⚠︎ ⚠︎ ⚠︎

Starlight. Summer nights. Satin breeze, symphonic cricket song, stolen moments. Ni-ki rolls over onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. The bend of his arm sinks into the damp grass; cold earth clinging to his skin, longing to engulf him into its molten core. Beside him, the boy is splayed out like an angel; soft, inky halo of hair, cherub cheeks, seraphic smile. Ni-ki had promised himself he would stop doing this. And yet, here Sunoo is yet again — a moonlit miracle. 

“I hate my life.” 

Sunoo blinks up at him owlishly, a sleepy grin stretching across his face. “Would you like to trade?” he drawls. 

Ni-ki reaches over to poke his cheek, letting out an annoyed huff. “I’m serious.” 

The boy flutters his lashes. “So am I.” 

Coquettish confidence. Simmering smile. Electric eyes. Sunoo has not always looked this way, like he fits perfectly inside his own skin. Ni-ki remembers when they were children, the way Sunoo’s gaze had always settled somewhere on his shoulder instead of on his face, as if simply looking was a liberty he couldn’t dare take. The way his hands had trembled within Ni-ki’s, the way his voice was too frail to carry the weight of his words.

Years have passed since then. They’re both grown up. Sunoo smiles a lot more now. Shakes a lot less. And Ni-ki— 

Ni-ki feels as small as ever. Maybe that’s why he keeps bringing the boy back. 

The first time it happened, Sunoo had bloomed from fear. It was an unexpected brand of fear — random, instantaneous. Ni-ki had always had a fondness for thunderstorms; until suddenly, he hadn’t. 

He remembers the deafening rumble that woke him in the middle of the night, the heavens splitting open and thrashing the trees against his window. Ni-ki had crawled out from underneath his blankets, tucking himself under the bed. He could have gone to his parents, could’ve pleaded to be allowed to sleep cradled between their bodies, but something stopped him. 

Sweet, perfect Ni-ki. You’re not afraid of a little thunder, are you? 

Ah. Fear is weakness. Of course. So there he sat, head buried between his knees, shielding himself with his arms. Outside, the sky roared like a wounded beast. 

“I’m scared,” he whispered, for nobody to hear but himself. He held the words close to his body, a quiet confession. “I’m so scared.” 

“Me too.” 

Ni-ki jolted violently, head snapping up to stare at the boy now sitting beside him. They were so close that he could feel the warmth of their knees pressing against each other, could hear the frightened, unsteady breaths of this strange phantom child. In that moment, it hadn’t been fear that flooded Ni-ki’s veins, but wonder. He was used to these strange materializations by now, used to things not quite being as they should. But he had never conjured a person before — certainly never while awake.

“Who…” 

That’s Sunoo. He’s here for you. You know Sunoo, don’t you? 

The boy’s hand darted out, quick as lightning. “You’ll keep me safe,” Sunoo had whimpered, squeezing his fingers tightly, “won’t you?” 

Some of Ni-ki’s dampened pride rekindled at the words, his back straightening as the sky splintered apart outside his window. Yes he was afraid, but here was someone that was more afraid than him, someone that he felt a fierce urge to shelter from the world. 

“Of course,” he had murmured, pulling Sunoo in closer. “I’ll protect you. Always.” 

That was the first and last time Sunoo had manifested by his side while conscious, though not for lack of trying. Since then, the boy’s appearances have been limited to his dreams, to fitful states of unconsciousness. Alone by day, moving through life together by night. 

Sunoo had been there on his first day of school, had been there when he failed his first test, when he got his first piercing, when his sister had moved out. They’d learned to ride their bikes together, learned how to break a fall, learned how to wrap their knees, how to bandage their scraped pride. Ni-ki experiences everything twice. Dreams reliving memories, recreations incorporating the only person who will ever understand him. 

They’ve done it all together: the mundane, the mystical. They’ve travelled to other cities, other countries that Ni-ki has only ever seen pictures of and heard stories about. They’ve explored the unknown sea, traversed deep space. Gone on rollercoasters, jumped from planes, executed heists, slain mythical beasts, acted out happy endings, broken their own hearts with tragic ones. They can become different characters, fantastical variations of themselves. They can be anything they want to be, so long as they do it together. 

Tonight, they’re lying in a field. Tonight, they are just Sunoo and Ni-ki. Backs to the ground, faces bared to the open sky. A carpet of small, star shaped flowers embraces them, the pearlescent white petals mimicking the complexion of the moon. 

Something tickles the knuckle of his thumb, and Ni-ki glances down to see a spider crawling over the back of his hand. Its body is an iridescent gold, shifting and reflecting a million hues. He stares at it for a moment before gently shaking it off. He glances over to see if Sunoo has noticed, knowing he isn’t all too fond of the critters, but the boy is busy clambering to his feet. 

Sunoo extends a hand down towards him, a look of eager expectation on his face. “Do you want to dance with me?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes. There’s never a beat of hesitation when Sunoo asks something of him. He allows himself to be pulled up, one hand settling on the curve of Sunoo’s waist. Slowly, tentatively, they begin to move. Forwards. Backwards. Spin. Repeat. Their feet start lifting off the ground as they sway, peeling away from the earth. There’s a gentle waltz playing in the background, piano notes threaded through the wind. 

“Of course you’re good at this, too,” Sunoo says with a bell-like laugh. “You’re good at everything.” 

Ni-ki forces a smile. He can’t tell Sunoo the truth — that this is nothing more than a lucid dream, that he can be good at anything if he tries. Anything that Sunoo asks of him, he’ll do. If the boy asks him to dance, he’ll dance. If the boy tells him he wants to go on a picnic, he’ll set the scene in a blooming field of flowers; checkered blanket spread out, a light feast of fruits and cheeses and sparkling drinks laid out in front of them. If Sunoo says he wants to go to the moon, Ni-ki will find a way to reach the sky. 

He twirls Sunoo around, pulling him back in. The boy rests his chin on Ni-ki’s shoulder, the smell of him radiating. Milky florals, candied jasmine. Sunoo’s breath stirs the hair behind his ear, and he suppresses a shiver. 

Ni-ki has never considered himself as somebody with impeccable self control, but he might’ve finally outdone himself. It’s not like he lives his life in any organized sort of way, but falling for his best friend was never part of the plan — nor was creating one in the first place. 

He can’t remember a time in his life when he hasn’t been lonely. Everyone always fails to measure up to the image of companionship that he craves — or when they do, he’s the one left feeling inadequate. It’s either never enough or too much for him to bear, both of these states feeding into the other like an ouroboros. What fills the hollow space of today, becomes the burden of tomorrow; every moment of the present devoured by the future. It feels facetious for him to even call it a self fulfilling prophecy, not when Ni-ki can’t imagine himself ever being fulfilled. 

“Are you crying?” Sunoo’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t noticed the boy pulling back, his expression stunned as he takes in the wet heat in Ni-ki’s eyes. 

Ni-ki shakes his head slowly. “I feel so sad sometimes,” he murmurs. There’s a vicious ache in his throat, a burning in his lungs. “So terribly sad.” 

“I don’t understand,” Sunoo says, his brow furrowing. “What could you have to be sad about? You’re perfect.” 

Ni-ki feels like throwing up. Perfect. How often has he heard that word? When has he ever measured up to it? He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to tell him that Sunoo is the one that’s too good to be true. Sunoo is the one that is perfect in every way, because that’s exactly what he was made to be. Ni-ki is just Ni-ki. 

“I don’t deserve you.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Just like that they plummet back down to the ground, accompanied by a dissonant clamoring of keys. The music cuts off. Sunoo stumbles forward into his arms and Ni-ki tightens his hold on reflex, fingers pressing chords into the boy’s hipbones. 

 Sunoo peers up into his face; eyes shimmering, lips parted. From this close, Ni-ki can see every detail of him with perfect clarity. Every eyelash, every freckle. The boy is beautiful. This isn’t the first time he’s noticed, isn’t the first time he’s thought that Sunoo is more finely crafted than anything that could exist within the realm of reality. The imagination is a revolutionary thing, he thinks miserably, just before a mouth crashes against his own. 

Ni-ki goes perfectly still. His mind is a symphony of white noise, his body numb. They’ve never done anything like this before, never touched each other like this. It was always a comfort to draw that line, despite those years when Ni-ki’s feelings of admiration had begun morphing into a bone deep longing. He’s never kept Sunoo at arm’s length, but he’s certainly never been here. Never this close. 

Sunoo tastes like honey, and Ni-ki has never been more miserable.

“You’re perfect,” Sunoo gasps, sugar sweet lips brushing across his cheek. “You were made for me.” 

Ni-ki shudders, pulling away. “Don’t say that.” 

Sunoo isn’t deterred. His eyes flash with determination, followed by a fainter, more uncharacteristic flicker of uncertainty. “Ni-ki,” he begins, his mouth trembling. “How do you feel about me?” 

The static in his head roars to a deafening volume. “I…” 

“I know it’s selfish of me to ask. You’ve already given me so much. But I…” Sunoo looks down, chewing on his lip. “I can’t help that I love you.” 

Ni-ki bites his tongue, drawing blood. 

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. Under no circumstances is he to say… 

“I love—” 

⚠︎ ⚠︎ ⚠︎

Since he was young, Ni-ki has been able to imagine things into existence. A summer shower after wishing for rain. A cart of mangos at the market after longing for them to be in season again. Every book he reads, every movie he watches ending exactly the way he had hoped for. 

It never happens quite on purpose. A subconscious impulse; a vivid dream. Sometimes things simply come to fruition. Other times they carry over from sleep to reality. 

One time, after dreaming of swimming at the beach, Ni-ki had woken up to the smell of ocean air and damp sheets. At first he thought he’d pissed himself, at his mortifying age. But then he found a handful of seashells tucked underneath his pillow, sand scattered on the floor. A strip of kelp, plastered to the back of his calf. 

Multiple times, he’s predicted the winning lottery numbers. He feels a sick sense of satisfaction hearing them read out one by one, confirming the digits he had seen floating by on a cloud the previous night. 

He never tells a single soul. Not about any of it. 

Who would he tell? Not his family, that’s for sure. And it’s not like he has any close friends either. He’d kept mostly to himself throughout his adolescence, and now that he’s an adult, not much has changed. Sure, he has Jay, but that’s different. It’s not quite what he longs for. There’s an aching gap inside of him, a hollow space where something vital should be. Ni-ki isn’t greedy, he just wants the simple things. 

To be held. To be cherished. 

Someone who would be willing to love him even if he wasn’t as perfect as they all say. 

Someone who’d be willing to die for him. 

You know — the simple things.

The streets of Ikseon-dong are slick with rain. Ni-ki carefully navigates the narrow walkway, trying not to slip on the wet paving stones. All the little restaurants and cafés are condensed into a row along the street, the carved wooden awnings providing no more than a shoulder’s worth of cover from the downpour. 

He shakes the water from his jacket as he steps into the coffee shop, his hair dripping into his face. It takes no more than a second for him to spot his friend, tucked into the back corner with two steaming cups laid out in front of him. 

Jay smiles up at him as he approaches. “I went ahead and ordered your usual.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, sliding into the booth. “Am I late?” 

Ni-ki can’t remember exactly what hour they’d agreed to meet at. He doesn’t have a watch on him, nor does the shop have a clock hanging anywhere within sight. 

“Of course not!” Jay chirps. “You’re perfectly on time.” 

“Ah,” he winces, pursing his mouth after taking a sip of his drink. 

“Too bitter?” Jay asks, his brow furrowed in concern. “Do you want me to ask them to add more syrup or something?” 

Ni-ki takes another quick sip, about to agree. He pauses. Licks his lips. “Actually,” he says, frowning down at the coffee, “it’s perfect.” 

A look of sharp satisfaction settles over Jay’s face. “Oh, good.” 

Ni-ki has never been one for small talk, so they settle into a comfortable silence. He finds his eyes drifting over to the shop window, staring out at the street outside. Rain sluices down the glass, the damp morning painted in saturated shades of gray. Umbrellas float by, pops of color against the monochrome background. 

An unprecedented chill travels down his spine. Ni-ki blinks, and suddenly there’s a familiar face pressed up against the glass. His heart plummets. Sunoo’s delicate features are contorted into an uncanny grimace, his mouth hanging open in anguish. His eyes are bloodshot, nearly popping out of his skull, his hair and clothes soaked through with rain. Ni-ki jolts in his chair, nearly knocking over his cup. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut. When he opens them again, the specter has vanished. 

“Hey,” Jay says, and Ni-ki’s head snaps forward. Jay’s mouth is downturned, his brow furrowed in concern. “You okay?” 

“Huh?” he squeaks. “Um, yeah. Just thought I saw someone I knew.” He clears his throat, taking a much too large gulp of his coffee and scalding his tongue in the process. “So, um, how’s work?” he chokes out. He anxiously rubs his hands against his jeans, trying to wick away the cold sweat blooming on his palms.  

“Confidential,” Jay answers with a sneaky smile. Ni-ki leans forward eagerly, desperate for a distraction.

“But you’ll tell me, right?” 

“Aish.” His friend kisses his teeth, pretending to look chagrined. “I cave in to you every time, and you know it. Brat.” 

“Well?” he pleads. He knows that Jay works at some top secret tech company, but beyond that, he’s never been spared more than a few vague details. 

Jay pauses; there’s a beat of hesitation. “Simulations.” 

Ni-ki blinks at him uncomprehendingly. “Simulations?” he echoes.

“A computer simulation,” Jay clarifies, a prideful smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth. “Virtual reality, except it’s exponentially more immersive than you could ever dream of. Imagine a technology that could allow you to escape into your own imagination — a world of your own creation.” 

Ni-ki’s mouth goes dry. “Is that even possible?” he croaks. 

“That’s the part we’re working on,” Jay admits with a chuckle. “But the applications would be groundbreaking. It could be used in practical settings, such as architecture firms or fashion houses. But it’s not just inanimate objects you could design and manipulate. Eventually, you could even build people.” 

“People?” Ni-ki says weakly.

“Now think of the emotional applications,” Jay continues, fired up. “You could recreate lost loved ones, customize companions that are catered to your likes and dislikes, you could even design—” he wiggles his eyebrows— “special companions.” 

“And you can just… go to this simulated world, whenever you want?” 

“There’s a limit, of course,” Jay says. “But essentially.” 

Ni-ki feels a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, like he’s being watched. He glances over at the window again, but no new nightmarish apparitions appear. “What would happen if you stayed inside for too long?” 

“Nothing too crazy.” Jay’s smile turns sharp, almost wolf-like. “Well, aside from your brain slowly melting.” 

Ni-ki’s grip around the handle of his mug tightens, his nails digging into his palm. “Your brain… melting?”

Jay shrugs. “Insanity followed by death is honestly the best case scenario. Worst case — the simulation gains sentience, the people in it refuse to accept that they don’t truly exist, and they escape into the real world. Ta da! Dream starts devolving into nightmare.” 

Ni-ki feels dizzy. White spots start creeping into his vision, his fingertips going ice cold. “You mean that people inside your imagination could become… real?” There’s fear in his voice— but there’s also a shameful undercurrent of hope, something he hopes the other boy doesn’t notice. 

Had he been hallucinating Sunoo outside the window just now? Or had it been dream bleeding into reality for him once again? He’s not sure which possibility he wants to be true. But with Jay’s invention… 

“It’s just a theoretical possibility,” Jay says placatingly. “You know, similar to the likes of multiverse theory and wormholes. But don’t worry. We barely even have a functioning prototype at the moment. The kind of stuff I’m talking about wouldn’t even be feasible until decades into the future.” 

“Oh,” he says, deflating. “I see.” 

“Thinking about sweet Sunoo?” Jay teases, his eyes sparkling. 

Ni-ki hears the words before he understands them, before the impact splits him open like a bolt of lightning. Sound traveling faster than light. 

“How do you know about Sunoo?” he whispers, staring at Jay with wide eyes. 

The boy freezes. “I…” His mouth opens and closes, no sound coming out. A moment passes, then another. Finally Jay frowns, tilting his head. His eyes are hazy and confused, like he’s only just been jolted awake. “What were we talking about again?” 

Ni-ki pauses, his thoughts distorted. “I’m not sure,” he admits. 

A wide smile stretches across Jay’s face, blooming anew. “Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?” 

Ni-ki glances outside, nodding in agreement. The sky is a perfect shade of cerulean, not a single wisp of a cloud in sight. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but something feels wrong. The slightest bit off. 

“Jay,” he whispers. “Do you ever feel like you’re going a bit crazy?” 

“Not at all,” the boy answers smoothly. He reaches over, threading his fingers through Ni-ki’s. “Are you okay?” 

“I just…” Ni-ki stares down at the table, trying to ground himself in the touch. “Most of the time, I feel so alone.” 

“I’m always here for you,” Jay says, his face painted with concern. “You know that, right?” 

Ni-ki sighs. “Yes, but—” 

“You’re my best friend, Riki.” Jay’s hand tightens over his, his face hardening with resolve. “I’ll love you no matter what. I would die for you.” 

The words ring genuine, but something about the intensity in his gaze is off-putting. Ni-ki still can’t put his finger on it. He pulls his hand away, nervously taking a sip of his drink. 

It’s sickly sweet. 

⚠︎ ⚠︎ ⚠︎

Ni-ki is not tired. 

Ni-ki falls asleep. 

Ni-ki opens his eyes. 

The scene begins. 

Okayama’s night sky is the color of a bruise, the sun a luminous smudge on the horizon. The two boys are standing on a wide path paved with cherry blossoms, the filter of dusk painting the petals a muted lavender. It’s sakura season at the Handayama Botanical Garden. Ni-ki had always wanted to visit during those blossoming months, but had never gotten the chance to before moving to Seoul. 

Funny how you can live in a city for most of your life, and never make it past your front doorstep. 

“You always used to talk about this place,” Sunoo says, his voice piercing the silence. 

Ni-ki turns to him in surprise. “You remember?” 

“I remember everything you tell me.” Sunoo smiles, his cheeks flushed rose. “Don’t you?” 

Ni-ki bites his tongue so he he doesn’t point out the obvious — that Sunoo has never told him anything specific about himself, because there is nothing to tell. No childhood stories, no life long aspirations. Sunoo has always solely existed within each individual moment; his ethereal, daydream boy. 

“Sunoo.” 

“Hm?” 

“What do you do when I’m not around?” 

The boy’s smile turns sad. “Nothing spectacular. You?” 

“Nothing spectacular,” he rasps.

“I don’t like being away from you for too long,” Sunoo mumbles shyly, his eyes cast downwards. “I just...  I just wish—” 

“I know,” Ni-ki says brokenly. “Me too.” 

A needy noise resonates in Sunoo’s throat, the only warning before he’s lurching forward. His body hits Ni-ki’s chest with no small amount of force, sending him stumbling a single step backwards. His breath hitches, his hands tentatively reaching up to card through Sunoo’s hair. The boy is shaking in his arms, trembling like petals in the wind. 

“I miss you,” Sunoo whimpers under his breath. “I miss you, I miss you so much, I don’t know what to do.” 

“I’m right here,” he chokes, his throat stinging. “I’m yours.” 

“You are, aren’t you?” Sunoo whispers, his voice full of awe. He pulls back, searching for something. His finger traces the bridge of Ni-ki’s nose in a trance, his eyes wide. “All mine.”

One by one, the row of lights lining the trees above them begin lighting up. Golden warmth spills over them like paint, a warm breeze stirring the branches overhead. Underneath the cherry blossom rain, Ni-ki holds his flower in his hands and kisses the nectar from his lips. 

⚠︎ ⚠︎ ⚠︎

Ni-ki is finally losing his mind. 

Sunoo is everywhere — beneath his skin, in his peripheral vision, in the bittersweet taste in his mouth. Mirrors shimmer with a brief glimpse of the boy’s reflection, songs echo with the cadence of his voice. Sidewalks soaked in sunlight are dappled with the same shade as his eyes. He still appears in dreams, but now there are transient traces of him during the day, somewhere he was never supposed to be.  

Ni-ki is surely losing his mind, so he seeks out someone who can help him. 

There’s a man sitting across from him now, legs neatly crossed. His spectacles are perched on the tip of his nose, such that he has to tilt his head back to peer at Ni-ki through the lens. The effect is almost satirical. 

They’re in an empty room, surrounded by four transparent walls. The walls are not quite glass, but almost mirror-like, except that the only thing being reflected is infinity. Ni-ki can’t tell how big or small the office is, his perception shifting with every blink. He feels microscopic, like a clump of cells in an endless Petri dish. The next moment, he feels like the ceiling is pressing down on him. 

“You said you’ve been feeling empty lately,” the man in front of him says. “Can you elaborate on that?” 

Ni-ki’s eyes are transfixed on the edge of the doctor’s clipboard, where a golden spider is perched on the metal clip. It goes unnoticed, even as it skitters over the man’s knuckles and perches on the tip of his pen, trailing a shimmering thread of silk. 

“Not lately,” he amends, his voice faint. “I’ve…” He gulps, wondering how to phrase it without sounding melodramatic. “I think that I’ve felt this way since I was born.” 

“Go on.” 

“Everyone has always told me that I’m perfect,” he says, everything coming out of him in a rush. “My parents, my teachers, my friends. I had a picture perfect childhood. Nothing particularly bad has ever happened to me. It makes me feel like a fake— because why, then, do I feel so hollow?” 

A long stretch of silence blooms in the wake of his words. 

No, not silence. There’s a quiet ticking sound coming from somewhere within the room, steadily growing in volume. Ni-ki scans the walls, his gaze traveling upwards. There —  a square shaped clock on the ceiling, just above his head: simple black frame, numbers etched in fine calligraphy. As the ticking continues to echo in his ears, Ni-ki’s confusion only increases. The clock has no hands. 

“Do you find that you lack purpose?” 

Ni-ki glances back down at the man. He doesn’t know how to answer that. “Doctor, what do you think is wrong with me?” 

“Do you find yourself craving genuine companionship?” his interrogator persists. 

“I…” his voice falters. He’d come here seeking answers, only to receive endless questions. “I’m just lonely. I mean, I have Jay…” 

“And what about Kim Sunoo?” 

Ni-ki feels himself tip sideways in his chair. “What did you say?” he whispers, heart pumping erratically. The doctor’s face shifts before his eyes; no — he’s stayed exactly the same, but Ni-ki’s perception of him has changed, his brain processing the visual information in front of him differently. I know this person, he vaguely registers. Somewhere…

“Have you tried meeting anyone new?” Heeseung repeats, staring at him evenly. 

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head violently. “No, no, I don’t need anyone else, I just—” 

“Nishimura Riki,” the man interrupts him, his voice robotic. Ni-ki’s eyes snap open. 

The spider is gone, the walls are gone, and what was once a room is now an intricately woven web stretched across blank space, with him ensnared in the center. 

Heeseung clicks his pen, punching out a steady rhythm.

(Tick,

tick,

tick.)

“Have you ever gotten the feeling that you’re running out of time?” 

⚠︎ ⚠︎ ⚠︎

When you find him for the first time, the boy’s face is hidden between his knees; perched on the curb of the sidewalk, legs spilling into the street. He lifts his head when you approach, and his expression makes you hesitate. Still, something compels you. You sit down beside him.

— Who are you? 

— Sunoo. Kim Sunoo. 

His glare is distrustful and uncertain, his mouth pressed into a grim line. Nobody has ever looked at you that way before — like you’re imperfect. Like they can peer right through you, and they have to stop and think about whether they like what they see. It thrills you. You wait with bated breath as he makes his assessment. You have already decided that you need to know him no matter what. 

When you ask him to be your friend, you relish in his hesitation. And when he finally answers, the ‘yes’ tastes even sweeter. 

He’s small, barely coming up to your shoulder. You can’t tell if he’s older or younger than you, can’t tell if he’s eight or fifteen. His knees are a mosaic of un-bandaged scrapes and viola-hued bruises. Sometimes his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. You come to find that he doesn’t talk much. You later come to understand that it’s not for a lack of things to say.

— You daydream a lot. Sometimes I’m talking to you, and you’re somewhere else.

— You noticed?

— I notice everything about you. 

— Dreams are easier. You can make anything happen. You can be exactly the kind of person you want to be. 

— So what?

— Huh?

— Dreams are easier, but real life is better. I’m here, aren’t I? 

A brief pause. 

— You’re in the dreams, too. 

It’s never easy to draw a confession out of him. He’s prideful, but so are you. Most conversations are a game of tug o’ war, always ending with one person letting go and the other free-falling backwards. 

But sometimes, you reveal things to each other. Loneliness, homesickness, listlessness; all the illnesses revealed, every symptom diagnosed. Truths unspooling like spider silk, woven so intricately they almost become lies. You tell him you can’t imagine a world without him, and he laughs in your face. It’s true that it’s a lie. You can — it’s just not a world you’d ever want to live in. 

Sometimes, the truths are simpler. 

— What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?

— Stand under the falling cherry blossoms… with someone that I love. 

The air is filled with a somber note; the sound of longing for a memory that will never be made. 

— Okay. We’ll do that someday. Promise. 

He smiles at you, and it feels like the sky splitting open. 

You see, you’ve never felt quite real. 

But with him, you might be something close to it. 

When Ni-ki wakes up, Sunoo is sitting on his chest. 

His eyes are cracked open just a sliver, staring uncomprehendingly at the familiar face gazing down at him. When he finally registers what he’s seeing, he jolts upright — or at least he tries to. Sunoo’s weight is pinning him down, his hands gently cupping Ni-ki’s cheeks. 

“What are you doing here?” he croaks, his heart hammering. 

Sunoo smiles at him wistfully. “I wanted to see you.” 

Ni-ki’s thoughts are all scrambled, bouncing around in his head without forming any logical conclusion. No matter how vivid his dreams are, he can always tell when he’s awake and when he’s sleeping. He knows, beyond a doubt, that he’s currently fully conscious. And yet, Sunoo is here. Not just a glimpse of him, not just a hallucination. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he murmurs. “I don’t understand.” 

“I can be anywhere I want to be, Ni-ki.” For a moment, Sunoo’s eyes are cold and reflective. And then his face softens into something more vulnerable; more child-like. “It’s raining,” he says in a small voice. “I had to come.” 

It’s only then that Ni-ki notices the sound of a storm drumming against his roof, splattering down his window. That familiar rumbling, the periodic bursts of light flashing through the gap in his curtains. 

“We stopped being afraid of the thunder a long time ago,” he points out weakly. 

“I never stopped,” Sunoo says, sounding rueful. “I’m still afraid. I still need you to hold me.” 

Ni-ki’s hand feels heavy as he lifts it and sets it down on top of the boy’s head. Sunoo’s hair is silk, like something spun from a mythical spider. His skin smells like sugar, like rain, like bittersweet storms spent wrapped up in each other’s arms. 

He’s finally done it, he realizes. He’s finally dragged Sunoo into reality, just like all the other things he’s dreamt of and pulled to life. The only problem is that Sunoo isn’t a thing. He’s not something that can exist without a purpose, without an identity. The realization sinks his heart like a stone in a river. 

“I can’t do this with you anymore,” he whispers. “It’s not fair.”  

“What?” Sunoo frowns. “What are you talking about?” 

“I’m suffering,” he admits, his voice cracking.  I’ve been going insane, and I couldn’t figure out why. But it’s you. It’s my guilty conscience, telling me that I need to tell you the truth.” 

Sunoo abruptly rolls off of him, kneeling beside him with a perplexed look on his face. Ni-ki is able to sit up now, able to take Sunoo’s hands in his one last time. He can’t look the boy in the eyes. 

“What truth, Riki?” 

“This isn’t real.” 

Sunoo looks down at their intertwined hands. “I thought,” he falters, “I thought that you felt the same.” 

“That’s not— ” Ni-ki makes an exasperated noise, then blurts it out. “Sunoo, you’re not real.” 

Sunoo’s frown drops. His face goes completely, unnervingly blank. “Not…?” He’s still staring down at his lap, at the bedsheets, as if the answers can be found in the gap between their knees. 

“You’re not real,” Ni-ki whispers. “I made you up inside my head.” 

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. When they do, Sunoo’s mouth goes slack, his hands wrenched away. Ni-ki’s heart plummets. Dream over. 

“No, no, please don’t—”

“Sunoo—” 

“Just let me pretend a little longer—” 

“Sunoo, please.” 

“God,” the boy wails, burying his face in his hands. His face is red, his cheeks streaked with tears. He’s almost incoherent, his body wracked with sobs that splice his words with wet hiccups. “I can’t— fuck, I can’t, I just—” 

“Please,” Ni-ki says helplessly, reaching forward. 

“Don’t touch me!” Sunoo screams. He stumbles off of the bed, fists tugging at his own hair. His eyes are wild, his mouth gasping for breath. 

And then, quick as a flash, a switch is flipped. He shuts down. His face settles into something calm, resigned. 

“Sunoo?” Ni-ki says tentatively, his voice creaking. The sudden contrast is terrifying, Sunoo’s tranquility somehow more chilling than his anguished screams. 

Sunoo looks at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Here, in this place, I’m not real. Because—” his voice breaks. “None of this is real.” 

NI-ki’s mind goes blank. “What?” 

Sunoo lets out another stifled sob, heartbreaking brimming in his eyes. He collapses to his knees, resting his cheek on Ni-ki’s lap. He gazes upwards, peering up into his face like he’s begging for salvation. 

“All this time,” he whispers, “did you think that you dreamed me up?” 

“I don’t understand,” Ni-ki says hollowly.

“Look outside.” 

He glances out the window. There’s no more thunder. No more rain. It’s not even night time. The sky is an uncanny, candy colored blue. A perfect day. 

Realization creeps up his body like prickling vines, the hairs on his arms and legs standing on end. 

“No,” he whispers.

“I was going to tell you soon,” Sunoo whimpers, his voice shrill. “I swear.” 

“Tell me what?” he hisses, staring down at the boy in front of him like he’s a stranger. “Tell me fucking what?” 

Sunoo eyes gleam; his mouth a crooked, mournful shape. “It was raining that day,” he says softly. 

The words burrow into Ni-ki’s gut like a spear. There’s a visceral fear building up in his body, seeping from his pores, and he knows that he doesn’t want to hear this, he can’t. 

“Stop,” he chokes out. 

“I’ve been afraid of thunder ever since,” Sunoo murmurs, his gaze burning through him. “But I think you know that.” 

“I know,” he says, desperately trying to cling onto something he’s still sure of. “We both are.” 

“No.” The boy shakes his head sadly. “You’ve never been afraid, Riki. You were never afraid of anything.” 

“What,” his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, “what are you talking about?” 

Sunoo draws in a shuddering breath. “I’d never had a real friend before you,” he begins, his voice so faint Ni-ki has to strain his ears to hear him. “Every relationship felt painfully performative. It felt like my parents loved me solely because they should, and people cared for me simply because I was there. Everyone said I was perfect, when I was really anything but. They all said it, and so words became meaningless to me. People became caricatures. And then there you were.” 

None of this is making the slightest bit of sense in Ni-ki’s head. He has a faint inkling, a glimmer of a guess, but the dots still aren’t connecting, the numbers still not adding up. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“You had no family,” Sunoo says, lowering his eyes. “A friend of a distant relative took you in and raised you — if you could even call it that. You were the loneliest boy I’d ever met. But you let me come close to you, and I thought, finally. Finally someone I can be lonely with.” He lifts his head, his chin quivering. “I miscalculated.”

Denial surges through Ni-ki’s veins like a survival instinct. “I have a family,” he says coldly. “Whatever you think you know isn’t reality. You’re delusional.” 

“Jay was the one who introduced you to it,” Sunoo continues, the words spilling out of him. He looks feverish, a dangerous flush high in his cheeks. “He snuck you the prototype behind Heeseung’s back. Maybe he thought that it could make everything better — make you happier. He never forgave himself for that, you know. Six months later, he drank himself to death. His family tried suing the company to hell and back, but it didn’t hold up in court.” The boy’s eyes go hazy. “Later, they discovered that the timer hadn’t malfunctioned at all. There was a record of every warning that was sent, every fail-safe mechanism that had been bypassed. You ignored it all.” 

 “What are you trying to tell me?” Ni-ki demands, his heart in his throat. “That I’ve been living in a fucking machine?” 

Insanity is the best case scenario, Jay had said. How long has he been losing his mind? How long has he been trapped inside of a delusion, unable to wake up? And here Sunoo is, looking at him with something eerily akin to pity. 

“You were my best friend, Riki.” Sunoo is trembling, his hands gripping onto Ni-ki’s knees like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. “I was never lonely with you, not even once. But you… you never stopped being alone inside your own head.” 

No. Not pity. 

No, no, no. 

Something far worse.

“You’d always been such a daydreamer. Head in the clouds, always lost inside a fantasy. After a while, I wasn’t enough of an escape. All I’d ever needed was a person, but you—” 

You miscalculated. 

“You needed a different world.” 

Sunoo’s eyes are filled with…

“It was raining the day I was going to tell you I love you. I found you instead — laid out in that thing like Snow White in her coffin, your mind spilling out of your ears.”

…grief. 

Ni-ki’s heart stops. He presses his hand to his chest, looking down at it uncomprehendingly. Beneath his palm, there is only silence. 

“Oh,” he says. 

He pushes himself up onto shaky legs, a swarm of bees buzzing in his ears. He barely manages to make it to the bathroom in time, crashing to his knees and gripping the toilet bowl as he empties the contents of his stomach. 

When he’s done he staggers to his feet, stumbling over to the sink and clutching the edge of the counter. His face peers back at him in the mirror, bloodless and distorted. As he watches, his features begin to shift. He becomes a smear of flowing watercolors, the corners of his eyes melting down his cheeks, his mouth dripping the ghost of a rosy smile down his throat. An abstraction.

Sunoo appears behind him, looming over his shoulder. He wraps his arm around Ni-ki’s waist, nuzzling into his neck. 

“You’re not really him,” he murmurs lowly. “Not entirely. You have his face, and fragments of his name, but there’s more. I tried my hardest to recreate him perfectly, but I ended up bleeding into you. And then you just became yourself.” 

“Why,” Ni-ki says numbly, “why am I this way?” 

“Because I broke the most important rule,” Sunoo croaks. “I loved you too much. You turned into something… more.” 

“Why,” he continues, “are you here?” 

“I’ve been spending more time with you than I should.” Sunoo’s face is marred with guilt. “Every time, I stay a little longer. I’m losing myself. Everything is… everything is warping. It’s all my fault.” 

The distortions. The little things out of place. The nightmarish blips. All Sunoo, Sunoo, Sunoo. 

From the beginning, it was only Sunoo. 

“What is it like out there?” he whispers, curiosity beating wildly in place of his heart.

Sunoo turns his head, breath skimming over his cheek. Ni-ki allows himself give in; lets himself fold, tilting his face down and swallowing the boy’s mournful gasp. 

“Lonely.” 

Their lips meet. Somehow, this kiss feels realer than all the others. It’s uneven, their mouths aligned crookedly from the way they’re angled towards each other. Ni-ki can taste salt on his tongue. He’s never seen Sunoo cry before, had never thought that an illusion could feel something as visceral as sadness. 

Ni-ki can’t remember the last time he cried.

Ni-ki can’t remember ever crying at all. 

“Let me stay,” Sunoo pleads sweetly. His hand winds around the back of Ni-ki’s neck, gripping him like a lifeline. “Let me lose my mind for you. Okay?” 

Ni-ki’s heart hums to life inside his mouth; short circuiting, regenerating, rebuilding itself into something that can beat to a different rhythm than it was programmed to. Sunoo’s mouth yields beneath his, soft and achingly warm. It feels like a dream, a fairytale kiss sprinkled with stardust. 

There have never been two people more made for one another, never been two souls more painstakingly molded into a perfect pair. Their love story has all the makings of a happy ending— save for one insurmountable obstacle. 

Nishimura Riki isn’t real. 

“Wake up, sleepy head,” a voice singsongs in his ear. 

Sunoo is still ensnared within the web of a dream. It takes him a moment to blink his eyes open, to shake off the loose threads still clinging to his body. That voice — he knows that voice. It sounds fond, slightly amused. Familiar. 

Oh, right. He’s in love with the owner of that voice. The person he’s promised his life to. 

When he’s being rudely awoken at this hour, however, it has him reconsidering the merits of such a decision. 

Sunoo groans, rolling over to bury his face deeper into his pillow. “Already?” he whines. “Do I have to?” 

An effervescent laugh tickles his ear. “You don’t have to,” Riki murmurs. “But people usually don’t want to sleep through the day of their wedding.” 

He cracks an eye open. “Fair point,” he huffs. “Fine.” 

Despite the unfortunate requirement of it having to begin quite so early, this is the best day of Sunoo’s life. 

He had always known that it would be the two of them at the end. He’d known it right from the very beginning — from the moment he saw Riki sitting in the middle of the sidewalk, staring into the street like he wanted to lie down in the middle of the road and go to sleep. 

Riki was the first person who had ever recoiled from him, and Riki was the first person he hadn’t felt the need to recoil from. With him, it was enough to be just enough. With each other, there’s never been a need to be more. 

It hasn’t been smooth sailing all the way through, but they’ve embraced each other at their highs and lows. They grew up together, shared all their firsts, created countless memories hand in hand. 

He’ll never forget that trip back to Riki’s hometown, the place he had spent his adolescence aching for. He flips through the snapshots in his head, each moment perfectly vivid. 

Standing beneath the cherry blossom trees, a velvet box weighing a thousand pounds in his pocket. The sky fading into a dusky violet, the lights bursting to life one by one. Sunoo turning around, the words ready on his lips, only to find Riki already down on one knee.

They had fought about that, just like everything else. He was still the one who popped the question first, Riki had argued, even though it had been a spur of the moment decision, and he hadn’t even had a ring at the ready. Sunoo insisted that these inclusions be mentioned whenever they told the story to family and friends. 

Eventually, the dispute had ended with them both leaning in for a kiss at the same time, just to make the other shut up. 

Sunoo rubs at his eyes sleepily, sitting up with an exaggerated pout. Riki takes in his disgruntled expression, immediately cracking up. 

“Was the dream that nice?” he teases. 

“Not really,” Sunoo says, rolling his eyes. He usually doesn’t remember his dreams, but something about this one is lingering with him; a vague sense of melancholy, tingling at the corners of his mind. “It was actually… kind of sad.” 

Riki hums, pulling him close so he can tuck his chin over Sunoo’s shoulder. “You were right, after all. The real world is better, isn’t it?” 

Sunoo closes his eyes. He allows himself bask in the warmth, to sink into the embrace. Forever. The two of them will have forever. 

“It’s perfect.” 

⚠︎