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Your first meeting with him was just like meeting anyone else in any other dream. He wore glasses, was dressed studiously, and seemed just a tad bit serious. He didn’t seem all that exciting or noteworthy—and in dreams, anyone you meet is just a temporary stranger anyway, so his presence wasn’t really that important to you.
The scenario was simple. You’re having difficulty with the high school entrance exams, and he was your dream’s version of a hardworking student council representative. You shared a desk in a quiet and empty classroom—you assumed it was early morning while you hunched over your notes, and you didn’t really wonder why there was barely anyone else or at least a crowd of other schoolmates gossiping in the corner or others fooling around in front of the blackboard.
He explained things—you don’t really remember how he exactly explained it anymore, just that you remember whining in exasperation while he affixed you with a stern glare. You said something to him, but the dream’s specifics had been vague since you woke up. You just know it mildly shocked him, before he took off his glasses as he tried to calm himself down from giggling.
When you woke up from that dream, it was with an incredibly light feeling that you can’t quite put your finger on. It just felt really nice, and for a few hours, his laughter echoed in your head and his smile was imprinted in your mind. As with all dreams, memory is temporary—you forget him soon enough.
But you’re dreaming of him again right now.
You pass your high school entrance exams, and you quietly remember you dreamt of someone helping you with it before. The memory is hazy and you’re grasping thin air trying to bring it back, and before you know it, you’re asleep and find him in a crowd. He has much, much lighter hair, and he seems to have stopped wearing glasses. The change is so immense and notable, you’re kind of surprised you were able to recognize him. Still, the feeling was the same—the moment you saw his figure, you just knew it was him.
You’re reaching out to him, and from looking at the bulletin board, his gaze shifts to you. There’s a clear moment where you can distinctly identify him recognizing you, which is pretty funny, considering a stranger meeting another stranger in a dream is more coincidental than serendipitous. What continuity would there be in such an aimless space? To recognize each other like this and be aware of what you were is a feat in itself.
“You dyed your hair. Trying to make a good high school debut?”
“Aaah, you caught me! How is it? Do I look like a popular guy now?”
Even the way he speaks is different now. He sounds lighter, more frivolous, and he throws around slang and funny words that’s popular with kids your age. He sounds more like any other kid, he smiles a lot and keeps winking and laughing, and it’s refreshing .
The dream feels like an eternity—you guys hang out exclusively with each other throughout your version of a school day, fighting over the last bread in the canteen and then sharing the same soda can to drink soda from. Indirect kisses in a dream are a trip, because it feels so realistic enough to get your cheeks warm but also detached enough for you to not take it too seriously. At some point in the dream you hand the can back to him, your fingertips kissing his, and the you in your dream jumps at the static that flitted between you.
“Yikes, what the heck? Did you feel that too?!” He says, laughing. You stick out your tongue in distaste, shaking your hand to wave off the sting.
He reaches out though, and he rubs your fingers gently in an effort to soothe you. “See, it’s gone now,” he says, but something in your heart says he just ignited something else. The sudden thought pleasantly surprises you, and you find yourself laughing. He looks at you inquisitively, and you shake your head.
Falling in love with a person from your dreams yields no risks anyway—when you wake up, he’ll just be another character in your brain that temporarily came to life.
The dream ends with both of you walking home together. For some reason, you’re neighbors, and suddenly it’s a conveniently acknowledged fact that comes to you both when you walk out of the school gates. You walk side by side, your knuckles bumping lightly against his as you laugh about your day together.
( At your high school, you look around on impulse, trying to find that telltale dyed hair with the mess and the mullet. He never really shows up, no matter how hard you look. )
When you think his face has faded from memory, you dream of him again. You’re skipping class and hanging out on the school rooftop. You lay beside each other, tracing shapes on the clouds and making up stories about how one cloud works with the other.
He makes up a ridiculous story, citing a recent TV show as inspiration, and the idea is so absurd you find yourself laughing your heart out. Clutching your stomach, you turn to him, call him silly, and he smiles at you carelessly.
“Kazunari.”
“Huh?”
“My name.”
You tell him yours, and practice how your names sound from each other’s lips. When you wake up, you still feel his arms wrapped around you with the cold and hard tiles of the rooftop under you both. The warmth fills you until the end of the day.
He comes to you and your dreams over and over again. You call each other by your names, the melody of it so natural and automatic between you both that it feels like the whole world is yours—and it must literally be with the way it is, since this dream world is all you have with Kazunari. You go to karaoke booths, you watch the fireworks together, you hold hands and kiss the tip of his nose while he rubs his face on your cheek. You’re positively head over heels in love with him, in all the settings you two come across and in all the realness of the way his fingers dance on your arm. It feels real, and that’s what makes waking up to the sight of your ceiling even more painful.
“How many times has it been?”
You look at him under the dreamy Christmas lights, his face awash with pink from the cold and the way you look over him so endearingly.
“We keep meeting in our dreams like this. I thought it’d be a one-time thing, you know, but you just keep showing up! It’s really something…!”
You’re astounded by it, too. Two times is a miracle, but to even build a life with each other in your sleep feels so… fantastical and harsh. You greet each other with recognition every time, and though memories of past escapades are fleeting and a blur, the feelings are constant and tangible. He holds your gaze when you look at each other, and you trace the strands of hair that cover his forehead. There can’t possibly be anything more genuine than this moment right here.
The question of you both meeting up outside of this little bubble is never brought forward. It feels too personal, too daring, and to say it would be to admit that you’re just playing in a fairy tale. You didn’t want that. What you feel is real, isn’t it?
“Forever with you,” he whispers quietly as he slides the ring on your finger in front of the altar.
“I love you,” he sighs when he lifts your flowery veil, before leaning close to give you the sweetest of kisses Kazunari has ever given you yet. He lingers, steals another one before leaning away and carrying you in his arms. It’s cliché, but it’s what you’ve both been dreaming about even within this tiny little dream world.
That’s the last you see of him. It was as if the universe decided it was the end of your little play, and this is as far as it goes. From first meeting until marriage—that is ultimately how it was for the both of you, but only under your eyelids and with the sand in your eyes the only remembrance of your greatest love.
You manage to get through life without dreaming of him ever again.
“Hey hey heyo, sorry for the wait! So you’re looking for a wedding gown—“
You pause in your tracks. In front of you is Kazunari, dressed fashionably—he always did do art a lot, even in your dreams, didn’t he?—and he has his sketchbook and pen out, ready to jot down a design. His voice is as frivolous as you remember, light and punctuated with slang and giggles, and the signature smile he always wears, while polite in this environment, just hits you with all the buried memories of a non-existent past.
You stutter pitifully as you greet him, and he hums curiously before proceeding with the questions. What’s the theme for your wedding? What kind of cuts do you like? Should there be frills, a long trail, an intricate embroidery of hibiscus along your arms? You can’t meet his eyes—every time you try, he’s already gazing at you, and you feel like crumbling under the intensity of it. Are you even answering properly? You’re not quite sure, you’re too flustered. Kazunari’s steering the one-sided conversation ( talking about vague details from a very distant past) -- the way you ( looked in the wedding of your dreams ) would look for your wedding, the way the flowery veil would ( drapes over your face to hide the way your cheeks burn in fondness) drape over your face, how the silky gown would dance around you (danced around you as you march towards the altar, towards Kazunari) as you march towards your future husband . The few moments you look at his face, a constant smile is what he wears on his expression—trained and professional, just the right amount of interest and detachment. The sight of it makes your heart twinge in a dull ache, but you swallow it down.
Forever with him wasn’t ever meant to last.
“How does this look?” He suddenly says, and you blink yourself back into existence, because sleeping is not an option to confirm your state anymore. He slides his sketchbook towards you, the picture of the perfect wedding dress— Kazunari's wedding dress—staring right back at you. It’s painful to tear your eyes away from how picture perfect it is.
When you raise your head to face him, Kazunari only flashes you a quiet, understanding smile.