The fire crackled in the tin barrel, spitting black smoke and bits of charred paper into the atmosphere. The scent of incense was thick in the air and Yixing could feel the heat sear against his hand. He tossed another stack of hell money into the barrel, ash flying into the air as the paper struck the bottom of the barrel.

 

A soft breeze whipped through his hair, sending the smoke blowing into his face. Yixing blinked away the tears stinging his eyes. He stepped away from the barrel to pick up the lotus-shaped plates he had brought down with him.

 

The plates were made of hard plastic and had gold foiled designs in their middles. Kneeling by the drain, he meticulously arranged the steamed buns with lotus paste and mandarins onto the plates, setting them carefully in a straight line along the drain.

 

Another two steamed cakes  were set by the plates and he was stabbing joss sticks into the dirt, the faint glow of his match lighting up. Red wax dripped onto his fingers and he bit back a curse as he set the two red candles into a pool of their own wax, the cooling material solidifying quickly.

 

Pressing his hands together, he murmured a prayer beneath his breath, bowing before the lit joss sticks as they gave off perfumed smoke.

 

The flames of the candles wavered ever so slightly when he lifted his head,  and a soft smile graced his features.

 

“Hello, love.” He whispered and shivered when something brushed against his ear.

 

“Shall we go?”

 

The medium stepped back, turning away to walk down the mostly empty street. He could already hear the raucous music coming from the giant tent set up at the block of flats furthest from his home.

 

The lights were bright and hurt his eyes as he walked into the tent, the celebrations already in full swing.

 

Yixing selected a seat closer the back, feeling something swish against his ear,  before turning his head to look at the row of seats directly in front of the stage, cordoned off with red tape.

 

If he closed his eyes, he could almost visualise people seated in the red chairs, watching the singer performing on stage.

 

“Evening, Yixing ge.” Yixing smiled faintly, nodding at the younger man who slid into the seat beside him.

 

“Hello, Zitao.” He greeted. Like him, Zitao’s eyes turned immediately to the front of seemingly empty seats.

 

“Do you think…he’s here tonight?” The younger’s voice was tinged with hope as he fidgeted with his hands.

 

Yixing’s lashes fluttered as he nodded quietly, staring straight ahead, at the red row of empty seats.

 

There was a sudden breeze, ruffling Zitao’s hair and the younger man spooked, eyes widening in shock.

 

“I believe Yifan wanted to say hi.”

 

Yixing’s smile was sad as he reached over to pat his friend’s hand gently.

 

Zitao’s eyes glittered and he leant back in his seat, fingers curling around Yixing’s hand tightly.

 

They watched the rest of the performances in silence, disturbed only by brief snatches of wind sweeping through their hair.

 

---

 

 

Yixing soon got used to the feeling of eyes on his back as he prepared his meals, smiling softly as he set down a bowl of rice with traditional Korean chopsticks beside his own seat.

 

“I miss Kyungsoo’s kimchi spaghetti. Maybe he’ll make some for us soon.”

 

The flame of a candle he always kept lit in the altar went out and he wandered over, picking up the lighter lying nearby to light it again.

 

“More kimchi?”

 

There was one knock on the table and the medium smiled, scooping more of the pickled vegetable into the still full bowl.

 

They had developed a system of communication over the years. One knock for yes, two for no. Simple ways to help them communicate.

 

Yixing always looked forward to that time of the year, where the house did not feel empty as it usually did.

 

He ate, telling Baekhyun about his day, about the songs he helped produce in the studio and the people he had helped in communicating with the dead.

 

If he squinted, he could almost see the translucent figure of a young man with beautiful eyes seated beside him, lips curled into a fond smile as he talked.

 

But Baekhyun never showed himself fully. Whether he lacked the power to do so, or he just did not want to, Yixing would never know. It mattered not to him though, for he was already content with the thought that he was nearby.

 

---

 

 

But there were days where the emptiness felt too much and Yixing would barricade himself inside his room.

 

“I miss you, Baekkie.” Yixing murmured one night, face buried into Baekhyun’s favourite pillow.

 

The younger’s scent had long faded, but the brunette could almost feel familiar warmth settle behind him.

 

A breeze fluttered in from the window and Yixing squeezed his eyes shut, a tear trickling unbidden down his face.

 

The temperature in the room dropped all of a sudden, and the medium’s eyes flew open.

 

For the briefest moment, a silvery shape took form beside his bed, hand outstretched as if to his hair.

 

“Baekhyun!”

 

Yixing could not stop the cry from tearing out of his throat.

 

Baekhyun looked exactly as he had imagined, dressed in his pressed suit and tie, looking absolutely breathtaking.

 

He was smiling sadly, looking straight into Yixing’s eyes.

 

“Don’t cry. I love you.”

 

A tremor wracked Yixing’s body and fresh tears spilled from his eyes. He did not need his equipment to hear the words that fell from his lover’s lips.

 

“Come back, baby. Come back!”

 

Yixing his hand out towards the figure even as it was fading, feeling a chill numb his fingers.

 

“Baekhyun!”

 

He fell asleep crying, Baekhyun’s words still ringing in his ears.

 

---

 

 

The calender was tacked up in his kitchen. He could count exactly the number of days he had before the house became silent again, devoid of a ghostly presence that he waited for every year.

 

Baekhyun had been loud, and so full of life when he was alive and he was constantly moving, knocking into things and singing loudly at the top of his lungs. His ghost was just the same, rustling blankets, blowing out candles and scraping chairs against floors.

 

All these sounds made the house come alive during the Ghost Month, the month where the veil between the spirit and human world was the thinnest and the air was rife with spirits returning to visit family.

 

It was also the month where Yixing got to have Baekhyun again. To feel the familiar presence that he had missed for so long every year, even if it was just his spirit that he could not hold.

 

There was not a day that passed which  he did not miss him, the man who had held all of his heart in his hands and died with it, tearing a hole in Yixing’s chest. A hole that many of his friends had urged him to fill.

 

But there would be none like Baekhyun. None that could fit that Baekhyun shaped piece that he took with him when he died in that tragic accident, taking Zitao’s stepbrother and Yixing’s capability to love another, with him.

 

Yixing would always remember that day, that accident that had stolen his love, his heart and soul and most importantly, his would be husbandfrom him. He remembered the phone call, Zitao’s hysterical screams and how he had not felt the pain from the floor when he crumpled to his knees at the altar, his hand pressed to his mouth.

 

He remembered the shock, the tears that would not come, the weight of the engagement ring on his finger when he realised Baekhyun would not place the wedding band on his finger, would never say “I do.”

 

The wedding had turned into a funeral. It had made headlines and everyone lamented the tragedy.

 

A drunk driver and a terrible mistake.

 

Yixing remembered it all as if it had happened yesterday. The memories were etched into him, as was the permanent hole in his heart.

 

But for a month each year, he was allowed to feel him again.

 

This year, the month felt particularly short, the great feast for the ending of Ghost Month arriving far too quickly for Yixing’s taste.

 

He attended, meeting Zitao again by the side of the river, lotus-shaped lantern in hand.

 

The younger’s eyes were red-rimmed as he lit his lantern, setting it delicately upon the water.

 

Yixing held on to his a little longer, a silent wish leaving his lips.

 

It was selfish of him, he knew, to wish for Baekhyun to come back every year. But he dared not even think about what he would do with himself if he crossed over, never to return.

 

It was with a desperate apology, that he lit his lantern, sending it on its way along with the many others down the river and into the deep black night.