue. To say what he was really afraid of.

“I barely survived our last goodbye. I just can’t do it again. I’m sorry,” Daniel finally said. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Yang. Not when this might be their last time together.

“What if we didn’t say goodbye?” Yang reached for Daniel’s hand, their fingers slotting together. “Why don’t we lie down and watch the flowers for a bit?”

Only then did Daniel realize they were the only ones in the room still standing. Everyone else was lying on their backs, making use of the pillows strewn across the mirrored floor like puffs of cloud.

He followed Yang to the ground. They faced each other instead of watching the light display above. Yang’s words echoed between them.

What if we didn’t say goodbye? A question that changed everything, that offered everything.

Daniel nestled in closer, testing the water, then closer still. When he met Yang’s eyes—those pools of warm amber—all he wanted was to pull Yang into a kiss that never stopped, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Yang wouldn’t like that, not in this room with other people around, even if no one was watching.