the boy is nice. he holds zitao's hand as they walk through the corridor, glistening walls of sweat and syrup. the name is on the tip of his tongue and the hitch of his breath, down the esophagus and s around the bones of his ribcage. the tiny bird within beats his wings and he pries ruby feathers from the crooks of his teeth with pliers.
                the boy is pretty. he sings their way through the maze, across the blue corn fields and the men melting cubes of ice in a pit of flames. zitao likes him. the bird in his mouth chirps and he stuffs his whole entire right fist in his mouth, something he could never do when there was a heart in his chest in place of a robin.
                the boy is smart. he knows his way around the corners and he cuts them, knives them swiftly and softly and makes a raft from the splinters. the bird tumbles out of his chest before he can stop it and plunges into the depths.
                the boy is sad. he takes zitao's reddened hands and holds them as the bird drowns and sinks out of view.
                "almost there, zitao," he says, on the crest of his bow shaped lips, where the other wants to unwrap them and never run out of presents, seal them with his own and keep the key in his pocket.
                the boy is nice. he opens the door in front of them and zitao is blinded by a light so bright he squints until his eyes eclipse, half moons fitting beside his tear ducts and he can't remember if he took out his contact lenses. down a staircase that smells of lavender, pungent and piercing and there's a hole through his throat where the other looks through.
                "i see it," he says, pointing to the ceiling, "do you see it?"
                zitao looks up and there's a noose crafted from flower stems, rosebuds and posies and it twists his stomach into a knot.
                "i see yours," he wiggles his fingers in the gaps of zitao's throat, and the other tries to laugh but it gets stuck on the tar caked to the roof of his mouth.
                the boy is pretty, but then he starts to fade. he waves goodbye with his fingers still caught in zitao but the other screams, it gets stuck underneath a feather and he's gone, whisked up into the air and out of sight, before zitao turns to black.
                the boy is sad. they're sitting in an empty room and the name comes to him.
                "jongdae?" zitao whispers.
                and the other smiles, crooked and bent, twisted like the noose sewn into his flesh.
                "zitao, i wish i was alive when you were," he draws on the walls, thick and solid like stone,           "maybe we wouldn't have gone the way we did."
                the other feels for the hole in his throat but realizes his head is no longer attached to the rest of him, simply suspended in air.
                in a moment they are in line, but the strangers behind jongdae are blurred and disfigured.
                the boy is sad. he kisses zitao's corpse as his own until he blurs, out of existence, far from memory, gone by his choice on the earth but by force in the skies.