It was 8 PM when Luhan got home the day after that dream. He had dinner with his family, he dealt with some emails and a couple of projects. By 10 PM, he couldn't wait any longer. He faced the radio on his desk. It looked almost as if it was inviting Luhan to use it. Go ahead. Speak.

Luhan took the transceiver and turned the radio on. The familiar sound of on air static issued from the black metal speakers. Luhan took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and spoke.

"Ni hao. My name is Luhan."

It took Luhan a few seconds before realizing that he had been holding his breath. He looked disdainfully at the radio, disappointed yet again.

"You're a jerk," he said aloud, pouting to no one. Of course, the radio couldn't answer him. Luhan shook his head; Even he himself didn't know why he was so invested in the radio that night. Or why he even felt like he would for sure get a response this time. Mostly, because of that dream. But there was no response. Frowning, Luhan continued his usual script.

"Hello, this is Luhan," he said softly. When the radio monitor blinked once, and never again, he sighed. Why was he always hoping for something to happen, when he knew this kind of communication is very much obsolete? What was he hoping for? ...Who?

Calm washed over the initial violent disillusionment that Luhan felt, He took his guitar, leaning against a corner of his bed, and placed it on his lap. He strummed the strings gently, looking for a song to play, and ended with the melody of a Korean song he learned back in Seoul. It was an old song, a love song, written almost a century ago by a famous pop singer that Luhan liked. The words to the song came almost naturally to him, regardless of the language used, and for the first time in his life, Luhan felt time stop. 

The song was in the background but it filled his ears and mind completely. Luhan was in the dream again, but now it was real and vivid, like it was all happening and like it wasn't a dream. He was singing, but at the same time he was an observer in this non-space. This, non-time. Like watching dust filter through sunlight in the afternoon, things and thoughts were particles floating, brightly reflecting energy and life. Life. Being. 

Luhan drifted that way until that voice jolted him alert like a sharp piercing memory-- "Luhan," it said, a mimic--no, it was the voice from his dream. 

Luhan sat upright, guitar in his hands and his lamplight suddenly too bright for his eyes. He looked around, not knowing what exactly happened. He thought perhaps he drifted into sleep. It had been a tiring day. He saw the transmit signal blinking, which meant he had been using the radio this whole time. 

There was no response. Luhan stood up. Just before he turned off the radio, he murmured, "I feel so alone."

//

Sehun listened to the voice on the radio as it sang in Korean. A song he understood but didn't know. As he heard it, each word and melody imprinted itself like tattoos permanently in Sehun's memory. "Luhan," he said queitly, "why do you sound so sad?"

The radio buzzed only with static, but Sehun kept it on as he laid down on his bed. The song played in his head over and over, calming him. His breathing became slow and steady, and as he closed his eyes, a smile formed peacefully on his lips.

//...