Miracle

Miracle

 

It was Orion’s boots that caught his eye first. 

 

It was the middle of summer, so those were probably the only boots around for ten miles. Nice boots, too. Black leather, by the look of them, well-worn near the edges, but all the more fashionable for it. They were laced up tight over black slacks on long legs, silver buckles matching silver chains around a narrow waist. Rings around elegant fingers, glinting earrings in each ear. Black hair, slicked back. A lollipop in his mouth, held like a cigarette. There was a quiet sort of arrogance that dripped off him like dark honey.

 

And his name— Orion: so grand, so exotic. So marketable. Julian knew that was his name because he had stood outside the door as Orion was being auditioned. “Hi, I’m Orion. I sing, rap, and play the guitar. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintances.”

 

One of the casting directors spoke. Julian couldn’t quite catch what it was from his place outside the door. Something along the lines of whenever you’re ready.

 

“Should I play guitar accompaniment, as well?”

 

A confirmation.

 

And then Orion had started singing, and Julian had stood, smiling, for what felt like the first time in months. There was no fun in winning when it was easy. He needed the competition. And luckily for him, here comes Orion, on a silver platter. 

 

Julian’s own audition went as expected. The audition panel told him it was a pleasure listening to him, and he knew they meant it. He pulled open the door feeling nothing in particular until he saw black boots in his peripheral vision. 

 

“Not just a pretty face, then.” Orion said. “I’m surprised.”

 

“Nice boots.” Julian replied. “Is your guitar black, too?”

 

“Guess.”

 

“Red.” He said, without hesitation. 

 

Orion’s grin is slow and thoughtful. His face was made exactly for that look: that surprised but amused expression people wore when an ant below their heel did something unexpectedly intelligent. It was, against all better judgement, charming. “What gave it away?”

 

Julian pointed to the lollipop. Thoughtfully, Orion pulled it out of his mouth. It was red. “How well can you sightread?” He asked. 

 

“Perfectly.” Julian said. “How many instruments do you play?”

 

“Five. How long have you been singing?”

 

“All my life.”

 

“What a coincidence.” Orion said, gaze sharp. “Me too.”

 

They called it a cross-agency vocal training programme, intended to evaluate participants across all aspects of their musical ability. It was, in all honesty, a survival bootcamp. Thirty people, two months, a single building, and nothing but singing from day to night. And of course, one winner.

 

“This whole thing is a K-Pop ripoff.” Cody told him. Cody talked how she sung: bright, clear, with a flurry of hand movements. “That’s why everyone’s good-looking, because the entertainment industry is all about pretty faces nowadays, not talent. Seriously, have you heard some of them sing? Truly atrocious.”

 

“I think you’re underestimating them.”

 

“Oh, shut up. You’re just saying that because you’ve got one of those pretty faces they’re so desperate for. Although you can sing. I’ll give you that. I’ve heard you. They’ll be a fool not to sign you. In fact, you might win this thing.”

 

“I don’t know about that.” He said, thinking of black boots and silver rings.

 

“So humble.” Cody said, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, you never know, maybe I’ll improve so much I beat you. It’ll take a miracle, but it just might happen.”

 

“Sure.” He agreed.

 

She laughed. “Alright, you don’t need to lie. I’m not hung up over it. I’m mostly here for the experience, anyway. I don’t think Orion is, though.”

 

Julian didn’t think so, either. He turned on the lights in the practice room at five every morning, sharp, and every time, without fail, he found Orion blinking in the corner. Either he’d slept there, or he’d been practicing in the dark. 

 

“How do you read your music with the lights off?” Julian had asked, one morning.

 

“I don’t.” Orion said. “I listen to it.” His headphones were black, too. Julian had yet to see him own anything of colour except for his lollipops (of which he had an endless supply) and his guitar. Their fellow bootcamp survivors had taken to calling him Oreo.

 

“Inaccurate,” was Julian’s response to that. “He only wears black.”

 

Cody had pointed to Julian’s shirt, which was white, and shrugged. “Close enough.”

 

It’s true. They were almost never apart. Their rooms were next to each other. They were paired for every vocal exercise. They were the first two in the practice room and the last two to leave, by a long shot. 

 

“Why do you only wear black?” Julian asked, on a particularly late night. He had stopped singing hours ago; only his competitiveness had kept him there. 

 

“It looks good on me.” Orion said. “Why do you only wear white? Well, white shirts. I’ve seen your purple sweatpants and they have got to be a crime.”

 

“They’re comfortable.” Julian defended. “White is the only colour that my tattoo shows through. No point having one if no one’s going to see it.”

 

“The one on the shoulder?” 

 

He nodded.

 

“Can I see?” 

 

Julian turned. It was on his back, just above the left shoulder blade. He undid the first two buttons of his shirt so he could slide it away from the ink.

 

“Scorpion.” Orion said. “Very cool. Why?”

 

“They’re sneaky.” Julian said. “The attack comes from where you least expect it. And they’re just cool animals in general.” He puts his shirt back on properly. “What’s the fifth?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Keyboard, guitar, drums, bass. What’s the fifth instrument you play?”

 

“Triangle.” Orion said, gravely.

 

Julian snickered. It caught both of them by surprise.

 

Orion recovered first. He said, mock seriously, “how dare you? The triangle is a complicated and undermined instrument.”

 

“Of course you’d like it.” Julian said. “It matches your jewellery. Do you hang it on your belt loop when you go out?”

 

Orion laughed. “Alright, comedian. What do you play, then?”

 

“Nothing.” Julian said. There’s a pause.

 

“So this is it, then?” Orion asked. There’s a new edge in his voice. “Singing, or nothing?”

 

“Yes.” Julian said. 

 

“I’m not letting you win.” Orion said.

 

“That’s fine.” Julian said. “I don’t need you to let me.”

 

They both started sleeping in the practice room. The two months passed by in what felt like a week. Somehow, Julian caught a cold just before the last singing evaluation. The important one. It’s almost a death sentence. Every singer offered him their condolences from at least three meters away. Cody, due to their friendship, put on two masks and braved a distance close enough to pat him on the shoulder.

 

“I didn’t mean it when I said it would take a miracle for me to beat you.” She said, worried. “Did I jinx you? I’m so sorry! Don’t tell him I said this, but you’re better than Oreo. I hope you win.”

 

Julian bought himself ten packs of throat lozenges and took one every hour. It seemed to fix the problem. He hoped it would be enough.

 

The look Orion gave him the morning of the evaluation was complicated. “Go rest.” He said.

 

“You first.” Julian replied.

 

Orion smiled wryly. “Touché.” 

 

For once, he was looking at sheet music. They had been given an original piece of music yesterday, so he couldn’t listen to it. The page is full of careful annotations. Julian looked down at his own clean page and wondered if, for the first time ever, he should write something down.

 

They had breakfast together, all of them, for the last time. Then they were sent to the waiting room. Ten minutes before he was due to go in, Julian reached for the lozenges in his pocket. 

 

They weren’t there. 

 

He looked up. Orion was watching him. There was a pained look on his face.

 

“Where did you put them?” Julian asked.

 

“In your room.” Orion said. “I’m sorry.” He sounded like he meant it. “You’re an outstanding singer, and I need to win.”

 

Julian took a sip of his water. “I would’ve helped you with sightreading.”

 

Orion paused. “What?”

 

“You can’t sightread. That’s why you listen to your music instead of reading it. And it’s why you write so much on your sheet music— so you don’t have to read the notes. You can just recall them using your pointers.”

 

Another pause. Then, grudgingly, “can you believe it? Five instruments, and I can’t sightread.”

 

Julian smiled. 

 

And something in his smile must’ve given it away, because Orion’s expression of remorse turned into one of alarm. Julian watched him reach for the sheet music he’d put in his pocket that morning. It wasn’t there.

 

“In your room.” Julian said. “I’m sorry. You’re also an outstanding singer, and I also need to win.” 

 

He took another sip of his water and wondered which god Cody had prayed to for a miracle like this one.

Writer – Amy Zuo
Editor – Asees Waraich
Artist – Natalie Wei

–May 2026–