aqueerpanic (aqueerpanic) wrote,

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The Dream Maker [oneshot]

The Dream Maker [oneshot]
Jiyong/Seungri | R | Fantasy | 10,926

_So after a thousand years, i finally found the motivation to finish this story haha >__>... this is based on Jiyong's song One Year Station, so i highly suggest that you go read the english translations of the lyrics before you read this! Enjoy :]


 If you be my star
I'll be your sky
you can hide underneath me and come out at night
when I turn jet black and you show off your light

 “Who are you?”

“Well, they call us dream makers. I’ve been assigned to a Kwon Jiyong. I presume that’s you?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was told you aren’t happy with life...

… it’s my job to bring you that happiness, Jiyong.”

I live to let you shine
I live to let you shine




He had a girlfriend of one year named Chaerin, a mother who worked a 9-12 morning to midnight shift, struggling to rake in a living for her and her son, and a father who ran off with another woman the day he was presented to the world. His life wasn’t the greatest, but he did what he could to live it.

He lived in a shabby, small apartment, one bedroom, but his mother offered him the bedroom. As for herself, she tried to find as much comfort as she could on the creaky couch in the living room, the rusty springs almost brittle from years of pressure and the sound coming from them almost stale with age, dull and speaking of passed time. No matter how much he argued that she take the bed, I’m young, my bones and muscles are healthy, she would decline, I’ve had fifty-one years of sleeping in a bed, don’t worry about me, Jiyong. 

The old, wooden floor boards creaked in the night, contracting with cold then expanding with heat, repeat, repeat till morning. Jiyong thought it seemed as if the place was haunted, infested of ghosts with heavy footsteps, walking around while dragging their feet behind them, lurking in the shadows if they could, they were the shadows, but it was only common knowledge the reason behind the sounds, and he knew what it was without even consciously realizing it.

At night, the subtle sounds of life were full of color, and it was the only thing that made him feel alive.   




“So, what exactly is your name, dream maker?”

“That’s not important.” I can’t say.

There’s a star shaped tattoo inked into the back of the boy’s neck, just at the lump where his head connects to his bony spinal cord, a target, two more at the back of each of his wrists, and Jiyong wonders if all the other dream makers have the same marks or if he was just one of a kind out of similarity.

“Jiyong, what do you dream about?” But he already knows, he wouldn’t be there otherwise.

“Things.” Nothing.

 And he knows.

And suddenly there’s a twinkle in Jiyong’s eyes, and it reminds him of the stars, and the night sky, and the moon, and that twinkle, if anything, had that last bit of hope that Jiyong was desperately trying to hold onto. That twinkle held his smallest and only dreams, as if he threw a lasso around a star and was holding on with his fingertips, trying not to fall into nothing.

And he knows.




He met Chaerin during a music class he took in his freshman year of college. Everything just clicked at the time, and he was almost positive the world stopped then, but the clock was still ticking, and he was just being selfish to believe time would hold still just for them. He thought she was the one because of the feeling he felt in his body, too caught up in that feeling of happiness that was spreading like sugar throughout his veins, and he forgot about the lack of feeling in his heart.

He was only dreaming.

A year steadily ticked on by in its clockwise manner, and the feeling he had in the pit of his stomach, at the tips of his toes, in the palms of his hands, disappeared altogether, and all that was left was that cold feeling of letting go.

She didn’t make him happy anymore, the feeling Jiyong had was only one sided, but it was unrequited on her part. He tells himself the only reason he isn’t ending it is because he wants her to be happy. But he knows he just doesn’t care anymore to even bother ending the relationship.

It’s not like he minds, anyway. He wasn’t dreaming anymore.




He didn’t question his dream maker’s existence, nor did he question the fact that he even had another male living in his room without his mother’s knowledge (he didn’t even know if others could see Seungri). Everything just kind of went with the flow, as if he and the world decided to jump onto one large sail boat and float where the currents took them, towards the stars and the moon or maybe just the end of the world.

He didn’t question anything. Everything just sailed into place.




Jiyong discovered that Seungri never slept.

He had woken up in the middle of the night, something in his mind turning on and bringing him back to his senses. The moon was shining brighter than ever and casting a white glow through a gap in his curtains. His vision cleared up from its static and fuzzy disposition, and the image before him blurred into focus. Seungri was lying on his side facing him, and the sliver of moonlight caressed his face, making it glow in such a manner Jiyong thought he looked angelic. Half of his face was hidden in a very large, very navy blue scarf, and the blankets were pulled up to his shoulders. He looked so comfortable Jiyong wondered why he felt so clammy and cold rather than cozy and warm.

He was surprised to find Seungri lying in bed next to him, are we that comfortable already?, but he wasn’t the type to be surprised for long, and things settled into a normal feel again. He glanced out the window to gaze quickly at the starry night sky, felt as if they were winking at him and that the moon was smiling, but that probably didn’t even make sense to believe, and he was tempted to count each one until he fell back to sleep.

His eyes trailed back to the dream maker’s sleeping form. His eyes were open, and they were starring straight back at him, such a direct gaze that made Jiyong go still, and his own gaze became glued to the other's. After a while, he felt exposed, as if the boy was actually reading every little detail about his life, all his secrets and thoughts, the dreams he used to have when he was younger. He felt like a window, one that looked out to the world behind it, exposing all its details, and he shyly looked down at his sheets.

Seungri sat up and tucked his chin further into his scarf. His hand reached out to grip Jiyong’s hand and suddenly everything went black.

After that incident, he started waking up more often to find Seungri “sleeping” soundly beside him. He started to wonder if maybe that was why the boy’s dark circles were so prominent, he was an insomniac, or maybe it was just the nature of a dream maker to not sleep. It made sense in a way. It was his job to bring dreams to those unable to do so, and people actually only dreamt when they were asleep.

Jiyong didn’t have dreams, though. But he had somewhat of a small feeling of trust in his dream maker, and that was all he really needed. He was always hanging around on those feelings like a thread, anyways.




The sky was especially starry that night, and the view from the roof of the apartment complex presented a map of outer space right before their eyes. There was a slight breeze, a cold wind, either way Jiyong was bundled up in too many layers to tell the difference. It was a sea of twinkling lights, the city or the stars, there was no difference, and Jiyong felt like he was in the center of the Milky Way, floating in space with his dream maker beside him.

He closed his eyes and there were stars behind his eyelids, shining just as bright, twinkling from starring at the view for too long, as if he had stars tattooed behind his eyelids. But those stars eventually faded out into black, so he opened his eyes, and Seungri was right there in front of his face starring right back at him.

“You’re not human, right?”

“Nope. You see those two stars right there and that gap in between them? That’s where I belong.”

“I see.”

It was so cold out, and they had obviously left their minds in the gutter to actually be sitting out there in the middle of winter. It was Jiyong’s idea, only he would insist of such a thing. He was drunk, but only figuratively, and he wasn’t thinking.

“Let’s sit outside on the roof. But it’s pretty cold, you might freeze to death.”

He was getting ready for bed, his legs already tucked beneath his blankets, the soft fabric sliding against his limbs, and it made him more tired than he actually was. His dream maker was sitting on the window sill, starring out at the night sky, and the weather outside was too cold, making the glass frosty at its edges. Jiyong never actually saw Seungri get into bed next to him, he only woke up in the middle of the night to his face.

“Let’s go.”

And they climbed out the window, the cold biting at their warm faces, chewing at their ears and the tips of their noses, but Jiyong didn’t care to go back inside.

Somewhere from the sky, a small snowflake fell on Jiyong’s hand, and it was only then that he realized how cold he was. They climbed back through the window, and Jiyong quickly snuggled into the confines of his warm blankets. He was closing his eyes when he saw Seungri kneel beside the bed and suddenly he felt insecure, his eyes not daring to close but not look the boy in the eyes either. His dream maker only smiled back at him and then his hand was grasped and everything went black.

That night, he dreamt about holding hands, warmth, and snow, but it only lasted until he woke up to the stars and the moon and his dream maker sound “asleep”.




One night he woke up with wet cheeks, and the remnants of his last dream slipped away into the night, and he forgot. He didn’t even know why his cheeks were wet, but he figured that he probably cried in his sleep.

As always, Seungri was beside him, this time sitting up and starring out the window, as if he were conversing with the other stars in the sky.

Jiyong tried blinking the rest of the tears from his eyes, but he felt a hand gently wipe his cheeks dry, and his skin started feeling tingly and warm.

Seungri pulled his hand away, and Jiyong saw a glimpse of the star inked onto his wrist.

“Are we friends?” What are you? What are we?

“More than that, Jiyong.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have a much stronger connection than that of friends. I’m bound to you, on this earth, until my job here is done. Kind of like a guardian, but I can only bring you your dreams.”

It became silent for awhile, a relaxing quietness that gave Jiyong a moment to think and take everything in, and then the boy woke him from his thoughts.

“It might not be the same for you, but your existence is very valuable to me.”

And Jiyong wondered if it was some kind of confession, but he felt strange after hearing it, and he didn’t know what to say. All he knew was that Seungri was bringing him dreams and helping him reach those dreams that had died away long ago.




Jiyong was at school, and the clock was nearing six in the evening, and it was orange all over behind the windows of the building. He was at the library studying, and Chaerin was there with him, as she always was whenever he was at school. With one pair of earphones separating into two different ears, they were sharing and listening to his iPod, and his nose was buried deep inside a text book, or at least, that was what he was trying to look like he was doing, being a studious kid at the library, pretending to drown himself in the contents and life of the inanimate object in front of him.

He was scrawling in a spiral notebook, the metal pressing indents into his soft skin and leaving marks. Only a few pages were used so far, a log of his nightly dreams just in case he forgot them when a new night arrived, carrying new dreams as if God plucked one of the billion stars in the night, turned them into stories, and threw it down to earth.

It was out of Chaerin’s line of vision, and he hoped she wasn’t curious about what he was writing, hoped she wasn’t taking glances at his notebook. Out of his own curiosity, he looked over to see what she was doing, and as expected, she was scrolling through his list of artists on his iPod, her bony thumb sliding in circles over the scroll, switching clockwise-counterclockwise as she randomly browsed. He looked away, continued writing down the last aspects and remembrances over last night’s dream, short lyrical phrases that summarized his memory in a few lines and words, a subtle smile on my face and suddenly, snow started to rain from the sky, and something slid over his thigh that made his entire leg twitch in surprise and shock. He looked down to see Chaerin’s hand dangerously close to his inner thigh, and he tried pulling it away, noticed her hands were clammy and cold and bony.

“Come on, no one’s looking.” There was a mischievous grin plastered on her face, and if he were the same person six months ago, he would’ve found her cat-like smile attractive. But six months later, it couldn’t have been more unattractive with her hand caressing eagerly at his thigh, and he felt the muscles grow tense with unease. He felt almost embarrassed and ashamed, and his heart was increasing with speed. He glanced around the room and unfortunately, almost everyone had left and gone home, only a few scattered here and there.

“Hey, no, don’t…” His voice was suppressed and forced, like the muscles contracting beneath Chaerin’s firm hand, but he tried to seem calm.

Her hand trailed up to his belt.


She began undoing the tight strap of leather around his waist without listening to his protests, turned them into empty words with hollow meanings, and Jiyong felt like there was a hole in his voice, felt like his words just went through one ear, out the other, floated into the air and evaporated into nothing, no one listening and no one bothering to.

His fists clenched, and she had already undone his belt. Then her cold hand flattened against his warm, flat stomach, and he flinched.


There was a force behind his words this time, certain and straightforward, dangerous almost. Everything around him stilled, and the clock kept ticking, in its constant clockwise manner, and he got up, threw everything into his bag carelessly and left without anything else to say.

There was nothing to say. The hole in his voice only felt as if it expanded.




The cold night air whispered against his face, and he reached up to wipe away non-existent tears, only he was actually feeling his numb cheeks to see how cold they’d gotten in the past thirty minutes he’d been out on the school’s rooftop.

He was on the edge, literally, his legs dangling off the side of the building, and he was aware of how dangerously close he was to death, how beautifully close he was to ending his life, and maybe he’d get to see his dream maker on the other side like normal friends. Maybe he’d get to put a name to his face, or maybe he’d end up on the wrong side, if sides even really existed. You only know what’s true about religion and beliefs until you’ve truly taken the journey of death.

Jiyong stared down onto the ground and wondered how hard the impact between him and concrete would be. There really wasn’t much of a difference from hitting rock bottom and sitting on the rooftop; either way he’d be seeing stars.

His legs were tingling from Chaerin’s touch, and he just wanted to scrub it away until the memory washed out of his mind. He wondered what she was doing at that very moment, crying maybe or completely confused, he really didn’t care.

He was ripped from his thoughts as he felt a familiar warmth settle at his side, and he watched out of the corner of his eye as Seungri hung his own limbs from the school building, and he wondered if they looked like little boys from a passerby’s perspective. No words were said, and he was glad that Seungri understood the comfort of the silence that enveloped them in an imaginary hiatus in time.

He kept his eyes at the ground, switching gazes from the stars to the concrete, and he tried to suppress the urge to turn his head and glance at Seungri, but after awhile, his curiosity began nibbling at the edges of his crowded mind, and it was then that they made eye contact, and Jiyong thought he felt the world shake.

Seungri’s eyes pierced through him straight to his heart, and it almost hurt. He was wearing a navy blue hoodie, so large that Jiyong felt the urge to just cuddle up to the other for warmth, and he regretted not bringing his own.

Jiyong had broken eye contact awhile ago, but he could still feel Seungri’s gaze on him, and it made him shift uncomfortably, the hairs on his arm standing on end, and he wondered why he was reacting in such a manner.

“…you okay?”

His simple words struck the shield of silence, but his words were quiet, reassuring and gentle in that way that said I’m here for you, and it reminded Jiyong of the feeling he got when he saw a shooting star dance like pirouettes across the sky. And that was all that it took for Jiyong’s stomach muscles to tense, and soft tears sparkled down his numb cheeks.

He didn’t know why he was crying, the tears and emotions just hit him like a meteor from space, but he knew he hadn’t done it in awhile, and it hurt. His face scrunched, and he sobbed quietly, only audible enough for himself and the dream maker to hear. He hung his head, chin tucked, and the tears fell like raindrops into his open palms, pooled then trickled like spider webs down his fingers, but the cold wind would only dry it off moments after.

Seungri reached over and entwined their fingers together, palm against palm, and it sent small currents up Jiyong’s arm, like thunder. His hand reacted with a mind of its own, and it was almost like instinct in a time like this that his hand gripped the one in his with such a force he could practically feel every detail of Seungri’s skeleton.

Seungri wrapped an arm around Jiyong’s fragile form, pulled him in and rested the other’s head on his shoulder to cry on. Jiyong’s breath came in very short, very repetitive and quick intakes of air, and Seungri had a hard time breathing as well, almost as if he had offered all the oxygen to him. His side was warm and unfamiliar to such close human contact. It had been centuries since the last time he’d been this close to a human physically.

Jiyong closed his eyes and controlled his breathing, Seungri’s hand held tightly between his two, the star printed on the skin stained with tears, and it was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment. He turned his head and stuffed his face into the other’s shoulder, the soft fabric of the hoodie drying away the remains of his tears. Seungri smelled like a mixture of salt and winter and Jiyong felt his head rest on top of his own.

The moon was high up in the sky now, completely, and the stars joined it and cascaded across black, lighting up the darkness. There was something in Jiyong’s mind, a dream thought with strings attached to his heart that forced him to lift his head and kiss the corner of Seungri’s mouth with trembling lips.

He didn’t know why he did it, maybe it was a thank you, for being there for me or for loving me for who I am, he didn’t know, but he didn’t put much thought into it, before and after.

The stars twinkled especially bright that night, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up in bed and starring at Seungri in bed beside him.




He worked at an old family run Chinese restaurant on the weekends, just to earn a few more dollars and help out his mom with the bills. It was one of those restaurants with dirty carpet floors, wooden tables so old they had to be covered with white or burgundy fabric sheets, and the smell of fried rice and eggrolls hung in the air.

It was so much work, cleaning up the tables, serving the food, taking the orders, and cleaning the dishes. He was the only worker there, other than the owner and his wife, so it was tough work on the weekends since they had a lot of customers, and he would always ask himself why the hell am I working here, and reality would sink in and he went back to work.

That night had been especially busy, a bunch of business men coming in and drinking until their vision swirled and everything became a cluster of white smoke. A bunch of old perverts, he thought to himself every time he came with a new bottle of beer and one of them would grope him in some way, slurring senseless things like a boy like you doesn’t deserve to be here, come home with me, and he’d think I know, but instead, he would just smile and bow out of their way.

It was a minute and forty-seven seconds left until closing time, midnight, and his eyes felt puffy and his eyelids were heavy, and some of the men were getting ready to leave, fingers fumbling with the buttons of their jackets, hands trying to steady themselves against the chairs, table, and whatever else that was in the way. A little more than half remained in their seats at the table, playing a game of cards.

He piled a few more beer bottles on the brown tray, the heavy weight of the glass balancing on his shoulder, and he turned towards the doors of the kitchen, the hand holding the tray of bottles trembling from exhaustion. He quickly shuffled across the grimy carpet, and two feet from the table of men, his hand gave in and he dropped the tray, a series of loud noises and crashes following soon after and echoing into the night like gunfire, so loud it could have sobered the drunk phase the men were in. His ears hurt, and there was a high ringing in his head. Glass was all over the floor, shards floating in beer, the carpet even more soiled than before, and his heart sped up at the realization of what he had just done. Just as he’d predicted, the owner came out and took one look at the mess, trailed his eyes slowly to his face, and the ringing in Jiyong’s ears only became louder. There was such a long pause, and his nerves hurt his head, and he just wished he was at home staring at the night sky, with Seungri beside him reassuring him that life was beautiful.

All silence finally came to an end as the owner began yelling profanities in his face, clean up this mess you worthless little shit, I let you have this job and you can’t even serve beer properly, the smell of Chinese food reaching his nose, and his knees felt like jello.

The owner lifted his arm high in the air, and he knew what to expect. The pause before the blow, Jiyong wanted to end everything right then and there, and he thought back to sitting on the roof the other day, how he should’ve just jumped, and then he remembered Seungri. The hand came in contact with his face as the owner backhanded him with his burley arm, a painful thwack resonating throughout the small restaurant, so loud and clear its inanimate state almost become real. He fell to the floor, falling in the pile of broken glass, and he felt the pieces slicing through the soft skin of his arm, his palms, the side of his face, and he thought, I should’ve just jumped.




He was closing up, the time now around one or two in the morning. The owner had thrown the keys on the floor, yelled at him to get his ass off the ground and clean the mess, then close up when the customers were done, and he stalked off to the back.

His arm was trembling still, even more than before, and the pain had become a numb feeling. He wasn’t sure whether he’d lost the feeling or if he just got used to it. There was dried blood all over, crusting along his arm and face, in his hair, like red paint, but the cuts probably weren’t large and deep enough for the need of stitches, just something that would heal in a day or two. The smell of blood was intoxicating, and his nose burned from it. His lip was busted, he had a scratch on one cheek that resembled that of the joker, and he thought about how ironic it was. He thought about how ironic everything was in his life, but he didn’t want to dwell on the subject any longer, so he pushed those thoughts back into the crevices of his mind.

As he turned to leave, a large figure cornered him against a wall, and the heavy scent of alcohol clouded his senses with an overwhelming affect that made him feel like he was suffocating, from blood and beer and his own oxygen. Jiyong looked up at the face, noticed it belonged to the man that tried hitting on him a few times back inside the restaurant, and he tried to break away from strong arms. His thin form stood no chance against the man, mouse against monster, and it grabbed at his small face, fingers pressing into his cuts, and he let out a shrill cry in hopes that someone would find him. Life was ironic though, and he knew no one would come, no matter how loud he screamed.

His wounds became fresh again, and the side of his face throbbed and felt as if fire had been set on it, added with a splash of gasoline, and he thought he saw red clouding in on his vision. His mind wasn’t functioning properly, and he couldn’t tell if he was being attacked by a monster or a man. He felt lips being forced against his, a tongue shoved into his mouth like a snake slithering to its prey, and this man was a monster, he was its prey. The cut on his lip stung as remnants of the alcohol sank into it, and tears collected at the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision. His arms were too weak, but he tried pushing the man away anyway. Hips dug sharply against his own, and he cried into the mouth of the stranger. It reached for the button of his pants, and his arms and legs were kicking to get the man away.

The man slammed Jiyong against the wall, and his head clashed with the brick wall behind him, everything before his eyes swirling into disfiguration, blackness blinking in and out of his mind like something inside his head controlling the switch, and he went limp.

A rough hand reached down into his pants, and a second after, the body pressed against his own was gone, and he was left with the cold breeze drying his tears. Something soft and warm grabbed his hand and yanked him away. His legs tried keeping up, but his mind was too hazy to take in everything that was happening. The thing grabbed his arms and pulled them around a neck and picked him up, piggy backing his fragile body.

The blackness creeped around the edges of his vision, and he closed his eyes and fell asleep.




Jiyong woke up to the feeling of disinfectant dabbing against his face, his lip, and it stung. He winced when it dabbed at his lip yet again, and opened his eyes, the light seeming brighter than usual, and he squinted. His head was hurting unbelievably, he was hurting unbelievably, and he felt as if something had sucked all the energy from his bones behind his back without knowing, caught him by surprise, leaving him practically unable to move.

His dream maker was sitting at his side, cleaning his cuts, and his eyes looked tired, dark circles creating an illusion that made him look oddly, but very similarly, to a panda. His oversized navy blue and yellow hoodie had Jiyong wondering if his wardrobe mostly consisted of oversized hoodies, if he even owned a wardrobe, and the black jeans he wore had such large holes in them they could pass off as shorts. Jiyong restrained himself from staring at the smooth skin of his thighs for too long, the milky whiteness contrasting beautifully with the black of the pants, and his finger gained back energy to twitch at the sight.

He noticed he was in his room, sitting on the ground and leaning back against his bed, legs stretched out in front of him, shoes off, socks off, pants off, and he was left in his undershorts. There were first aid materials sprawled on the ground around him like a makeshift hospital, only without the machines and the tools and people in white coats that reminded him of the angels in the sky. Seungri had already wrapped his arm in a bandage, and he noticed the large bandage sealed over his cheek, blood already absorbing into it and sprouting like roses across.

Jiyong felt obligated to explain the situation, and he fumbled with the white carpet against the palms of his hands.

“Um, I---“

“You don’t have to tell me, Jiyong.” I already know.

“…Yeah, okay.” He didn’t feel like explaining anyways.

Seungri pressed his hand against Jiyong’s bandaged cheek, and he flinched by instinct, his mind remembering the rough hands that grabbed him before he’d passed out. He turned his head so that they faced each other, and it was only then that Jiyong realized how much sorrow Seungri’s eyes were holding, how sad he looked at the moment, how dark and opaque they seemed, and there was a pain somewhere in his chest he didn’t know of.

Seungri’s thumb gently caressed his cheek, careful not to hurt, and he started tracing his lips, carving the pattern mentally into his mind like Jiyong was a memory he wanted to snap a shot of, and he leaned forward and replaced his thumb with his own lips.

It tasted like metallic and disinfectant liquid and ointment, but Jiyong thought it couldn’t be more perfect. His life was drowning in darkness, and the kiss couldn’t have been more fitting, and somewhere in his heart, there was a light that lit up the darkness, bringing back that dim light of hope.

Seungri’s tongue found its way across his cut, and he winced from the sensation, met his tongue halfway, and the texture of his tongue was soft and smooth. They pulled apart to breathe, and Jiyong nuzzled his face in the crook of Seungri’s neck, arms resting awkwardly in the space that separated them, and the soft fabric of the hoodie created comfort against his face.

He felt Seungri wrap his arms around his frail form, and his pulse got distracted, just skipped a whole beat.

Seungri wanted to end everything then, pull his arms away and sit far away from Jiyong just to ease the pain in his heart of the reality they’d face, pull away and say I can’t hold you, erase everything and forget.

Jiyong mumbled, “Tell me your name.”

And he knew he had asked this a countless number of times, but he wanted to know, needed to know. There was a long pause, but Jiyong wasn’t expecting anything in return anyways.


His breath hitched for a moment.


“My name is Seungri.”

Surprised his dream maker actually responded to his question for the first time, he didn’t say anything in return, and the name repeated itself through his head like a broken cassette set on repeat. He felt as though he was starting over and making a new friend, and the thought of starting over in the smallest brought the feeling back into his body, the hairs on his arm standing on end.

He closed his eyes, and without knowing, fell asleep to the sound of Seungri’s breathing.

He didn’t notice the way the peachy color of Seungri’s skin faded a shade, or the way the temperature of his body lowered and became just slightly colder than usual.

It was the way a star would fade in the night sky.




He woke up at six thirty seven in the morning, in his bed, to the sound of rain, and to Seungri’s absence, making him wonder if everything he was living so far was just a dream, and not reality.

And he would remember everything that didn’t include Seungri, and he’d think, Yeah, definitely reality.




All the notes about his dreams inspired him to start writing lyrics, bittersweet words strewn together into phrases that expressed who he was. It wasn’t something new, though. He’d started writing lyrics in grade school, but when things started going downhill, he tucked his notebook away into the depths of flames from his living room fireplace.

Jiyong stood up from his place on the bed, walked towards his closet and hesitated at the doorknob. Pulling it open, he spotted his keyboard in the corner and brought it to his bed.

There was a layer of dust on the keys, gathering with age, and he turned it on and pressed gently on the keys, the sound of a chord bringing life into the quiet area. He started pressing memories into the black and white, and the moments he lived when he was a teen spilled from his fingers and filled the room. They were broken and repeated noises, slips on the keys when he didn’t remember what was next, and pauses from hesitation.

Pulling out his spiral of dreams and lyrics, he started to compose.




He had lost his job at the restaurant, he knew he would eventually, but he couldn’t help but to feel a sense of freedom because of it.

Now, he worked at a small book shop that paid even less than his previous job, but he told himself that one day, he’d leave everything behind with no regrets.





“Seungri, what are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you human?”

“Am I?”

Conversations with Seungri usually resulted in endless questions asked back and forth. Jiyong asked too many questions, and Seungri always beat around the bush and never gave answers. Jiyong didn’t understand why Seungri never answered his questions, but he never wondered why either, and that was that.

That night, though, he was serious, and he was determined to get his answers.

“Really, what are you?”

Seungri noticed the change in attitude, sensed a serious talk coming his way, and he really wasn’t in the mood to rebel against the rules and open himself up to Jiyong, but he also sensed his heart giving way to willingly reach forward and spill out only to Jiyong’s ears, to come out of its hiding spot like the stars when the sun went to sleep. He gave in and responded.

“I’m… not human.”

Jiyong starred at him, waiting for an elaboration on the reply.

“I… yeah, not human. I’m a star.”

Something somewhere in his mind made him want to laugh, but he didn’t, and in all actuality, he wasn’t surprised. He already knew Seungri wasn’t human from the start, and he had caught onto the little details that led him to this confession.

But, in the reality of all actuality, situations like this meant insanity.

“How old are you?”

“You don’t need to kn---“

“No, how old are you?”

Dear god…I’m nineteen, okay?”

It got silent after that, Jiyong shocked to see Seungri lose his temper in just the smallest way for the first time (and at the fact that he was older than him). It was amusing, and he knew this was the moment he’d get closer to his dream maker, even if it was in the smallest way.

“So that’s probably why I never see you in the morning.”

“It’s not because I can’t, I just don’t. I’m only here to bring you your dreams. You only dream when you’re asleep.”

He nodded his head and turned to face the door and away from Seungri. He smoothed his hand beneath his pillow and shivered at the coldness of his room, an invisible energy of cold that prickled up his arm, creating tremors in all the nerves of his body and disorienting his mind just the slightest bit. The clock was shining one twenty-seven ‘o clock, and he was getting tired again.

Exactly five minutes passed with silence until Seungri broke it first.

“I used to be human.”

The stars outside began to dim, slowly and unnoticeably.

“I was nineteen then too, and I remember starring at the stars in my bed and wanting to join them, to leave the life I was living, then a stranger came in and somehow I lost my life. I like to tell myself that God had pity on me.”

Jiyong turned back around to face Seungri, just inches apart, and the face across from his own was just barely in the moonlight, the body across his own almost so close he was sharing its warmth.

“I guess he assigned me this duty so I could learn that dreams are everlasting.”

Jiyong flattened his hand across the flat surface of Seungri’s chest, over a steadily beating heart. Real or temporary, he still felt a connection to his own, and he didn’t notice the faltering of its pulse.

All he said was just keep shining, Seungri, kissed him on the mouth, and acted like he didn’t feel the trembling lips or see the tears he was holding back.

“I would like to see you when I wake up,” Hold me after this night ends. “You’re always gone when I do.” I’m sad because I feel like you’re not going to be there, and then he closed his eyes.

Halfway to sleep, he felt a hand sweep his bangs out of his face, fingers trail down his cheeks, lightly flickering over his mouth, and he felt the feather soft press of lips against his temple, tender enough to raise bumps on his arms.

His body felt tired, and he wondered if Jiyong could feel his skin losing warmth.

“…If it makes you happy.” I’ll always be waiting for you.

Part 2


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