Archive of Our Own ^beta

The melody played, soft and searching, barely there at all. A song he knew, but no one else should. The first song he wrote. It tickled Neil's ears, gently pulling him from unconsciousness. The notes faded away even as Neil managed to lift eyelids that felt like hundred-pound weights.

What greeted him was not his house, nor a music room. It was a dimly lit hospital room, empty save for himself, medical gear Neil didn't understand, and his manager typing furiously on his phone in the chair beside the bed.

Neil opened his mouth, intending to ask where the music came from. Finding that out felt more important than why they were in a hospital, even. But all he managed was a rough, "Reese—" before his voice gave out.

Reese was out of his chair in the blink of an eye, or maybe Neil was just going really slow, asking if Neil was okay, getting him a drink of water, and apologizing over and over. Neil's head felt fuzzy, like it was full of cotton, and none of Reese's words made any sense.

"Reese," Neil interrupted, weak but with a tiny curl of his lips. "Why are you apologizing?"

Had it been Reese playing Neil's song? That seemed unlikely, and yet who else could it be?

"Neil," Reese began, his voice already choked with tears. "You were in a car accident. And Matt…Matt's…He didn't make it. He's gone."

And Neil forgot about the music—the melody that woke him up, and every other song along with it.

…

…

The second time Neil heard the music was several weeks after he was released from the hospital. This time, it wasn't his song. First, a cord: low D, F, B. Then F, B. F, B. The right hand only for two bars, then it started at the beginning again with the left-hand accompaniment. Neil's red eyes shot to the keyboard in the corner, but it wasn't playing. It was still covered and unplugged, as it had been since Neil got home that first day.

The melody continued, soft and sad. The notes stumbled once or twice, making it seem like Neil was listening to someone play live, rather than a recording. He didn't know where the music was coming from—it felt like it was coming from inside of him, reaching his ears not through the air but through his soul, which didn't make any sense. Wherever it came from, the notes reached out hesitant fingers, tentatively touching his heart. At their melancholy brush, the tears Neil thought he was done crying leaked from his eyes once again.

The music was sorrowful, saying goodbye, and Neil couldn't help but feel like it was about Matt—either his brother leaving him for good or someone else bidding him farewell. Neil didn't want to say goodbye. He didn't want to accept that his brother was gone, was never going to walk through that door again.

The melody playing in his head drifted into silence even as Neil cried himself to sleep.

…

…

The third time a song floated through Neil's head, he hummed it into his phone, because he'd never heard the tune before. It was possible that his brain was coming up with new songs, except that Neil had never felt less inspired than in the last few weeks. His phone came back with a song by Johan Sebastian Bach. Prelude and Fugue No. 1.

"Huh?" He searched the song up and hit play and, sure enough, that was the song that had played in his head. "Classical music? Really?" he griped, before tossing his phone to the side and flopping back down on his couch.

Neil had never willingly listened to classical music in his life. What he had heard was in school over fifteen years previous. But if he wasn't composing new music and he wasn't remembering old songs he knew, then that meant the music was coming from somewhere else. Someone who wasn't Neil. Except it was in his own head, so how was that possible?

"First I lost my brother. Now I'm losing my mind," Neil mumbled, covering his eyes with his arm.

Fitting.

…

…

After that, the music changed. Sometimes, he only heard a few bars of music before it abruptly ended. Sometimes the notes stumbled over each other, replayed, repeated until the melody smoothed out. Sometimes, the piano was joined by other instruments, but as if those instruments were being played on a keyboard instead of in their natural forms.

Three months into his auditory hallucinations, it hit Neil what he was hearing.

"They're composing," he said into a cup of noodles.

It sounded like when Matt used to write music for Magnet. Working through the chords, trying out new things, layering the guitar and the keyboard together. Neil had only ever composed one song, and he'd only ever played it for Matt twice before the accident.

Neil didn't want to compose another song. He didn't want to play another song. He'd barely listened to music since the accident, save for the music in his head that he couldn't escape. He wished he could shut it off. He didn't want to hear someone working through a process that used to hold so much joy for him and his brother, but which they could never do again.

…

…

He couldn't block out the music.

It played at eight PM when Neil sat at his window, staring sightlessly at the sky and the few stars that made it past the light pollution. It played at four AM, when Neil lay in bed, once again unable to sleep. It kept him company on slow, aimless walks around the city. It accompanied him on grocery runs when everyone else was home with their families, eating dinner.

Every time, the first few notes always felt like an entreaty, like someone was reaching out to caress him with gentle, uncertain fingers. A request to be let in, to be heard. But Neil didn't want to listen, and for months, he growled and grumbled every time he heard so much as a note.

On one particularly bad day, the sound of the fumbled bars had Neil throwing everything off his coffee table and then flipping the table itself.

"Shut up!" he yelled into the empty room. "Stop playing! You're not helping! Just stop!"

The music continued, quietly, almost kindly, wrapping around Neil as surely as his own arms around himself as he sank to the floor among the mess.

"Please stop."

When the music faded out that day, it didn't return. Neil let his dishes pile up, didn't take out the trash, and hardly set a toe out of bed most days. The world was eerily silent. Even his phone didn't light up with a check-in from Reese.

A long, silent month later, slowly, notes drifted into Neil's mind as he laid in bed. They didn't wake him, since he hadn't been asleep, but he stopped spacing out to listen. The chords were familiar. Not classical. Not one of the original compositions he'd heard either. Neil knew…this song…

As soon as it clicked, he shot up in bed. Shatter of the Sun. His song.

How long had it been since he'd heard it? And this rendition…The organ reverbing in the background, the slow strums on the guitar. His version had been thoughtful, maybe a little lonely. With the added layers, it was that and more. There was an undercurrent to it, a depth Neil could sink into. He closed his eyes and sank.

"How should I voice my existence?"

The sound of his own voice was almost shocking after not singing for so long. Neil swallowed thickly, his throat dry from not having any water for so long, and pressed on.

"Wandering in the darkness, gathering my courage. Every piece of wreckage, I wish I could piece them together into a rising sun to give you warmth. I'm not afraid to let go."

His voice cracked on the last line before giving out altogether. The music continued in his head, filling the entire room, and his whole chest, with a warmth he'd missed. And he had. He'd missed the music. As much as it broke his heart, it also kept him company. Neil didn't know where it came from. He didn't know if he was losing his mind. After almost two years of avoiding Reese and the company, did it even matter?

Hearing his song played that way, feeling the way it encompassed him like a hug, Neil decided that if this was what losing his mind was like, he was okay with that.

…

…

When Neil stopped treating the music like an invader, he found it to be a great motivator.

Where before, he'd spent most of his time on the couch, if he started hearing runs or arpeggios, Neil would find the strength to stand up, to go start a load of laundry, or wash his dishes, or take a shower. As obvious as it might have been to others, having a cleaner house and body helped Neil feel more like a person instead of a rotting potato.

If the chords started up just as he was prepping to eat another serving of cup noodles, Neil took it as a sign to find a restaurant nearby to eat at instead. He didn't interact with people, but he was outside, people watching, hearing normal conversations not weighed down by grief.

On his worst days, when even getting out of bed was hard, hearing one of the finished pieces was enough to make Neil weep, but he always felt better after the final notes had died away. The world regained a little bit of its color, and breathing came easier, when he felt less alone.

…

…

The auditory hallucinations had been going on for almost three years before Neil found evidence that perhaps he wasn't insane. If anyone asked him later, he wouldn't be able to explain how he'd found himself on the reddit page about soulmates. Neil hardly spoke to people other than Reese and Xiao Mei those days, let alone worried about romance or soulmates.

Soulmates weren't real, anyway. If they were, then Neil's had been Matt, and Matt was gone.

But the page he'd found had hundreds of comments about real soulmates and how people found them. And it wasn't 'I fell in love at first sight' stuff or 'they're the best thing that's ever happened to me' stories. It was stories of impossible things which led one person to another, someone who made them feel seen and whole in a way they never had before.

Several stories were about hearing disembodied music.

The people said they could hear when their soulmate played music, but not all the time. Only when their soulmate really put their heart into it. If Neil was hearing his soulmate's music, then only hearing their personal compositions made sense. How many people put their whole heart into playing Mozart on a regular basis?

The people said they started hearing the music after reaching puberty. Neil was well past that, so maybe what he was hearing wasn't a soulmate after all.

The people said they found their soulmate when hearing the music in their head and out in the world at the same time, finding the person playing. That hearing the music live and in their hearts at the same time was the most beautiful experience.

Did Neil want the music to be another person? Someone who would be stuck with him? Or did he want it to be his own mind playing tricks on him to bring him comfort?

"No one else knows my song, though," Neil reasoned, even as it made his chest ache. "So it can't be anyone else but me."

It wasn't until he felt the first drop hit his hand that Neil realized he'd started to cry. Oh. He really had wanted it to be someone, hadn't he? Someone else who might fill what felt like an endless hole in Neil's chest, who would love him even on the days when he couldn't get out of bed, even if he could never get on stage ever again. He'd let himself hope, just for a second, just for a heartbeat.

Oh.

…

…

3 Years Later

…

…

"If your contract expires, so does the copyright on all of Magnet's music. Do you really want that to happen? To let it get bought by people who don't care about it?"

No. Letting some random company bigwig own the music his brother and he had worked so hard on? Hell no. But the idea of getting back on stage…Neil's skin prickled uncomfortably at even the thought. If he didn't, though, he'd lose more than his job. Their songs, his brother, would slip away too. So Neil put his earphones in and hit play on the latest song by Reese's chosen composer: Sea.

And nearly dropped his phone in the harbor.

The sound wasn't as rich through his speakers as it was through his heart, but Neil knew this song. He knew this song.

"What the hell?" he gasped out, before clicking on the composer's profile to look at their other songs.

He knew the second song too. And the third. The fourth, and the fifth. After that, Neil's hands were shaking too much to click on another song. This person, this "Sea," had posted so many of the songs Neil had been hearing over the past six years. Looking at their discography, Neil knew that not all of the songs he'd heard were listed, but enough to make breathing difficult.

"How is that possible?" he asked, staring at the beach scene with Sea's name on it, even though his eyes couldn't focus enough to actually read it.

The word came back to him from that stupid reddit thread from years ago. The one he'd dismissed because it wasn't possible.

Soulmate.

People claiming they could hear music played by their soulmate.

Reese had said he'd already scheduled an appointment with this "Sea" person. Neil slid his phone into his pocket and gripped his head. What was he supposed to do? Would Sea know that Neil had been hearing him? Had Sea somehow been doing it on purpose? How? Why? It was like being told he was going to meet his imaginary friend from when he was two. He had no idea what to expect or how to react.

"Dammit," he cursed, throwing his arms to his sides. He hopped up from his seat on a pole at the edge of the dock, shook his hands out, and then rubbed them down his face.

He needed to go home. If there was any chance of this meeting going well, then Neil needed to at least try to sleep.

What happened instead was that Neil saw a young man defending a waitress about to get beat up and, instead of minding his own business, he jumped in to help. The ensuing chase was thrilling, but the excitement of the night, the memory of the guy he'd helped, and thoughts of his maybe-somehow-soulmate mixed to keep him awake until the sun began to break over the city skyline.

…

…

The kid was in the meeting room with Reese. Was 'recognized and reported for misconduct' going to be added to the list of things Neil had to deal with now?

"Reese, didn't you say we had a meeting with someone named Sea?" Neil asked, as if he could derail whatever the young guy was telling Reese, maybe put it off until later when Neil's whole world wasn't spinning out of control. "Is he late?"

Reese lifted an eyebrow and then motioned to the kid. "Neil. This is Sea."

It echoed in Neil's head. This is Sea. This is Sea. The one you might have been hearing in your head for six years. This is Sea.

Well, at least that meant the kid wasn't likely tattling on Neil to Reese for the fight last night. On the other hand, what was he, eighteen?

"Xiao Hai," Reese said after they'd taken seats. "We expect two songs on this album."

Xiao Hai. Sea's real name was Xiao Hai. Neil covered his mouth with his hand and silently practiced the name.

"Neil," Reese said, dragging Neil back into the conversation. "You've heard Xiao Hai's music. I think your voice would match it well."

Reese had no way of knowing that Neil had hummed along to the music in his head from time to time, that some part of him kept trying to write lyrics before another part revolted at the idea. Reese had no way of knowing that it was taking more strength than Neil thought he still possessed to not kick his manager bodily out of the room, lock him and Xiao Hai in together, and ask why the hell Neil heard the kid in his head.

The kid.

"Hey, Kiddo," Neil started, "are you still in high school?"

Xiao Hai's eyes met his for an instant before darting away shyly, his lips quirking up at the edges. "I'm a sophomore in college."

His voice was soft, gentle, the way his music felt when it touched Neil's heart. If it was his music. Neil clenched his hands on the tabletop.

"And you want to join this industry so young?" he asked, his tone coming out judgmental as Neil tried to hide a yawn behind his words.

Xiao Hai lifted his gaze, something hopeful in them despite everything. "You also started your career very young."

"You know a lot about me," Neil said, then rubbed his head. It throbbed with lack of sleep. How did Xiao Hai know him? Was he a fan? How did his music end up in Neil's head? "Did you really write those songs?" he asked, a bit more demanding than he intended. "Have you been gunning for a position as my composer this whole time? Is that why—"

"Neil," Reese chastised, even as Xiao Hai's expression fell. Neil swallowed thickly and spun his chair around so he didn't have to look at the guy. He was screwing everything up, like always. "Xiao Hai, we really do like your music. It's unique."

"Have you really listened to my music?" Xiao Hai asked. Even without turning around, Neil knew the question was directed at him.

Neil had been listening for six years. "Yes. I have."

He'd heard the notes drift around him, soothe him, remind him to live. And either it was some elaborate ploy by a fan to ingratiate himself with the company to work with Neil, or…Or, somehow, Neil's soul was connected to this kid's. And someone who could still make music that wonderful didn't deserve to be stuck with Neil. As impossible as it was, Neil wanted it to be the latter.

"Your music is too timid," he said, as coldly as he could when his own chest ached with the words. He spun back around to stare at Xiao Hai as he said, "You're too young, and not bold enough by far, to work with me."

A muscle jumped in Xiao Hai's jaw and Neil had the impression that, had they been closer together, Xiao Hai might have decked him. Gone was the hope and the warmth in that gaze, the smile hiding at the corners of his lips. Instead of resorting to violence, Xiao Hai merely stood and gathered his things.

"Do you still know music?" Xiao Hai asked, his voice shaking but serious. This time, his gaze didn't falter. "Perhaps you don't even know how to sing after so long."

His eyes were accusatory. Like he knew Neil had heard his music for years, like he knew for a fact that Neil hadn't sung aloud since that night he'd heard his own song. Neil opened his mouth, unsure what to say to those eyes, then shut it again.

Shaking his head, disappointed, Xiao Hai turned his attention to Reese. "I'm sorry, Manager. I can't work with this has-been singer," he said, and then strode quickly from the room.

Reese hurried after him, leaving Neil alone in the room. Alone with the memory of his brother, of trying and failing to keep going after Matt died, of how messed up he was. Alone to think about the music that had been a comfort to him for so many years, but which he clearly didn't deserve because all he knew how to do anymore was tear people down.

The fact of the matter was that Neil was hearing music in his head that seemed to touch his very heart, and he'd been given pretty definitive proof that the composer was a young man named Xiao Hai; that Neil had been comforted by that music and had turned around and hurt Xiao Hai in turn; that Neil was in the wrong and had to fix it.

But how could he fix it? Neil wasn't sure if he could ever be on stage again. He wasn't sure if he could do justice to Xiao Hai's music. And he wasn't sure if Xiao Hai would even accept an apology if Neil tried to make one.

Just because he didn't know if his apology would be accepted didn't mean he shouldn't try to make one. And Neil had an idea of how to start.

Opening his eyes, Neil saw that Reese had returned. If his manager had been talking to him—and by the look on his face, he had been—then Neil hadn't heard a word. Still, Neil's lips quirked up. "Hey, Reese. Can you get me a guitar?"

Reese took him to one of the practice rooms, set up with a keyboard, drum set, electric guitar, and acoustic guitar. On stage, Neil had favored an electric guitar, and most of Magnet's songs required one. For this, though, Neil selected the acoustic. He sat on a stool and got into position. Holding the guitar felt both foreign and familiar at the same time. How long had it been since Neil had held a guitar with the intention of playing it?

Taking a deep breath, Neil strummed a few chords. He was just testing the sound, reminding his hands how to move, but it worked to break through some of his nerves just the same.

Xiao Hai had played to Neil's heart. If that internet thread was true, then Xiao Hai should be able to hear when Neil played too.

This time, when Neil played a chord, he prayed that Xiao Hai would hear it. He played with intention, the song clear in his mind. The first song he'd ever heard this way, the one that Xiao Hai shouldn't know but somehow did. Once he'd played through a few bars and was confident he still knew the music, Neil sang.

"Only when the spotlight dims can I see the world clearly." His voice barely made a noise in the soundproof room, and Neil took another deep breath to strengthen it. "My heart's been swept away, shattered into pieces."

Like a has-been singer, Neil's voice died away on the last word, and he laid his hand on the guitar strings to stop the music. What was he even doing? Believing in soulmates and soul connections. Feeling like if he didn't get Xiao Hai's forgiveness, then he'd ruined the last good thing in his life. It was all so stupid.

A piano chord echoed in Neil's head. Then another. The additional music that had been added to Neil's song by his personal composer. The music felt like a hand reaching out, tentatively, but with hope, and Neil's heart lifted.

Could Xiao Hai honestly hear him? Was this working?

Neil's finger picked at the strings almost before he'd made the decision to keep playing. This time, when he sang, his voice came out clear and loud.

"I'm learning how to endure the heat of my tears. Only then can I say things have changed. I'm still hovering around that date line, searching in the darkness to transform again."

The keyboard played with Neil all the way through the end of the song, and as the final notes rang out, it felt like a new start—like maybe Neil hadn't screwed everything up after all.

In front of him, Reese stood up, a small, pleased smile on his face. "Very good. You're finally back."

Neil huffed. "You're making too big a deal out of one song."

He set the guitar aside and headed for the door. Reese stopped him with a, "Where are you going?"

Smiling, Neil said, "To find a little sea."

…

…

Neil caught up to Xiao Hai on campus just as the younger man was making his way off campus, which was good because Neil would've had literally no idea where to look afterward otherwise. He followed Xiao Hai to a small food truck bar called 'Good Music Bar' located on the waterfront, where he immediately began helping to set up for customers. Ah. His normal day job.

"Hey, Kiddo," Neil greeted as he took a seat at one of the small tables.

Xiao Hai's head snapped up from where he'd been setting up the keyboard on stage, eyes wide when they landed on Neil.

"Play a song for me?"

He got interrupted by the owner of the bar then and couldn't get Xiao Hai to look at him the entire rest of the time they prepared the bar for opening. Then customers arrived and Xiao Hai used them as an excuse to avoid Neil's table.

It was aggravating. Neil gnawed on his straw, trying to figure out how to get the younger man's attention. They needed to talk. About how rude Neil had been. About the music in their heads.

Oh, there was an idea. Music. Neil got permission from A'Liang to use his stage and, like back at the studio, prepared to sing his way to Xiao Hai. And, at first, it worked. He sang a Magnet song and, almost from the first word, he had Xiao Hai's eyes on him. The longer Xiao Hai stared, the stronger the energy between them felt, the more it seemed like Neil's music, Neil's intention, was reaching him.

Then someone walked between them, cutting off their eye contact for just a moment, and the connection snapped. Everyone was staring at him on stage, expecting great things, expecting Magnet, except Magnet wasn't there anymore, and Neil was going to screw it up, and—

Neil abruptly ended the song, thanked A'Liang for letting him play, and escaped to kneel behind the bar's food truck. It just so happened that Xiao Hai had also gone back there to get supplies.

"Why did you come here?" Xiao Hai asked, even as he shuffled boxes around, looking for something.

When Neil didn't immediately answer, Xiao Hai glanced over at him, then quickly looked away when he saw Neil staring at him. It was cute.

"I like your compositions."

Xiao Hai stopped moving but didn't look Neil's way again. Still kneeling, Neil shook his head.

"Your music isn't bad, and I'm not a has-been singer," he said, then shook his head again. Scornfully, he said, "Though I haven't sung in years, so maybe I really am—"

"Four years."

With a curious hum, Neil tilted his head. Xiao Hai hesitantly glanced his way, then fumbled to gather whatever it was he'd come for. It turned out to be more alcohol, which Xiao Hai loaded onto a carrier but did not pick up. Instead, the younger man rubbed his hands together nervously and, after a few moments of deliberation, turned to face Neil head on.

"You haven't sung anything in four years. Before this morning," he amended, his eyes flickering around the area before meeting Neil's own. "At least…I think so."

Four years ago? The last time Neil had sung was…when he'd heard his song playing after a month of no music. Was that four years ago?

"Hey, Xiao Hai," Neil started, awed, "Can you—"

Xiao Hai abruptly grabbed the drinks and flipped around. "I have work to do."

"Hey," Neil called after him, then rushed to stand and follow after when Xiao Hai didn't stop. "Hey. Xiao Hai. Hey!"

Again, the owner interrupted, dragging Neil over to share a drink. Neil spent the rest of the evening trying to meet Xiao Hai's gaze while the younger man worked, even as he humored A'Liang—until the other man proved he actually was a good cook, which turned out to be very distracting. When was the last time Neil ate?

A'Liang was funny and charismatic, so it was easy to let himself get caught up in conversation with the older man, even as the drinks piled up and Neil's brain grew fuzzy from alcohol, his thoughts spiraling in and out of what ifs and no ways and the look on Xiao Hai's face before he ran off.

"-I'm telling you, shì jiě, I don't know how to sing."

"Sing?" Neil repeated. No, Xiao Hai composed music. He didn't sing. Neil sang, and Xiao Hai heard him.

"He can sing!" A'Liang shouted.

Neil raised his hand. "I can sing!" Xiao Hai glanced back at him with wide eyes and Neil waved at him. "You can hear me. I can sing!"

Wincing, Xiao Hai admitted, "I mean, yes. He can—He can sing, but shì jiě—"

Neil stood up and leaned over the counter. "You heard me," he insisted. "Just like I heard you. I sing," he pointed to himself, then at Xiao Hai, "you play." He glanced at A'Liang and waved toward Xiao Hai. "He's a great composer."

"That he is!" A'Liang agreed brightly. "Work together and you'll both be my idols!"

"Shì jiě—" Xiao Hai started, then sighed and shut his eyes. "I'll ask, but I can't promise anything."

After hanging up the phone, Xiao Hai leaned over the counter too, until he and Neil were a hand's width apart. Maybe it was the alcohol, but the air between them felt charged and Neil's heart jumped into his throat. Xiao Hai's eyes were a lot prettier up close, and a lot sadder. There had to be something Neil could do to make him happy, right? To help the person whose music had helped him so much?

Which was how, the next morning, Neil woke up with a killer hangover, a nauseated stomach, a stern text from Reese, and a text from Xiao Hai confirming the time and location of the festival Neil had drunkenly agreed to perform with him at.

"Oh shit."

…

…

Two days later, Neil had a haircut, a clean shave, he'd done skin care, and, for the first time in years, he'd gone shopping for clothes that might just make him look like the rockstar he was supposed to be.

He hadn't heard Xiao Hai's music in those two days, which didn't help with the anxiety roiling through his stomach as he stepped out of the taxi and made his way through the small festival toward where signs said the stage was. It was fine. Totally fine. There had been so many days where the music didn't reach out to Neil over the past six years. It wasn't a constant thing.

But Xiao Hai knew. Neil had been drunk that night, but not the whole time, and not enough to forget that the younger man had definitely said he heard Neil too. So Xiao Hai and Neil were connected in a way that defied logic, and now Neil was meant to help him make sure his senior's festival wasn't a complete disaster, and Neil hadn't performed for anyone other than Reese in six years, and today, it mattered.

Deep breath.

Deep breath.

Neil found the stage just as his phone began to ring with a call, but all of Neil's attention was caught by Xiao Hai, standing behind a keyboard, staring back at him. He could do this. He'd promised Xiao Hai he would do this, so he would. As Neil mounted the stage, Xiao Hai lowered his phone from his ear, and Neil's phone stopped ringing.

"Couldn't wait to see me?" Neil asked, the tease in his voice dampened by nerves. He glanced over his shoulder, then away, clenching and unclenching his hands. "There's a lot of people here. I at least look decent today?"

He didn't expect an answer, so Xiao Hai's quick, "You're handsome," took him by surprise. Even Xiao Hai looked shocked at his own words. Neil smiled, and Xiao Hai smiled back.

"After, can we talk?" Neil asked.

Xiao Hai's smile dimmed to something more unsure, but he still nodded. "Mm."

With a matching nod, Neil moved to the side to set up for the performance. For a good while, Neil felt okay. His chest was tight with anxiety, but the song was familiar, the chords were muscle memory, and listening for Xiao Hai's keyboard accompaniment kept his mind occupied.

And then A'Liang cheered loudly, breaking through the music. It was like hitting a brick wall. All of Neil's focus vanished, the anxiety in his chest bursting out, taking with it his ability to breathe, let alone sing. The music stopped abruptly and Neil managed to glance at Xiao Hai—staring back at him with concern—before he couldn't stand to be on stage one second longer. He unplugged his guitar and fled.

His vision narrowed, blackened at the edges. Was he going to faint? He couldn't faint again. Everyone would see. He'd disappoint Xiao Hai. He'd disappoint his—his soulmate. His chest ached, like it was being squeezed in a vice. He was going to have a heart attack. That was so much worse than fainting. Has-been singer Neil dies of fright at college festival. No, he had to get a handle on this. He had to get a handle on it. He couldn't breathe.

A buzzing sound. No. A low hum. It tickled Neil's ears, it caressed his heart. The tune was familiar, one of the many compositions Neil had heard over the past six years.

"Look at me," a voice sang, low, wobbly, but there, to the beat of the music. "Just look at me. Eyes up."

The dark, fuzzy nature of the world receded from Neil's vision just enough that he could make out Xiao Hai's own eyes, locked on his. The younger man nodded, seeing something in Neil's face that said he had Neil's attention, and kept humming. His hands were up around Neil's ears, blocking out some of the sounds of the crowd beyond the wall. But the hum reached Neil in a way that transcended airwaves, and the longer he heard it—the longer he stared into Xiao Hai's brown eyes—the looser the hold on Neil's lungs, the easier it became to breathe.

Eventually, Xiao Hai stopped humming, his hands falling away from Neil's ears. Neil almost protested except that he was still gulping in deep breaths, and Xiao Hai's hands landed on his knees, still touching, still connected.

"When I was little, I often got like this," Xiao Hai said, quietly. "I couldn't breathe, and I felt like I was going to throw up or pass out." He gripped Neil's knees tighter. "Your songs were my cure."

Just like Xiao Hai's music allowed Neil to get out of bed some days. Neil swallowed thickly, took a long drink from the water bottle Xiao Hai must've handed him at some point.

"You sang to me one day, on a sidewalk," Xiao Hai revealed, his lips lifting at the edges. "I don't know why, but after that…I could hear you in my head." He let go with one hand to touch his chest. "My heart." He smiled, something so genuine that Neil's panic fled in the face of it, leaving him winded but okay. "You inspired me to start composing."

"I heard you, too," Neil managed, then swallowed down the frog in his throat. He shut his eyes. "I'm sorry."

How was Neil supposed to support Xiao Hai, to finish the festival performance, if he couldn't look at the crowd without panicking?

Xiao Hai's grip on his knees tightened again and Neil opened his eyes in time to see Xiao Hai shake his head. "You can do it. I know you can." He gave Neil another smile, full of faith. "Just listen to me, okay?"

Neil was still trying to puzzle out what Xiao Hai meant by that—it felt like there was a hidden message but his brain was still slow from the panic—when Xiao Hai's senior came to take them back on stage. He followed partly on autopilot and also because the part of him that had been listening to Xiao Hai for six years trusted the younger man implicitly.

"I trust you. You're going to kill it," Xiao Hai said before focusing on his keyboard.

From the first note, Neil felt the difference. The music from Xiao Hai's computer and keyboard didn't just come from beside him, but inside him. It wrapped him up like a warm hug, and Neil sighed, the tension draining from his shoulders. Xiao Hai was putting his all into it, sending his heart over to Neil to comfort him. Despite everything, a tiny smile lit on Neil's lips.

With his next inhale, Neil began to play.

…

…

After the festival was over, and the fans had finally left Neil alone, Neil and Xiao Hai took a walk. They wandered along the nearby river, eating snacks fans had gifted to Neil, in a comfortable quiet. Only once the food was gone did Neil bring up their connection again.

"When did you start composing your own music?"

Xiao Hai hummed. "A few weeks after…" He trailed off with a nervous glance up at Neil, then away.

A few weeks after Matt died. The reminder, as always, made Neil's heart ache, but he did his best not to dwell. That time frame matched with what Neil had heard in his head—the music shifting from classical pieces to original ones in fits and starts.

"I heard you, when you sang for me by the river, and you were in my head but also…deeper," Xiao Hai continued, struggling to describe the sensation of the music. Neil completely understood. "At the time, I was feeling abandoned by the whole world, so…Your song saved me. And inspired me." He nodded, his eyes straight ahead as they walked. "You made me fall in love with music."

In the opposite vein, the music might have made Neil fall in love with Xiao Hai.

Dozens of fans had told Magnet that their songs were an inspiration or helped them out, and yet none of them felt this important. None of them moved Neil this way.

"Your music saved me too," Neil admitted, slipping his hands into his pockets. When Xiao Hai looked at him, Neil quickly looked away, his cheeks hot. "Let's just say…you gave me a reason to get out of bed."

They came to a stop next to a bench and Neil motioned for Xiao Hai to sit first, then sat next to him. Neil leaned back, his arms along the back of the bench, and looked up at the stars.

"The internet said we're soulmates," he said. Xiao Hai jerked next to him and Neil huffed a laugh. "Yeah. I know. It sounds impossible."

"No," Xiao Hai disagreed. "I just wasn't expecting you to say it." When Neil looked at him, Xiao Hai scratched his cheek shyly. "I read that too."

"And do you believe it?" Neil asked.

When he'd first read those soulmate claims, Neil had been torn. It sounded like insanity. It hadn't been until he'd convinced himself the music was just in his head that he'd realized he had wanted someone by his side through his grief. This time, he knew what he wanted the answer to be. He wanted to believe that he and Xiao Hai were meant to meet, that they could hear each other's music through their souls because they were meant to support each other, to stay together. Hearing Xiao Hai's music in both his ears and his heart at the same time had felt like finally coming home after being lost in a desert all his life.

After a long pause wherein his expression remained thoughtful, Xiao Hai gave a single nod. "I can't explain it," he said, meeting Neil's eyes again. "It just feels…right."

They smiled at each other for a few, peaceful moments, the distant sounds of a city at night around them. Then Neil took a deep breath and cleared his throat, finally dragging his eyes away from the young man beside him.

"When Reese said he'd chosen a composer for me, I was against it," he admitted. "I get so nervous when I'm on stage. And I didn't want to trust my future to some random person." He gave Xiao Hai a tilted smile. "But I've heard your music for years. You're good. And I can tell you put a lot of care into all of your work."

Reaching up, he took off his necklace. Gently taking Xiao Hai's wrist, Neil laid the metal guitar pick in the composer's palm. For several seconds, Xiao Hai stared at his hand in shock. Neil waited until Xiao Hai looked back up at him before he kept speaking.

"If you want to, then I want to make music with you. What do you say?"

Slowly, as if he wasn't sure he was allowed to, Xiao Hai's lips curved up and up, until he was giving Neil a toothy smile. If he'd been cute before, he was stunning now. Oh, Neil was done for.

With a nod, Xiao Hai said, "Yes. Let's make music together."

…

…

fin