Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sky is dark as Kim Hongjoong wearily trudges home. Heavy clouds cover any light that the moon and stars would have provided, and only the faint glow of a street light illuminates the path in front of him. He wishes that it would at least rain, already sick of the depressing weight of the grey blanket that has persistently hidden the sky for the last few days. At least the soothing, steady sound of rain might help him to sleep. For weeks now, his sleep has been interrupted by vivid dreams. Even when awake, the dreams linger, and Hongjoong has been unable to think of anything else, even though he can barely remember what happened in each dream he’s had. The fragments that he can remember constantly torment him. Most nights he is only left with a feeling, a faint memory of colours and sounds that are just slightly out of his reach.

Except sometimes he remembers more. Some of his dreams are so lifelike that he thinks he must be awake. He remembers some of them so clearly that they feel real; a man running, his footsteps pounding on hard cement, his breaths harsh and heaving into the brisk night air. In his hand he held a mobile phone so tightly the hard metal made painful indents into his palm. In another dream, a sky streaked by soft pink and lilac framed a man with a silver chain in his grip as he stared into the distance blankly. In his latest dream, he sees yet another man, this time hunched over on a bench and studying his shoes vacantly. Even through his clothing the cold from the metal of the bench seeped into his skin, bringing with it a feeling of dread that Hongjoong felt as if it was his own.

In all, however, one thing remains the same: the feeling of devastating regret and loneliness. Each dream featured someone new, and he can remember each of their faces in astounding clarity as if they were real people that he’d met. Despite the content of the dreams being unrelated, it’s because of this that he knows the dreams are connected. The reason how and why they are linked never comes to Hongjoong however, no matter how long he mulls over it. What he remembers of the dreams replay ceaselessly in his mind. He wishes he could remember just something more of his dreams, anything. He feels like the slightest hint would be enough to point him in the right direction, to guide him to where he needs to go. Because he’s certain that this is the purpose of his dreams. His lack of understanding makes him feel helpless, and Hongjoong hates it. He would give anything just to be able to remember them, to see the full picture.

Finally, after what seems like forever to Hongjoong in his fatigued state, he reaches the small, familiar building he calls his home. He unlocks the door with a hand trembling from his exhaustion and walks inside, his shoes scuffing against wooden floorboards with every dragging step. His eyes begin to droop closed already, and even though he knows that he can’t rest yet, that he needs to shower, needs to eat, he can’t muster the energy. Instead, he collapses onto a worn couch by the door. It takes only seconds for him to slip into another dream-filled sleep.

Dreams come to him in flashes of colour and sound, swirling around him so fast that he can’t make out what is happening. He sees once more the man running, the man with the bracelet in his hand, glimpses into what seems like another world. Then they disappear from the dream, and it transforms into another, something colder, darker. In their place is a different man, dressed in black, face masked and a wide-brimmed hat casting his cold eyes into shadow. He walks towards Hongjoong, footsteps echoing in the endless emptiness of the dream. In his hand is an hourglass, the sand inside glowing an unnatural white as it drains away with a threatening hiss. Hongjoong’s fear has chained him to the leather couch, unable to escape as the masked man continues towards him. After what felt like an eternity, the man reaches him, and his eyes feel as if they bore straight through Hongjoong as he holds the hourglass in front of him, swaying slowly from his hands, hypnotic.

Then he speaks. His voice is soft yet commands his attention fully, and it’s muffled through the fabric of his mask so that Hongjoong has to strain to catch each syllable as he utters them when he says, “There are countless dimensions in the world…”

Confused and desperate to understand what the man is saying, to make sense of the dreams he’s been having for nights on end, Hongjoong yells, “What do you mean?”, at the man, over and over until his voice is only a hoarse whisper and hot tears roll down his face from the frustration. But the man just stares into his eyes silently, until eventually this dream too begins to fade.

Hongjoong immediately jolts awake once the dream frees him from its grasp. Left only with more questions, he sits upright, but something’s different. He still feels as if he can hear the incessant roar of the sand in his ears, humming under his skin; it urges him to move, to do something. His whole body aches with uncertainty. The thought consumes him, and Hongjoong stands up. The image of the hourglass is seared into his brain so that even when he blinks he can still see it. Time is running out. For what?

He stumbles over to his desk and grabs his notebook and a pencil. He flicks past pages of hastily scrawled lyrics quickly, so focused that he doesn’t even notice pages tearing. He reaches a blank page and it’s like he doesn't have control over his body as he begins to write the words he was told. The words he still doesn’t understand. A wave of resentment overcomes him as he thinks back on the dream. This one remains clear in his mind, and Hongjoong can remember every detail, from the way the light reflected off the chains around the man’s neck to his relaxed hold on the hourglass as it counted down to something Hongjoong can only guess at. The man knows something more, Hongjoong could tell, yet he gave him nothing else.

It’s like Hongjoong’s being told to put together a puzzle without knowing what it should even look like when it’s solved, and none of the pieces seem to fit. He’s been given single frames and is expected to be able to piece it all together from just that. But Hongjoong doesn’t know how to. He’s always prided himself on being good at problem-solving, but how is he supposed to solve this when he doesn’t even know what the problem is? He feels overwhelmed by the pressure but doesn’t even know what’s at stake. His anxiety is amplified by the residual feelings he still feels from every dream he’s had in the last few weeks: a relentless build-up of loneliness and regret and hopelessness. These emotions remain even after the dreams end, building up to create a constant heavy burden that he has to carry with him and repeat again and again even while he’s awake. Despairing, Hongjoong closes his eyes tightly in the hope that the ensuing blackness might provide him with some semblance of comfort, but it doesn’t. He falls onto his bed and curls into a ball, feeling completely out of his depth.

Eventually, he falls asleep. He doesn’t dream.

By the time Hongjoong wakes up and opens his eyes, the sun has risen. For the first time in a while he doesn't feel a trace of grogginess. The light pours through his open blinds, instantly brightening his spirits and illuminating the foreign object placed next to his open notebook on his desk, whispering to him quietly. In the sunlight, the glow of the hourglass no longer feels threatening. He picks it up, feels its warmth, and hears the gentle murmurs of the sand as it floats upwards steadily. He still doesn't know what it means, but he finally realises: he doesn't have to. The sudden discovery is comforting. Because he doesn't need to think. He will be shown the way. He opens his eyes and simply allows the feeling to guide him.

It seems that it rained last night while he was sleeping. The grass outside his window glistens with the promise of new beginnings. Hongjoong allows his instinct to direct him and opens his front door. He stands there for a moment, sure that there is somewhere he must be going. Then he hears the sound of rapid footsteps in the distance, calling him to follow. Without looking back, Hongjoong leaves his house, not knowing if he will ever return.