I Know You (I Walked With You Once Upon A Dream) [Part 1/2]
Title: I Know You (I Walked With You Once Upon A Dream)
Pairing/Main character(s): Jongin/Kyungsoo
Rating: PG
Word Count: 11,670
Warnings (if any): mention of social anxiety, implied depression
Summary: Jongin likes to dwell on his dreams and forget the world outside and that is how, along the way, he meets Kyungsoo. (Alternatively: the one where Jongin is lost and Kyungsoo wants to be found.)
Note: Written for BestDaysofOurLives 1st round. This story is directly inspired by the quote “It doesn’t do to dwell on dreams and forget to live” by J.K. Rowling from ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’ (I recently reread the first book of the HP series and got inspired), but my story has nothing to do with Harry Potter.
The sky is blue and clear. One hand held high in the attempt to shield his eyes from the bright rays of the July sun, Jongin casually observes the roofs of the neighboring houses: big condominiums and shining skyscrapers in the distance.
He looks down the parapet of the rooftop terrace and sees the main street bustling with traffic. There are horns and shouting in the distance; somewhere a dog is barking, and the rhythmic pounding of the passing motorcycles’ engines punctures the stillness of the afternoon air. His previous neighborhood was quieter, but this will have to do. The building, although a little-run down, is not half bad, and he likes its huge terrace.
The sun is hot on his skin and Jongin can feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he closes his eyes, glides to the dusty floor and drowsily leans his back against the warm parapet wall. He decides that he will rest for a few minutes and then go back to his new apartment. There are books to be placed on the shelves in the bedroom, cooking utensils and equipment to unpack and arrange in his little new kitchen, two suitcases full of clothes to organize, and wrinkled shirts to iron.
When he reopens his eyes, a little later, the sky is gray and big clouds have obscured the sun. The terrace seems now shaped a little differently, but of this Jongin can’t be really sure. The heavy iron door that leads onto the terrace is closed, so Jongin stands up, shakes the dust away from his pants and proceeds towards the entrance.
The lack of light in the landing bothers him; he blinks repeatedly, trying to adjust to darkness. He can’t find the switch and as he is walking down the stairs slowly, he notices in the faint light coming from the nearest window that the landing’s walls are entirely covered with what looks like green wallpaper decorated with intricate gold designs.
He finds it strange, but what surprises him even more is the roaring of thunder he hears outside. He frowns and stops to take a look outside: the storm is raging. Rain descends in little gleam-drops of silver as the rumbling of thunder grows progressively louder. The roaring wind makes him shiver and he closes the window to prevent rain from entering.
He decides to go back up to the terrace to make sure he had closed the heavy door behind him. Jongin walks up the stairs two steps at a time, now accustomed to darkness, and when he arrives on the terrace, a sudden lightning startles him.
His phone starts ringing. Pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt to not get his hair wet, Jongin brings his left hand to the front pocket of his pants, looks up to the heavy rain clouds and squints his eyes. He feels cold.
Another sudden lightning makes him shudder and he shuts his eyes, scared. When Jongin reopens them he is sitting on the terrace’s floor, warm back against the parapet wall and the black T-shirt under his sweatshirt clinging to his sweaty skin. The sun is shining brightly, the sky is clear and his phone is still ringing.
“I fell asleep again,” he murmurs to himself, pulling the phone out of his pants’ front pocket. “Hello? Yes, I will be down in two minutes. I’m sorry.”
Jongin runs a hand through the black locks of hair falling over his forehead. A little disoriented, he heads for the stairs.
This time the landing’s walls are of a boring dirty white color, no gold doodles, nothing.
/
After saying goodbye to the workers of the moving company, Jongin reenters the building’s lobby sighing dejectedly: it is time to get back to work. It is almost seven in the afternoon and he has a power point presentation to finish. Dreading the sleepless night ahead of him, Jongin enters in the elevator yawning and rests his cheek against the elevator’s cold wall, cursing the fatigue that doesn’t seem to go away.
The apartment he transferred to is small but it is all he can afford at the moment. What convinced him to sign the lease was the spacious living room and its two large windows facing the neighborhood’s main street. Jongin immediately thought of setting up his workspace there, desk facing the window.
The building is also a five minute walk from the agency for which he works. Jongin is only an intern, but it is better than nothing, and he gets along just fine with what he earns. Cutting on useless stuff here and there is not a problem for him, if it means that he can support himself without his parents’ help.
Jongin would like to think of himself as an imaginative man, someone in the right field, but the truth is that he doesn’t think he fits his job. He would much prefer to write stories for children: he dreams of becoming a writer. Except this is a secret, and Jongin thinks about it as he unlocks the apartment’s door and proceeds to sit on the old swivel chair set before the white table he has equipped as work desk. It is one of those secrets that children guard jealously because they know they can never come true. Jongin thinks of it as a pipe dream, and is the reason why he never mentioned it to anyone.
The sunset rays caress the window sill in front of the white desk, dust particles lazily dancing in the late afternoon light. Jongin sighs.
His desk is already crammed with notes, articles and papers he needs for work. On his left there is a stack of books: marketing, communication, design, a beginners guide to Excel and an in depth manual on how to use Power Point to its full potential.
Jongin, after leaving his parents’ house, did all kind of jobs to get himself a degree in creative writing, and after graduation, had tried for months to find a job in his field of study before deciding to just give up on his dreams and start on something new.
The agency asked him to finish a business proposal to be presented to a client: he has few days to finish it and even fewer ideas in mind. He needs to concentrate and finish typing his disorganized notes for further research.
Disheartened, he sinks his head on the messy notes written in blue ink, and when to he reopens his eyes, Jongin finds himself in an unknown alley. It doesn’t resemble any known street and yet it seems familiar.
He stands beside the road and watches his surroundings. It isn’t a wide street but cars and motorcycles are moving at considerable speeds. The street is bustling with people of all ages, leisurely walking around alone or in someone else’s company.
On his way towards the pedestrian crossing, Jongin passes many shops and street vendors, the smell of food wafting over and making his stomach grumble. The lively atmosphere comforts him.
He throws curious glances at the most interesting shop windows. There are clothing shops, a bookshop and a supermarket near the pedestrian crossing.
Jongin is wearing a nice khaki coat and a red woolen scarf tightly wrapped around his neck, and when he exhales, his breath is white. The air is cold and Jongin sneezes. He rubs his hands together, his fingertips red and stiff from the cold as he walks briskly towards the entrance of a cafe nearby that captured his interest. He is pushed by a strange frenzy and doesn’t pay much attention to anything else.
A wind chimes announces his entrance, and once inside, he strolls towards a table where a steaming cup of coffee is already waiting for him to take. He wraps his icy fingers around the white porcelain mug and exhales contentedly. He usually doesn’t drink coffee, but the hot beverage looks inviting after the cold he experienced outside. The shining shop windows are sparkling and Jongin can’t tell if it is morning or afternoon.
He looks around and finds himself thinking that he enjoys the soft atmosphere. However, the colors in this part of the city are more faded and gray than ever. But he soon forgets about it while observing the passersby through the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the cafe.
He brings the mug of coffee to his lips, sips the hot drink without really tasting anything, and sighs in relief, finally at ease after a long day.
///
In the past, Jongin often dreamed of train stations. It was never the same train station and yet he was always there running around, looking for the right train to take. Among the crowd, Jongin was always at a loss, trying to understand where to go to buy the train ticket he needed and how to actually get to his train. He never met people he knew and he was never at a known train station. Usually, he spent all his time rushing up and down stairs that seemed never-ending. Other times, hordes of people standing in the way prevented him from finding the right direction. Sometimes, he didn’t have enough money with him for the train ticket.
People scared him, running out of time scared him, and Jongin would often wake up out of breath and in a cold sweat. The constant was that, no matter how hard he tried, he could never catch the train, nor understand what was he running from or where was he trying to go.
At first, Jongin always found all the relentless running frustrating. However, he was never much disappointed. Maybe, it simply wasn’t meant for him to catch the train and that was okay, he reasoned. Jongin was philosophical about it, and when in the morning the alarm on his bedside table went off, he soon forgot everything without giving it too much thought. After all, speculative history is a waste of time.
Every now and then, he dreamed of distant relatives, acquaintances, coworkers, his old high school, or the hotel where he had spent nearly all his summer holidays as a child when his family was still together. But he also dreamed of places he had never seen before: cities he wanted to visit, apartments in which he had never set foot in, odd art galleries with impossibly high ceilings where he had admired unknown works of art, narrow spiral staircases that had led him to restaurants or shops selling velvet dresses in the summer, books he had read many years before, or CDs of bands he was pretty sure no one had ever heard of before.
Jongin liked those dreams the most. He felt safe and a little curious, despite being often alone. Being at the center of attention, feeling observed, and having people around staring at him makes him terribly nervous. When his natural shyness and introversion gain the upper hand, he immediately starts sweating and feeling uncomfortably. His first thought is always to return home and never go out again.
During his school days Jongin had never been popular. He had never had many friends, and as the years went by, he ended up closing himself more. Somehow, at some point, Jongin had just given up, and slowly, being alone had felt okay.
Jongin has always been under the impression that he is not being able to understand people. He wants to feel connected to those around him, and he had tried to some extent, but it seemed never enough. Invisible walls kept him away from those near him. As a result, he much preferred to keep quiet. He liked being alone, and as days went by, this tendency has slowly become a defining personality trait of his, adding to the anxiety that keeps on intensifying.
All in all, Jongin can’t even justify this feeling. It strangles him daily, like delicate fingers tightly wrapped around his neck, and despite all his efforts to ignore his unreasonable sadness, he feels miserable. There is no definite reason or explanation to justify what he feels. He can’t explain why he is so lost and sad; he doesn’t understand himself anymore.
Every now and then he also had nightmares. At times, he found himself running away from obscure entities trying to reach out for him, gigantic spiders or hungry wolfs chasing him. Jongin, most of the times, was lucky enough to forget everything about those dreadful dreams as soon as the morning light crept into those nightmares, bringing him back to reality. He would wake in his bed, or on the worn-out couch in the living room, with the cotton tee of his pajamas glued to his warm skin, tousled dark hair sticking to his forehead.
However, with the passing of time, the dreams change. Now he is almost always alone.
Jongin often dreams of walking by the sea or along unfamiliar streets, of exploring endless deserts and venturing on abandoned bridges. It feels as if even the persons who had populated his dreams in the past have slowly given up on him. It is like they are telling him that, if he really wants to be left alone, they will do just that and will not bother him any longer. It is a sad thought but when you are perpetually on the verge of a nervous breakdown, you don’t wonder about your dreams. You just let yourself sink and embrace darkness.
///
In August, the humidity is such that in the warmest hours of the day, the air is almost unbreathable, and fatigue, like a dark and stiff mass, had entered into him, crouching in the pit of his stomach. Suit jacket and briefcase in hand, Jongin, bumping into some passengers that leave no room, walks down the bus steps, almost glad to be under the hot sun of that Friday afternoon and no longer stuck in traffic.
He got down a stop before his usual one but it is fine; he can walk. The bus was an oven: no air-conditioning and full of people. There was no escape from the suffocating heat, the air rushing in the open windows a continuous blast of hot wind.
Jongin, cursing his uncomfortable loafers, is walking slowly towards the traffic light of the nearest crossroad when he sees him among the small crowd gathered at the intersection. It only lasts for a moment and yet, when the man’s piercing eyes meet his, Jongin feels something clicking inside him and holds his breath.
Dark hair, big eyes, full lips, hands in his black jacket’s pockets and a blank expression on his face. Suddenly, Jongin feels the crowd around him quiet down, horns honking and engines revving unnaturally silent. It is disturbing but it only lasts for an instant. Jongin blinks and it is gone.
The man was watching him, he is certain, but the next moment he has disappeared between the busy passersby.
People start walking and Jongin realizes that the light is now green. The roaring sound of traffic is clear once again, hushed conversations here and there coming from all directions.
Jongin shakes his head and takes a few steps in the direction of the other side of the road before something stops him. He inhales sharply, and when he reopens his eyes Jongin realizes he is still on the bus and the office employee who just bumped into him is apologizing, smiling wearily.
Confused, Jongin offers a small smile, and with a pained expression, he loosens the skinny black necktie around the neck of his white shirt. He is sweating and, somehow, he thinks he can still feel the rough asphalt beneath his loafers, even though he knows it isn’t possible.
The bus stops, this time for real, and he gets down, squeezing his way out of the noisy crowd.
He is still a little bewildered, but has already forgotten the dream.
/
When he returns home he works for a few hours on his laptop, entering sequences of numbers in an excel spreadsheet, one boring sequence after another. He had skipped dinner and had started working as soon as he had gotten back home.
His tiny apartment is neat and organized, the shirt and the suit for tomorrow ironed to perfection. He has nothing else to do and can concentrate on work for the rest of the evening. In the dim light of the desk lamp, the room looks cozy, more like home.
Jongin rubs his tired eyes. The blades of the ceiling fan are moving painfully slow, and he rests his forehead on the lukewarm desk surface trying to collect himself. He is sleepy, and while absently watching the ice cubes melt into the iced tea glass next to his laptop, Jongin closes his eyes and sighs.
He has been working for his agency for a while now, but he strangely feels like this has always been his job. Jongin strives to remember when exactly he had started working for that agency, the exact day, but he simply can’t remember. Moving from one part of Seoul to another is his only firm reference point. The previous events seem to merge in a whirlwind of days, and months passed without any valid reason to be remembered, memories condensed into an indistinct mass of time.
All of a sudden, he is struck by the thought of living a life without meaning, of not knowing the reason why he does what he does. The indifference Jongin feels for his life and the constant discomfort that characterizes his days strain his nerves, suffocates him. The worst part is that he can’t even bring himself to care, and the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth.
He takes a few deep breaths, tries to relax the tense muscles of his shoulders, and, even though he has been sleeping a lot, he can’t help but yawn. For some time now all he has been doing is work and sleep. An indescribable weariness has taken possession of his body and mind, and nothing seems able to put him back on his feet. It feels as if there aren’t enough hours in the night for the type of rest he needs.
When Jongin reopens his eyes he is sitting at a table, the hard surface rough under his fingertips, and he recognizes his surroundings immediately. The wooden tables and the little potted plants positioned in every corner, the gleaming floor-to-ceiling windows exposed to the morning sun, the clinking of cups and the patrons’ conversations drifting by. Jongin has been here before and he knows that the steaming mug of coffee on his left is waiting for him but, this time, the mugs are two.
When Jongin looks up to find out who is the person sitting across from him, the other man smiles.
After a moment’s hesitation, Jongin introduces himself.
“Kyungsoo,” the man replies nonchalantly.
“It’s a cute name,” Jongin adds.
The man smiles again, head slightly tilted to one side.
Jongin looks at his styled dark hair, strong jawline, heart shaped lips and then at the sun’s rays gracing the hands holding the steaming mug. He thinks that the cute name matches with the pretty face.
“This is the first time I meet someone in my dreams... because this is a dream, isn’t it?” Jongin asks.
“If you want it to be, yes.”
“What do you mean?” He enquires curiously.
A mischievous grin makes its way onto Kyungsoo’s face. “Why would this be a dream?”
“I don’t know… are you my conscience, perhaps?” Jongin asks sheepishly.
“What!?” The other scoffs. “Mister, I think you’ve watched one too many movies. And before you ask: no, you’re not dead.” Kyungsoo laughs.
“Sorry,” Jongin mutters, embarrassed.
“I don’t know you and you don’t know me. Yet, are you okay with it? Not scared?”
“You are… familiar, but I can’t explain why, sorry.” Jongin swallows, hands tightly wrapped around the ceramic mug of steaming coffee.
The smaller man’s long lashes are dark against his pale skin as he closes his eyes and carefully takes a sip from his mug, clearly enjoying the taste of black coffee.
Then, a realization strikes Jongin.
“Ah… you are the man I’ve met at the crossroad, am I right?”
“Oh, you remember,” the other man exclaims, surprised.
Jongin can see that Kyungsoo is intrigued by the fact that he remembers him.
“Are you… real? Tell me, am I finally going crazy?” Asks Jongin, glancing around in uncertainty.
“In the real world, whatever you can reach out and touch is concrete, but even here, the mug you’re holding in your hands, this table, the people out there, myself, everything is real in its own way. What I mean is that there is no reason why this world is to be less real than the other one,” he explains, tapping the table with his fingers.
Jongin remains silent, incapable of breaking eye contact, while Kyungsoo observes him intently.
“Think about it: what if dreams were genuine in existence and reality just a dream? If we were to wake up from reality, where would we find ourselves?”
Jongin keeps staring at Kyungsoo, holding his breath. He doesn’t know what to respond to the smaller man’s strange speech. He instead looks around, aware of the great importance of what Kyungsoo had just tried to explain.
“Now it is a little scary… are you serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, it’s a real question then...” The taller fidgets in his sit. “Maybe I am going crazy, after all,” he says in a low voice. “Okay, let me get this straight. You mean that if we were to wake up... we would die?”
Kyungsoo smirks.
“As it happens in the real world? The real reality, I mean?”
“Who knows,” Kyungsoo snorts, head now propped with one of his hand. “I don’t remember when I got here, but I’m glad to have met you.”
“You... did you want to meet me?” Jongin asks pointing to his chest.
Kyungsoo hesitates for a moment before answering. “I think I subconsciously wanted to share this realm of dreams with someone and I found you, that’s all. Or maybe you were the one to find me, who knows?”
Kyungsoo’s little smile, his penetrating eyes, the soft music playing in the background, the stifling heat of the shop. Jongin swallows and he doesn’t see it, but he can distinctly feel sweat forming on the palms of his hands. But the feeling isn’t unpleasant. He knows that in dreams, emotions are perceived differently than in reality: some are amplified, others are nullified.
“Why are you here? You didn’t tell me. Where are you from?” Jongin can’t help but ask.
“I don’t remember and, after all, it doesn’t matter.”
Once again, Jongin slowly scans the vast room. He can’t tell how he feels about the whole situation, yet he would surely like to know where he is right now. He doesn’t remember walking to the cafe and he takes it as an indication that, truly, this can be nothing but a dream.
But then he sees the contours of the cafe fade, his surroundings suddenly become silent and the colors, at first warm and alive, seem now more and more faded. He turns to Kyungsoo just in time to feel the floor beneath his feet give way, and everything becomes a blur before he shuts his eyes.
When he reopens them, he straightens his back with difficulty and inhales deeply. With one hand he starts massaging his sore neck, as the night breeze coming through the open window of his apartment makes him shiver.
Coming from the open window of the apartment right above his, he can hear the dull voice of a news anchor reporting about the weather for the day.
He casts a glance at his wristwatch placed on the desk: 05:54 a.m.
The ice cubes in the glass of tea have disappeared.
///
In the following days, Jongin finishes the presentation he had been assigned, and although he should be happy for another job well done, he just can’t bring himself to care. In the end, it only means that he can return to his routine. Even so, he doesn’t feel at ease doing a job in a place he thinks he doesn’t belong to. And that is probably why every single day feels the same, no matter what he does. Jongin can hardly concentrate and wants to do nothing but sleep.
Still, meeting Kyungsoo has changed something inside him. He has started thinking more about his dreams, the images his mind conjure during the night and their meanings. Something he hadn’t done in a while.
Jongin often wakes up in the morning thinking about how nice it would be to be able to go back to sleep and continue the dream he was dreaming, forgetting the world outside. The idea of having to leave his apartment and fight traffic and colleagues makes his head spin.
The real nightmare is reality.
But, with each passing day, what has really changed is his perception of the world around him. Little by little, he had started questioning the world surrounding him and the recurring sensation is that the objects, the places and the people who crowded his vague dreams in the past are now the most concrete of things. The details of the dreams he remembers seem more real than reality itself.
The research done on the internet, articles and essays about dreams and literature, dreams in popular culture, dream theories and their interpretations, Oneirology and what happens in our brain when we sleep, nothing helped much.
The only thing that comes close to what he is living and dreaming can only go under the name of lucid dream: the dreamer is aware that he is dreaming and can manipulate, more or less at will, what is around him. Apparently, the dreamer may be able to exert some degree of control over the dream characters, narrative, and environment.
Jongin finds all this fascinating and wonders if it is really possible to change scenery, maybe visit some exotic country found on the internet: the possibilities are potentially endless. But if a lucid dream is a conscious dream, and normally we think of dreams as the result of the unconscious mind, is the result still a dream? Does the dream not become reality?
Sometimes he wakes with a start, disoriented, wondering if he was sleeping or if he was awake. Sometimes he wonders if certain memories actually happened or if they are just dreams so vivid he can’t discern them from reality.
When he stops to think about when everything has started he can never find an answer. The reality is subjective but firm reference points are necessary, and now he has none: he confuses reality and dreams over and over. But, in all this confusion, of something he is certain: Jongin wants to see Kyungsoo again.
Easier said than done.
Sometimes Jongin thinks of Kyungsoo before going to bed, hoping to find him somewhere in his dreams but, apparently, it isn’t so easy to meet someone in your dreams. To begin with, Jongin doesn’t know if their meetings are actually chance encounters or not. Maybe they both have to wish to see each other for it to happen, or maybe one of them has to do or say something while in the realm of dreams for the wish to come true.
Jongin has found out that thinking of Kyungsoo before going to sleep somehow helps. At times he falls asleep in the middle of doing something and finds himself roaming unknown places only to remember to search for Kyungsoo right before his alarm goes off waking him up. Other times, he actually sees a glimpse of the other man without being able approach him or talk to him. However, when he is lucky, he can exchange at least a hello and few other words with Kyungsoo before the dream ends. Nevertheless, how the magic works is still a mystery to Jongin.
///
Jongin is sitting at a table in the middle of a large library. He is supposedly working on a paper, a stack of books neatly placed next to his laptop on his left, and a water bottle on his right side. He observes the white sheet of paper in front of him, the sharp pencil, the eraser and the blue pen next to it. In blue ink, only two words are written on the top right corner of the essay: Kim Jongin.
He takes a minute to glance around the open spaces of the library and finds the complete emptiness of the area normal. There are large study tables, desk lamps and numerous computers throughout the library, where Jongin supposes people can browse the catalogue and find whatever they are looking for.
He yawns and decides to take a break from the paper as he stands up and starts walking through the aisles of books that surround him. The library offers a variety of books, novels, research papers, magazines, and Jongin runs a finger over the spines of the few battered books that catch his attention. The strange thing is that the books are not categorized alphabetically but chronologically.
To his surprise, Jongin finds an entire aisle dedicated to him. It reads ‘Kim Jongin’ on a yellow piece of paper on top of an aisle in the middle of the library, the dates neatly printed in gold ink on the books’ dark-red covers and spines. Shelves full of volumes, each representing a single month in his life, were filled with various photographs of his past.
Jongin grabs one book after another and looks through the photographs and the essays accompanying them, carefully scanning the pages, but he can’t decipher a single word. Pages on pages of his life and he understands nothing. But, somehow, he knows that every single book tells the story of his life day by day, one long hour after another.
Jongin looks around and blinks, bewildered. He feels something strange in the pit of his stomach, an inexplicable emotion that unsettles him.
He shakes his head, takes three dusty books from the year section 2014, and walks to the check-out station. He stands there, waiting for someone to help him check the books out, but no one comes.
After all, there is no one in the luminous library and Jongin distracts himself by watching the infinite particles of dust lazily dance in the light from the numerous windows.
Moments later, Jongin hears rustling coming from the station behind him and as he turns, he sees Kyungsoo there, perched on a stool, black rimmed glasses on, intently reading a passage from a thick book.
“Hyung...” Jongin’s eyes widen in surprise.
Kyungsoo looks up and pushes the glasses up the bridge of his nose using his index finger. “Hello.”
“What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here? This is my dream,” the older man replies, unfazed.
“Your dream... and how do you know?” Jongin enquires. He is really curious about the realm of dreams, but Kyungsoo doesn’t often share what he knows about it and its functioning. Whatever he decides to tell it is always up to him.
“I’ve been here for hours and I’m pretty sure you only arrived a little while ago.”
“But you weren’t here until a minute ago?” Jongin laughs.
“That’s what you think,” Kyungsoo states, voice devoid of any emotion. He scoots closer to the desk and props his head with his hand before going back to his book, a bored expression on his face.
“I found a very interesting section. It’s about me,” Jongin says pointing to the aisle from which he came from. “Do you want to see it? I think every single book is about my life. Isn’t it fascinating?” Jongin says, smiling.
“We all have our own section here,” Kyungsoo replies without looking up from his book. He turns a page and frowns, clearly displeased with what he just read.
Jongin is confused and furrows his eyebrows, dissatisfied with Kyungsoo’s answer. The shorter man isn’t paying him any attention, too engrossed in his book, and Jongin stares at him, unmoving.
“You can’t bring your books out of the library, it’s forbidden,” Kyungsoo explains minutes later.
“Who forbids it?” Jongin scratches the back of his neck and looks at the voluminous books he placed on the desk.
Kyungsoo exhales, closes the book with a sudden movement, and stands up.
“Were you reading a book of yours, hyung?”
“We can’t read our own books, Jongin.”
Jongin pouts. “Where are your books? Maybe I can read them, and you can try reading mine?” He asks excitedly.
“I only have few books left, it’s too late,” Kyungsoo answers in a low voice as he starts walking towards the library’s large door, eyes downcast, clearly upset over something he doesn’t want to share with him.
Jongin sighs, throws one last look at the books he placed on the check-out station, and follows Kyungsoo. The hardwood flooring squeaks under his every step.
The older man stops and waits for him before opening the door and walking outside.
Jongin wonders about the content of his books, about the content of everyone’s books. Maybe their lives are really archived there, maybe their dreams. However, he thinks he will probably never know the truth and that’s when Jongin wakes up with a start and realizes that, while sleeping, he has fallen off the couch and right on the floor.
He takes a few deep breathes. His throat is dry and his back is sore from falling asleep, once again, in an uncomfortable position on the living room’s couch. His left shoulder hurts and one of his leg is asleep.
///
It is snowing.
Jongin crosses his arms over his chest in a futile attempt to keep out the cold. He is wearing a midnight-blue coat, a big scarf twisted tightly around his neck. A snapback protects his ears a little, but the problem is the shoes. Soon the melting snow will penetrate the little holes on the side of his Converse trainers, wetting his socks and feet. He shivers at the thought and can’t wait to go back home. Why did he decide to wear those shoes that morning? He sneezes and rubs his icy hands together.
Snowflakes are descending down the sky in a blur. Snow is falling on every part of the city, on the sparse trees and the street lamps, falling softly upon the roofs and on the silent ground. In a short while blankets of white snow will cover the sidewalks, and deep silence and white will envelop even the most secluded corners of Seoul.
While strolling along the paved road, Jongin thinks of his apartment and the hot cocoa he will prepare as soon as he returns home. Only a handful of minutes separate him from the condominium, and past the corner, just after the library, he will soon find the old apartment building waiting for him.
The residents are all kind to him and Jongin never draws back when it comes to bringing up the shopping bags for the old lady who lives alone on the third floor, or when it comes to ringing the intercom for the three young sisters who live with their parents on the second floor. They are still too small to reach the right switch without climbing on each other, but soon they will be able to.
Jongin stops in front of a shop window, the glass fogged before his face, and he wonders what some of the shining knick-knacks exhibited are used for. Then, in his periphery, he sees a passerby running to get to the other side of the road.
It is Kyungsoo.
The breeze lifts Jongin’s bangs off his forehead as he rushes after him, carefully dodging the passersby to get to the other side of the road and enter the supermarket to follow the other man.
He pushes the front door open and is promptly hit by a stream of warm air coming from the air conditioning right above his head. He breathes a sigh of relief and rubs his cold palms together.
Jongin looks around and intuition tells him to head to his left, through the canned food aisle.
Kyungsoo, a bright yellow basket slung over one arm and his lower lip between his teeth, is bent over a scrap of paper clutched in his left hand. He has a long shopping list.
Jongin follows him around silently, hiding behind the shelves without approaching the older man.
Kyungsoo puts into his basket an assortment of canned food and then proceeds to get pasta and vegetables, before turning to a shelf full of different sauces, and as he turns, he catches Jongin staring at him.
Jongin laughs sheepishly, waving his hand.
“Oh, you’re here.”
“Hyung, you finally caught me!”
“How long have you been following me?”
Jongin shrugs, a big smile on his face. “Quite some time. Can I help you?” He asks approaching him.
Jongin used to meet Kyungsoo in his dreams once in a while but, lately, their chance encounters happen more often, and it makes Jongin incredibly happy. Kyungsoo is kind and understanding, and the younger man genuinely enjoys his company.
“I’m done here. Let’s go get ramyeon.”
“Lead the way,” he grins.
Kyungsoo walks through the shelves keeping an eye on his list and Jongin follows, helping him reach the items placed too high for the shorter man.
“Hyung, you’re so short,” Jongin says, smiling fondly.
“Say it again and I will end you,” the other replies, a serious expression on his face.
“You’re cute.”
“Whatever,” Kyungsoo scoffs. He is organizing a stack of instant ramyeon in his basket, brows furrowed in concentration.
“Why do you need these things, hyung?” Jongin arches an eyebrow.
“Huh?” Kyungsoo is now deep in thought in front of another shelf.
Jongin throws a look at the basket, “false eyelashes, ramyeon, a hammer, wrapping paper...”
Kyungsoo blinks rapidly, expression blank. He doesn’t seem to get what the other is saying.
“I need them.”
“For what?”
Kyungsoo looks lost. “What are you-”, but then a shadow crosses his eyes and he seems to awake from a trance. He blinks quickly, locking his gaze with Jongin’s worried one.
“What’s wrong?” The taller man inquires.
“You’re here,” the other mutters. He inhales sharply and looks down at the basket slung over his arm.
“Yeah, I’m here?” Jongin says uncertainly.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you understand?” Kyungsoo asks.
“What are you-”
“The realm of dreams is a dangerous place, Jongin. Look at me! I was happily shopping without a care in the world, without even knowing what I was buying. This isn’t right!”
“But hyung-”
“You must learn to control your dreams, Jongin, before your dreams end up controlling you forever. Lucid dreaming is dangerous because you believe you are the one in control, but dreams can take control of your mind anytime, until you slowly lose yourself within the realm of dreams and can’t escape anymore,” he says in a low voice. “I’m forgetting all I knew of the real world and of my life there.”
Jongin doesn’t know what to answer.
“You shouldn’t spend all your time here, Jongin. You have a life in the real world, a life you remember living. And you have to return to it before you end up losing yourself forever.” Kyungsoo remains silent for a moment. “Before you end up like me,” he murmurs.
Jongin swallows. “Okay, I get it. It’s dangerous, but I don’t care! I want to be with you, hyung.”
“No. It isn’t too late for you, Jongin,” he states, casting a glance at the shelf full of tall glasses in front of him. “I will send you back,” he adds resolutely.
He drops the basket to his feet and proceeds to takes one glass in his hand, before turning to Jongin, looking him dead in the eye.
The taller curses as the glass slips out of Kyungsoo’s hand. It shatters messily on impact, scattering the floor with shards of glass. But Kyungsoo doesn’t stop there. He reaches for the next glass, and one after another, he throws them all on the floor.
Kyungsoo gives Jongin a look of pure desperation: “You need to go Jongin, you can’t be here.”
“Hyung, please stop!” Jongin shouts covering his ears.
As the glasses shatter, their impact on the linoleum floor echoes in Jongin’s ears, amplified. He feels his head go light and panics.
The dream’s outlines begin to fade; he can see darkness forming in the corner of his eyes. It is suffocating. Everything starts spinning, the colors drain and the floor gives way as he closes his eyes.
Jongin wakes up panting. He runs a hand through his hair several times, waiting for drowsiness to clear up. He tries to untangle himself from the sheets and feels around for his phone to check the time, and in the darkness of the room, the fierce brightness of the screen makes him squint his eyes.
It is 6:03 a.m.
Part 2
Pairing/Main character(s): Jongin/Kyungsoo
Rating: PG
Word Count: 11,670
Warnings (if any): mention of social anxiety, implied depression
Summary: Jongin likes to dwell on his dreams and forget the world outside and that is how, along the way, he meets Kyungsoo. (Alternatively: the one where Jongin is lost and Kyungsoo wants to be found.)
Note: Written for BestDaysofOurLives 1st round. This story is directly inspired by the quote “It doesn’t do to dwell on dreams and forget to live” by J.K. Rowling from ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’ (I recently reread the first book of the HP series and got inspired), but my story has nothing to do with Harry Potter.
The sky is blue and clear. One hand held high in the attempt to shield his eyes from the bright rays of the July sun, Jongin casually observes the roofs of the neighboring houses: big condominiums and shining skyscrapers in the distance.
He looks down the parapet of the rooftop terrace and sees the main street bustling with traffic. There are horns and shouting in the distance; somewhere a dog is barking, and the rhythmic pounding of the passing motorcycles’ engines punctures the stillness of the afternoon air. His previous neighborhood was quieter, but this will have to do. The building, although a little-run down, is not half bad, and he likes its huge terrace.
The sun is hot on his skin and Jongin can feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he closes his eyes, glides to the dusty floor and drowsily leans his back against the warm parapet wall. He decides that he will rest for a few minutes and then go back to his new apartment. There are books to be placed on the shelves in the bedroom, cooking utensils and equipment to unpack and arrange in his little new kitchen, two suitcases full of clothes to organize, and wrinkled shirts to iron.
When he reopens his eyes, a little later, the sky is gray and big clouds have obscured the sun. The terrace seems now shaped a little differently, but of this Jongin can’t be really sure. The heavy iron door that leads onto the terrace is closed, so Jongin stands up, shakes the dust away from his pants and proceeds towards the entrance.
The lack of light in the landing bothers him; he blinks repeatedly, trying to adjust to darkness. He can’t find the switch and as he is walking down the stairs slowly, he notices in the faint light coming from the nearest window that the landing’s walls are entirely covered with what looks like green wallpaper decorated with intricate gold designs.
He finds it strange, but what surprises him even more is the roaring of thunder he hears outside. He frowns and stops to take a look outside: the storm is raging. Rain descends in little gleam-drops of silver as the rumbling of thunder grows progressively louder. The roaring wind makes him shiver and he closes the window to prevent rain from entering.
He decides to go back up to the terrace to make sure he had closed the heavy door behind him. Jongin walks up the stairs two steps at a time, now accustomed to darkness, and when he arrives on the terrace, a sudden lightning startles him.
His phone starts ringing. Pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt to not get his hair wet, Jongin brings his left hand to the front pocket of his pants, looks up to the heavy rain clouds and squints his eyes. He feels cold.
Another sudden lightning makes him shudder and he shuts his eyes, scared. When Jongin reopens them he is sitting on the terrace’s floor, warm back against the parapet wall and the black T-shirt under his sweatshirt clinging to his sweaty skin. The sun is shining brightly, the sky is clear and his phone is still ringing.
“I fell asleep again,” he murmurs to himself, pulling the phone out of his pants’ front pocket. “Hello? Yes, I will be down in two minutes. I’m sorry.”
Jongin runs a hand through the black locks of hair falling over his forehead. A little disoriented, he heads for the stairs.
This time the landing’s walls are of a boring dirty white color, no gold doodles, nothing.
/
After saying goodbye to the workers of the moving company, Jongin reenters the building’s lobby sighing dejectedly: it is time to get back to work. It is almost seven in the afternoon and he has a power point presentation to finish. Dreading the sleepless night ahead of him, Jongin enters in the elevator yawning and rests his cheek against the elevator’s cold wall, cursing the fatigue that doesn’t seem to go away.
The apartment he transferred to is small but it is all he can afford at the moment. What convinced him to sign the lease was the spacious living room and its two large windows facing the neighborhood’s main street. Jongin immediately thought of setting up his workspace there, desk facing the window.
The building is also a five minute walk from the agency for which he works. Jongin is only an intern, but it is better than nothing, and he gets along just fine with what he earns. Cutting on useless stuff here and there is not a problem for him, if it means that he can support himself without his parents’ help.
Jongin would like to think of himself as an imaginative man, someone in the right field, but the truth is that he doesn’t think he fits his job. He would much prefer to write stories for children: he dreams of becoming a writer. Except this is a secret, and Jongin thinks about it as he unlocks the apartment’s door and proceeds to sit on the old swivel chair set before the white table he has equipped as work desk. It is one of those secrets that children guard jealously because they know they can never come true. Jongin thinks of it as a pipe dream, and is the reason why he never mentioned it to anyone.
The sunset rays caress the window sill in front of the white desk, dust particles lazily dancing in the late afternoon light. Jongin sighs.
His desk is already crammed with notes, articles and papers he needs for work. On his left there is a stack of books: marketing, communication, design, a beginners guide to Excel and an in depth manual on how to use Power Point to its full potential.
Jongin, after leaving his parents’ house, did all kind of jobs to get himself a degree in creative writing, and after graduation, had tried for months to find a job in his field of study before deciding to just give up on his dreams and start on something new.
The agency asked him to finish a business proposal to be presented to a client: he has few days to finish it and even fewer ideas in mind. He needs to concentrate and finish typing his disorganized notes for further research.
Disheartened, he sinks his head on the messy notes written in blue ink, and when to he reopens his eyes, Jongin finds himself in an unknown alley. It doesn’t resemble any known street and yet it seems familiar.
He stands beside the road and watches his surroundings. It isn’t a wide street but cars and motorcycles are moving at considerable speeds. The street is bustling with people of all ages, leisurely walking around alone or in someone else’s company.
On his way towards the pedestrian crossing, Jongin passes many shops and street vendors, the smell of food wafting over and making his stomach grumble. The lively atmosphere comforts him.
He throws curious glances at the most interesting shop windows. There are clothing shops, a bookshop and a supermarket near the pedestrian crossing.
Jongin is wearing a nice khaki coat and a red woolen scarf tightly wrapped around his neck, and when he exhales, his breath is white. The air is cold and Jongin sneezes. He rubs his hands together, his fingertips red and stiff from the cold as he walks briskly towards the entrance of a cafe nearby that captured his interest. He is pushed by a strange frenzy and doesn’t pay much attention to anything else.
A wind chimes announces his entrance, and once inside, he strolls towards a table where a steaming cup of coffee is already waiting for him to take. He wraps his icy fingers around the white porcelain mug and exhales contentedly. He usually doesn’t drink coffee, but the hot beverage looks inviting after the cold he experienced outside. The shining shop windows are sparkling and Jongin can’t tell if it is morning or afternoon.
He looks around and finds himself thinking that he enjoys the soft atmosphere. However, the colors in this part of the city are more faded and gray than ever. But he soon forgets about it while observing the passersby through the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the cafe.
He brings the mug of coffee to his lips, sips the hot drink without really tasting anything, and sighs in relief, finally at ease after a long day.
///
In the past, Jongin often dreamed of train stations. It was never the same train station and yet he was always there running around, looking for the right train to take. Among the crowd, Jongin was always at a loss, trying to understand where to go to buy the train ticket he needed and how to actually get to his train. He never met people he knew and he was never at a known train station. Usually, he spent all his time rushing up and down stairs that seemed never-ending. Other times, hordes of people standing in the way prevented him from finding the right direction. Sometimes, he didn’t have enough money with him for the train ticket.
People scared him, running out of time scared him, and Jongin would often wake up out of breath and in a cold sweat. The constant was that, no matter how hard he tried, he could never catch the train, nor understand what was he running from or where was he trying to go.
At first, Jongin always found all the relentless running frustrating. However, he was never much disappointed. Maybe, it simply wasn’t meant for him to catch the train and that was okay, he reasoned. Jongin was philosophical about it, and when in the morning the alarm on his bedside table went off, he soon forgot everything without giving it too much thought. After all, speculative history is a waste of time.
Every now and then, he dreamed of distant relatives, acquaintances, coworkers, his old high school, or the hotel where he had spent nearly all his summer holidays as a child when his family was still together. But he also dreamed of places he had never seen before: cities he wanted to visit, apartments in which he had never set foot in, odd art galleries with impossibly high ceilings where he had admired unknown works of art, narrow spiral staircases that had led him to restaurants or shops selling velvet dresses in the summer, books he had read many years before, or CDs of bands he was pretty sure no one had ever heard of before.
Jongin liked those dreams the most. He felt safe and a little curious, despite being often alone. Being at the center of attention, feeling observed, and having people around staring at him makes him terribly nervous. When his natural shyness and introversion gain the upper hand, he immediately starts sweating and feeling uncomfortably. His first thought is always to return home and never go out again.
During his school days Jongin had never been popular. He had never had many friends, and as the years went by, he ended up closing himself more. Somehow, at some point, Jongin had just given up, and slowly, being alone had felt okay.
Jongin has always been under the impression that he is not being able to understand people. He wants to feel connected to those around him, and he had tried to some extent, but it seemed never enough. Invisible walls kept him away from those near him. As a result, he much preferred to keep quiet. He liked being alone, and as days went by, this tendency has slowly become a defining personality trait of his, adding to the anxiety that keeps on intensifying.
All in all, Jongin can’t even justify this feeling. It strangles him daily, like delicate fingers tightly wrapped around his neck, and despite all his efforts to ignore his unreasonable sadness, he feels miserable. There is no definite reason or explanation to justify what he feels. He can’t explain why he is so lost and sad; he doesn’t understand himself anymore.
Every now and then he also had nightmares. At times, he found himself running away from obscure entities trying to reach out for him, gigantic spiders or hungry wolfs chasing him. Jongin, most of the times, was lucky enough to forget everything about those dreadful dreams as soon as the morning light crept into those nightmares, bringing him back to reality. He would wake in his bed, or on the worn-out couch in the living room, with the cotton tee of his pajamas glued to his warm skin, tousled dark hair sticking to his forehead.
However, with the passing of time, the dreams change. Now he is almost always alone.
Jongin often dreams of walking by the sea or along unfamiliar streets, of exploring endless deserts and venturing on abandoned bridges. It feels as if even the persons who had populated his dreams in the past have slowly given up on him. It is like they are telling him that, if he really wants to be left alone, they will do just that and will not bother him any longer. It is a sad thought but when you are perpetually on the verge of a nervous breakdown, you don’t wonder about your dreams. You just let yourself sink and embrace darkness.
///
In August, the humidity is such that in the warmest hours of the day, the air is almost unbreathable, and fatigue, like a dark and stiff mass, had entered into him, crouching in the pit of his stomach. Suit jacket and briefcase in hand, Jongin, bumping into some passengers that leave no room, walks down the bus steps, almost glad to be under the hot sun of that Friday afternoon and no longer stuck in traffic.
He got down a stop before his usual one but it is fine; he can walk. The bus was an oven: no air-conditioning and full of people. There was no escape from the suffocating heat, the air rushing in the open windows a continuous blast of hot wind.
Jongin, cursing his uncomfortable loafers, is walking slowly towards the traffic light of the nearest crossroad when he sees him among the small crowd gathered at the intersection. It only lasts for a moment and yet, when the man’s piercing eyes meet his, Jongin feels something clicking inside him and holds his breath.
Dark hair, big eyes, full lips, hands in his black jacket’s pockets and a blank expression on his face. Suddenly, Jongin feels the crowd around him quiet down, horns honking and engines revving unnaturally silent. It is disturbing but it only lasts for an instant. Jongin blinks and it is gone.
The man was watching him, he is certain, but the next moment he has disappeared between the busy passersby.
People start walking and Jongin realizes that the light is now green. The roaring sound of traffic is clear once again, hushed conversations here and there coming from all directions.
Jongin shakes his head and takes a few steps in the direction of the other side of the road before something stops him. He inhales sharply, and when he reopens his eyes Jongin realizes he is still on the bus and the office employee who just bumped into him is apologizing, smiling wearily.
Confused, Jongin offers a small smile, and with a pained expression, he loosens the skinny black necktie around the neck of his white shirt. He is sweating and, somehow, he thinks he can still feel the rough asphalt beneath his loafers, even though he knows it isn’t possible.
The bus stops, this time for real, and he gets down, squeezing his way out of the noisy crowd.
He is still a little bewildered, but has already forgotten the dream.
/
When he returns home he works for a few hours on his laptop, entering sequences of numbers in an excel spreadsheet, one boring sequence after another. He had skipped dinner and had started working as soon as he had gotten back home.
His tiny apartment is neat and organized, the shirt and the suit for tomorrow ironed to perfection. He has nothing else to do and can concentrate on work for the rest of the evening. In the dim light of the desk lamp, the room looks cozy, more like home.
Jongin rubs his tired eyes. The blades of the ceiling fan are moving painfully slow, and he rests his forehead on the lukewarm desk surface trying to collect himself. He is sleepy, and while absently watching the ice cubes melt into the iced tea glass next to his laptop, Jongin closes his eyes and sighs.
He has been working for his agency for a while now, but he strangely feels like this has always been his job. Jongin strives to remember when exactly he had started working for that agency, the exact day, but he simply can’t remember. Moving from one part of Seoul to another is his only firm reference point. The previous events seem to merge in a whirlwind of days, and months passed without any valid reason to be remembered, memories condensed into an indistinct mass of time.
All of a sudden, he is struck by the thought of living a life without meaning, of not knowing the reason why he does what he does. The indifference Jongin feels for his life and the constant discomfort that characterizes his days strain his nerves, suffocates him. The worst part is that he can’t even bring himself to care, and the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth.
He takes a few deep breaths, tries to relax the tense muscles of his shoulders, and, even though he has been sleeping a lot, he can’t help but yawn. For some time now all he has been doing is work and sleep. An indescribable weariness has taken possession of his body and mind, and nothing seems able to put him back on his feet. It feels as if there aren’t enough hours in the night for the type of rest he needs.
When Jongin reopens his eyes he is sitting at a table, the hard surface rough under his fingertips, and he recognizes his surroundings immediately. The wooden tables and the little potted plants positioned in every corner, the gleaming floor-to-ceiling windows exposed to the morning sun, the clinking of cups and the patrons’ conversations drifting by. Jongin has been here before and he knows that the steaming mug of coffee on his left is waiting for him but, this time, the mugs are two.
When Jongin looks up to find out who is the person sitting across from him, the other man smiles.
After a moment’s hesitation, Jongin introduces himself.
“Kyungsoo,” the man replies nonchalantly.
“It’s a cute name,” Jongin adds.
The man smiles again, head slightly tilted to one side.
Jongin looks at his styled dark hair, strong jawline, heart shaped lips and then at the sun’s rays gracing the hands holding the steaming mug. He thinks that the cute name matches with the pretty face.
“This is the first time I meet someone in my dreams... because this is a dream, isn’t it?” Jongin asks.
“If you want it to be, yes.”
“What do you mean?” He enquires curiously.
A mischievous grin makes its way onto Kyungsoo’s face. “Why would this be a dream?”
“I don’t know… are you my conscience, perhaps?” Jongin asks sheepishly.
“What!?” The other scoffs. “Mister, I think you’ve watched one too many movies. And before you ask: no, you’re not dead.” Kyungsoo laughs.
“Sorry,” Jongin mutters, embarrassed.
“I don’t know you and you don’t know me. Yet, are you okay with it? Not scared?”
“You are… familiar, but I can’t explain why, sorry.” Jongin swallows, hands tightly wrapped around the ceramic mug of steaming coffee.
The smaller man’s long lashes are dark against his pale skin as he closes his eyes and carefully takes a sip from his mug, clearly enjoying the taste of black coffee.
Then, a realization strikes Jongin.
“Ah… you are the man I’ve met at the crossroad, am I right?”
“Oh, you remember,” the other man exclaims, surprised.
Jongin can see that Kyungsoo is intrigued by the fact that he remembers him.
“Are you… real? Tell me, am I finally going crazy?” Asks Jongin, glancing around in uncertainty.
“In the real world, whatever you can reach out and touch is concrete, but even here, the mug you’re holding in your hands, this table, the people out there, myself, everything is real in its own way. What I mean is that there is no reason why this world is to be less real than the other one,” he explains, tapping the table with his fingers.
Jongin remains silent, incapable of breaking eye contact, while Kyungsoo observes him intently.
“Think about it: what if dreams were genuine in existence and reality just a dream? If we were to wake up from reality, where would we find ourselves?”
Jongin keeps staring at Kyungsoo, holding his breath. He doesn’t know what to respond to the smaller man’s strange speech. He instead looks around, aware of the great importance of what Kyungsoo had just tried to explain.
“Now it is a little scary… are you serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, it’s a real question then...” The taller fidgets in his sit. “Maybe I am going crazy, after all,” he says in a low voice. “Okay, let me get this straight. You mean that if we were to wake up... we would die?”
Kyungsoo smirks.
“As it happens in the real world? The real reality, I mean?”
“Who knows,” Kyungsoo snorts, head now propped with one of his hand. “I don’t remember when I got here, but I’m glad to have met you.”
“You... did you want to meet me?” Jongin asks pointing to his chest.
Kyungsoo hesitates for a moment before answering. “I think I subconsciously wanted to share this realm of dreams with someone and I found you, that’s all. Or maybe you were the one to find me, who knows?”
Kyungsoo’s little smile, his penetrating eyes, the soft music playing in the background, the stifling heat of the shop. Jongin swallows and he doesn’t see it, but he can distinctly feel sweat forming on the palms of his hands. But the feeling isn’t unpleasant. He knows that in dreams, emotions are perceived differently than in reality: some are amplified, others are nullified.
“Why are you here? You didn’t tell me. Where are you from?” Jongin can’t help but ask.
“I don’t remember and, after all, it doesn’t matter.”
Once again, Jongin slowly scans the vast room. He can’t tell how he feels about the whole situation, yet he would surely like to know where he is right now. He doesn’t remember walking to the cafe and he takes it as an indication that, truly, this can be nothing but a dream.
But then he sees the contours of the cafe fade, his surroundings suddenly become silent and the colors, at first warm and alive, seem now more and more faded. He turns to Kyungsoo just in time to feel the floor beneath his feet give way, and everything becomes a blur before he shuts his eyes.
When he reopens them, he straightens his back with difficulty and inhales deeply. With one hand he starts massaging his sore neck, as the night breeze coming through the open window of his apartment makes him shiver.
Coming from the open window of the apartment right above his, he can hear the dull voice of a news anchor reporting about the weather for the day.
He casts a glance at his wristwatch placed on the desk: 05:54 a.m.
The ice cubes in the glass of tea have disappeared.
///
In the following days, Jongin finishes the presentation he had been assigned, and although he should be happy for another job well done, he just can’t bring himself to care. In the end, it only means that he can return to his routine. Even so, he doesn’t feel at ease doing a job in a place he thinks he doesn’t belong to. And that is probably why every single day feels the same, no matter what he does. Jongin can hardly concentrate and wants to do nothing but sleep.
Still, meeting Kyungsoo has changed something inside him. He has started thinking more about his dreams, the images his mind conjure during the night and their meanings. Something he hadn’t done in a while.
Jongin often wakes up in the morning thinking about how nice it would be to be able to go back to sleep and continue the dream he was dreaming, forgetting the world outside. The idea of having to leave his apartment and fight traffic and colleagues makes his head spin.
The real nightmare is reality.
But, with each passing day, what has really changed is his perception of the world around him. Little by little, he had started questioning the world surrounding him and the recurring sensation is that the objects, the places and the people who crowded his vague dreams in the past are now the most concrete of things. The details of the dreams he remembers seem more real than reality itself.
The research done on the internet, articles and essays about dreams and literature, dreams in popular culture, dream theories and their interpretations, Oneirology and what happens in our brain when we sleep, nothing helped much.
The only thing that comes close to what he is living and dreaming can only go under the name of lucid dream: the dreamer is aware that he is dreaming and can manipulate, more or less at will, what is around him. Apparently, the dreamer may be able to exert some degree of control over the dream characters, narrative, and environment.
Jongin finds all this fascinating and wonders if it is really possible to change scenery, maybe visit some exotic country found on the internet: the possibilities are potentially endless. But if a lucid dream is a conscious dream, and normally we think of dreams as the result of the unconscious mind, is the result still a dream? Does the dream not become reality?
Sometimes he wakes with a start, disoriented, wondering if he was sleeping or if he was awake. Sometimes he wonders if certain memories actually happened or if they are just dreams so vivid he can’t discern them from reality.
When he stops to think about when everything has started he can never find an answer. The reality is subjective but firm reference points are necessary, and now he has none: he confuses reality and dreams over and over. But, in all this confusion, of something he is certain: Jongin wants to see Kyungsoo again.
Easier said than done.
Sometimes Jongin thinks of Kyungsoo before going to bed, hoping to find him somewhere in his dreams but, apparently, it isn’t so easy to meet someone in your dreams. To begin with, Jongin doesn’t know if their meetings are actually chance encounters or not. Maybe they both have to wish to see each other for it to happen, or maybe one of them has to do or say something while in the realm of dreams for the wish to come true.
Jongin has found out that thinking of Kyungsoo before going to sleep somehow helps. At times he falls asleep in the middle of doing something and finds himself roaming unknown places only to remember to search for Kyungsoo right before his alarm goes off waking him up. Other times, he actually sees a glimpse of the other man without being able approach him or talk to him. However, when he is lucky, he can exchange at least a hello and few other words with Kyungsoo before the dream ends. Nevertheless, how the magic works is still a mystery to Jongin.
///
Jongin is sitting at a table in the middle of a large library. He is supposedly working on a paper, a stack of books neatly placed next to his laptop on his left, and a water bottle on his right side. He observes the white sheet of paper in front of him, the sharp pencil, the eraser and the blue pen next to it. In blue ink, only two words are written on the top right corner of the essay: Kim Jongin.
He takes a minute to glance around the open spaces of the library and finds the complete emptiness of the area normal. There are large study tables, desk lamps and numerous computers throughout the library, where Jongin supposes people can browse the catalogue and find whatever they are looking for.
He yawns and decides to take a break from the paper as he stands up and starts walking through the aisles of books that surround him. The library offers a variety of books, novels, research papers, magazines, and Jongin runs a finger over the spines of the few battered books that catch his attention. The strange thing is that the books are not categorized alphabetically but chronologically.
To his surprise, Jongin finds an entire aisle dedicated to him. It reads ‘Kim Jongin’ on a yellow piece of paper on top of an aisle in the middle of the library, the dates neatly printed in gold ink on the books’ dark-red covers and spines. Shelves full of volumes, each representing a single month in his life, were filled with various photographs of his past.
Jongin grabs one book after another and looks through the photographs and the essays accompanying them, carefully scanning the pages, but he can’t decipher a single word. Pages on pages of his life and he understands nothing. But, somehow, he knows that every single book tells the story of his life day by day, one long hour after another.
Jongin looks around and blinks, bewildered. He feels something strange in the pit of his stomach, an inexplicable emotion that unsettles him.
He shakes his head, takes three dusty books from the year section 2014, and walks to the check-out station. He stands there, waiting for someone to help him check the books out, but no one comes.
After all, there is no one in the luminous library and Jongin distracts himself by watching the infinite particles of dust lazily dance in the light from the numerous windows.
Moments later, Jongin hears rustling coming from the station behind him and as he turns, he sees Kyungsoo there, perched on a stool, black rimmed glasses on, intently reading a passage from a thick book.
“Hyung...” Jongin’s eyes widen in surprise.
Kyungsoo looks up and pushes the glasses up the bridge of his nose using his index finger. “Hello.”
“What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here? This is my dream,” the older man replies, unfazed.
“Your dream... and how do you know?” Jongin enquires. He is really curious about the realm of dreams, but Kyungsoo doesn’t often share what he knows about it and its functioning. Whatever he decides to tell it is always up to him.
“I’ve been here for hours and I’m pretty sure you only arrived a little while ago.”
“But you weren’t here until a minute ago?” Jongin laughs.
“That’s what you think,” Kyungsoo states, voice devoid of any emotion. He scoots closer to the desk and props his head with his hand before going back to his book, a bored expression on his face.
“I found a very interesting section. It’s about me,” Jongin says pointing to the aisle from which he came from. “Do you want to see it? I think every single book is about my life. Isn’t it fascinating?” Jongin says, smiling.
“We all have our own section here,” Kyungsoo replies without looking up from his book. He turns a page and frowns, clearly displeased with what he just read.
Jongin is confused and furrows his eyebrows, dissatisfied with Kyungsoo’s answer. The shorter man isn’t paying him any attention, too engrossed in his book, and Jongin stares at him, unmoving.
“You can’t bring your books out of the library, it’s forbidden,” Kyungsoo explains minutes later.
“Who forbids it?” Jongin scratches the back of his neck and looks at the voluminous books he placed on the desk.
Kyungsoo exhales, closes the book with a sudden movement, and stands up.
“Were you reading a book of yours, hyung?”
“We can’t read our own books, Jongin.”
Jongin pouts. “Where are your books? Maybe I can read them, and you can try reading mine?” He asks excitedly.
“I only have few books left, it’s too late,” Kyungsoo answers in a low voice as he starts walking towards the library’s large door, eyes downcast, clearly upset over something he doesn’t want to share with him.
Jongin sighs, throws one last look at the books he placed on the check-out station, and follows Kyungsoo. The hardwood flooring squeaks under his every step.
The older man stops and waits for him before opening the door and walking outside.
Jongin wonders about the content of his books, about the content of everyone’s books. Maybe their lives are really archived there, maybe their dreams. However, he thinks he will probably never know the truth and that’s when Jongin wakes up with a start and realizes that, while sleeping, he has fallen off the couch and right on the floor.
He takes a few deep breathes. His throat is dry and his back is sore from falling asleep, once again, in an uncomfortable position on the living room’s couch. His left shoulder hurts and one of his leg is asleep.
///
It is snowing.
Jongin crosses his arms over his chest in a futile attempt to keep out the cold. He is wearing a midnight-blue coat, a big scarf twisted tightly around his neck. A snapback protects his ears a little, but the problem is the shoes. Soon the melting snow will penetrate the little holes on the side of his Converse trainers, wetting his socks and feet. He shivers at the thought and can’t wait to go back home. Why did he decide to wear those shoes that morning? He sneezes and rubs his icy hands together.
Snowflakes are descending down the sky in a blur. Snow is falling on every part of the city, on the sparse trees and the street lamps, falling softly upon the roofs and on the silent ground. In a short while blankets of white snow will cover the sidewalks, and deep silence and white will envelop even the most secluded corners of Seoul.
While strolling along the paved road, Jongin thinks of his apartment and the hot cocoa he will prepare as soon as he returns home. Only a handful of minutes separate him from the condominium, and past the corner, just after the library, he will soon find the old apartment building waiting for him.
The residents are all kind to him and Jongin never draws back when it comes to bringing up the shopping bags for the old lady who lives alone on the third floor, or when it comes to ringing the intercom for the three young sisters who live with their parents on the second floor. They are still too small to reach the right switch without climbing on each other, but soon they will be able to.
Jongin stops in front of a shop window, the glass fogged before his face, and he wonders what some of the shining knick-knacks exhibited are used for. Then, in his periphery, he sees a passerby running to get to the other side of the road.
It is Kyungsoo.
The breeze lifts Jongin’s bangs off his forehead as he rushes after him, carefully dodging the passersby to get to the other side of the road and enter the supermarket to follow the other man.
He pushes the front door open and is promptly hit by a stream of warm air coming from the air conditioning right above his head. He breathes a sigh of relief and rubs his cold palms together.
Jongin looks around and intuition tells him to head to his left, through the canned food aisle.
Kyungsoo, a bright yellow basket slung over one arm and his lower lip between his teeth, is bent over a scrap of paper clutched in his left hand. He has a long shopping list.
Jongin follows him around silently, hiding behind the shelves without approaching the older man.
Kyungsoo puts into his basket an assortment of canned food and then proceeds to get pasta and vegetables, before turning to a shelf full of different sauces, and as he turns, he catches Jongin staring at him.
Jongin laughs sheepishly, waving his hand.
“Oh, you’re here.”
“Hyung, you finally caught me!”
“How long have you been following me?”
Jongin shrugs, a big smile on his face. “Quite some time. Can I help you?” He asks approaching him.
Jongin used to meet Kyungsoo in his dreams once in a while but, lately, their chance encounters happen more often, and it makes Jongin incredibly happy. Kyungsoo is kind and understanding, and the younger man genuinely enjoys his company.
“I’m done here. Let’s go get ramyeon.”
“Lead the way,” he grins.
Kyungsoo walks through the shelves keeping an eye on his list and Jongin follows, helping him reach the items placed too high for the shorter man.
“Hyung, you’re so short,” Jongin says, smiling fondly.
“Say it again and I will end you,” the other replies, a serious expression on his face.
“You’re cute.”
“Whatever,” Kyungsoo scoffs. He is organizing a stack of instant ramyeon in his basket, brows furrowed in concentration.
“Why do you need these things, hyung?” Jongin arches an eyebrow.
“Huh?” Kyungsoo is now deep in thought in front of another shelf.
Jongin throws a look at the basket, “false eyelashes, ramyeon, a hammer, wrapping paper...”
Kyungsoo blinks rapidly, expression blank. He doesn’t seem to get what the other is saying.
“I need them.”
“For what?”
Kyungsoo looks lost. “What are you-”, but then a shadow crosses his eyes and he seems to awake from a trance. He blinks quickly, locking his gaze with Jongin’s worried one.
“What’s wrong?” The taller man inquires.
“You’re here,” the other mutters. He inhales sharply and looks down at the basket slung over his arm.
“Yeah, I’m here?” Jongin says uncertainly.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you understand?” Kyungsoo asks.
“What are you-”
“The realm of dreams is a dangerous place, Jongin. Look at me! I was happily shopping without a care in the world, without even knowing what I was buying. This isn’t right!”
“But hyung-”
“You must learn to control your dreams, Jongin, before your dreams end up controlling you forever. Lucid dreaming is dangerous because you believe you are the one in control, but dreams can take control of your mind anytime, until you slowly lose yourself within the realm of dreams and can’t escape anymore,” he says in a low voice. “I’m forgetting all I knew of the real world and of my life there.”
Jongin doesn’t know what to answer.
“You shouldn’t spend all your time here, Jongin. You have a life in the real world, a life you remember living. And you have to return to it before you end up losing yourself forever.” Kyungsoo remains silent for a moment. “Before you end up like me,” he murmurs.
Jongin swallows. “Okay, I get it. It’s dangerous, but I don’t care! I want to be with you, hyung.”
“No. It isn’t too late for you, Jongin,” he states, casting a glance at the shelf full of tall glasses in front of him. “I will send you back,” he adds resolutely.
He drops the basket to his feet and proceeds to takes one glass in his hand, before turning to Jongin, looking him dead in the eye.
The taller curses as the glass slips out of Kyungsoo’s hand. It shatters messily on impact, scattering the floor with shards of glass. But Kyungsoo doesn’t stop there. He reaches for the next glass, and one after another, he throws them all on the floor.
Kyungsoo gives Jongin a look of pure desperation: “You need to go Jongin, you can’t be here.”
“Hyung, please stop!” Jongin shouts covering his ears.
As the glasses shatter, their impact on the linoleum floor echoes in Jongin’s ears, amplified. He feels his head go light and panics.
The dream’s outlines begin to fade; he can see darkness forming in the corner of his eyes. It is suffocating. Everything starts spinning, the colors drain and the floor gives way as he closes his eyes.
Jongin wakes up panting. He runs a hand through his hair several times, waiting for drowsiness to clear up. He tries to untangle himself from the sheets and feels around for his phone to check the time, and in the darkness of the room, the fierce brightness of the screen makes him squint his eyes.
It is 6:03 a.m.
Part 2