Chapter Text
Jeno was fumbling with the buttons of his cuff. Annoyed, he tried to push the small button through the opening again and again. The cuff was peeking awkwardly under the jacket sleeve whenever he raised his hands, and Jeno was not having it. It was his first day in the Dream Zone. He can’t be that sloppy, can’t he?
The automatic door in front of him opened. It opened the moment he stepped in front of it, but the button bothered Jeno a little too much to care; he lowered his head, his anxious fingers unable to handle the stupid button.
“Are you not coming in?”
A hand slapped Jeno’s shoulder. He almost jumped out of his stupid suit; he’d be damned if he ever listens to his mom and her opinion on corporate style. First of all, the man in front of Jeno was wearing jeans and a warm sweater, the Dream Zone badge was hanging on his neck along with a little silver coin on a chain. Silver coin had something on it, but Jeno was too embarrassed to watch closely. Second of all, these stupid buttons.
“Sorry, I, uh… Hello, my name is Lee Jeno,” he mumbled and quickly bowed, hiding his awkward cuff behind his back. “Newbie.”
“Welcome, I guess,” the man smiled, entertained. His huge hand slapped Jeno’s shoulder once more. “Relax, buddy, it’s Dream Zone, not Samsung headquarters. I’m Johnny. Coordinator of some sorts.”
Jeno nodded, not sure what else to say. He wasn’t particularly shy or anything. It’s just Dream Zone was not anyone’s dream job – and totally not Jeno’s. He got here by a chance, and if it wasn’t for it – he’d probably never ever knew about the Walkers.
For him, it was the night after his graduation ceremony. Jeno already had all needed papers to continue his education in university, his future pretty much planned and prepared for him. He should’ve been sleeping in the comfort of soft blanket and pillows, but for some reason – he wasn’t. Jeno was asking himself what he was doing on the rooftop on the cold February night in his pajamas. He wasn’t cold, actually, just mildly annoyed he didn’t wear softer socks. Also his throat was dry as hell. Drinking was not a good idea. The air smelled like amaryllis.
He wasn’t alone on that rooftop, actually. In the corner of his eyes, Jeno noticed someone standing idly, hands in the pocket of a huge soft padded jacket. Light brown hair swept to the side by winds.
“Hi there,” said Jeno for some reason. He doubted his body autonomy, because honestly – he didn’t want to talk. “What are we doing here?”
The person in the padded jacket looked at him with a smile that he might consider both comforting and sinister, depending on the way the ever-changing moonlight touched it. It was a boy his age, actually, but something about him was odd. Jeno decided not to ask, but his lips proceeded with:
“You’re kind of strange dude, honestly.”
Jeno covered his mouth with both hands, but the boy burst in laughter.
“I know, right? Dreams make everything weird. You’re sleeping, actually.”
“Am I?” Jeno’s voice should’ve been muffled under his hands, but he heard it as clear as if it was recorded and edited. “Things seem too real to me.”
“Because they are. Our dreams are just as real as the pillow your head is touching, actually.”
That’s some bullshit, Jeno decided, but if that’s a dream – sure, he can talk to this weird guy a little more.
“And who are you?” he asked.
“Jaemin. I’m actually here to recruit you.”
“Recruit for what? I’m not going to army any time soon.”
Of course, it is a dream, why in the world he would say something like this? But for some reason Jaemin’s laugh sounded like any sound in Jeno’s room would – softer thanks to the amount of pillows, books and clothes hanging around he had there. There was also a little ring to Jaemin’s voice – as if he was standing somewhere near the window. Weird things to pick up.
“It’s not the army, but we also do a lot of good. We’ve noticed you have pretty vivid dreams, Jeno, and you seem to fit our… criteria for hiring,” Jaemin rolled pretty much every R in the sentence.
Jeno nodded. He didn’t mean to, but for some reason, everything made sense to him. He blinked, and his eyelids turned painfully heavy to lift. When he blinked once more, he saw Jaemin – sitting on the windowsill, still in a puffer jacket, but holding boots in his hands.
“I don’t want to make your rug dirty,” he smiled, then nodded on Jeno’s desk – the amaryllis his parents got him for the graduation filled the room with its soft scent. “There are some promotional materials. Also, the map to find us when you are ready. Don’t worry, we’re not shady. Not that shady, at least.”
Jeno slowly nodded. He tried to get up and rub his eyes, but his whole body was almost filled with lead.
“Can you at least explain what you do?”
“Nah, I don’t have time for that. You’re waking up. Wait for the next night to read these, don’t rush it.”
And then – Jeno woke up again, at last.
He couldn’t really remember the dream throughout the day, but once his head hit the pillow and his eyes closed – Jeno found himself in the middle of his room, in some weird idol-like black suit with belts and cool white shirt. He saw the “promotional materials” right away – it was a simple white envelope and Tourist Map of Seoul.
In the envelope was an offer – a formal letter of Dream Zone President, explaining that their “facility” found a way to help people to solve their troubles through dreams. The President, unnamed, noted, that unconscious is just as important, if not more, than conscious, and they are always looking for people with the potential of being Dream Walker: vivid dreamers, artist, people with wild imagination, open mind, kind hearts and strong resolve.
And you, Lee Jeno, is someone we were looking for.
We visited your dreams few times. Actually, you probably remember the dream you had for almost a year – the one where you were trying to escape the collapsing school, jumping and climbing some strange stairs, avoiding hurting other students? What a metaphor for Korean education system, I should say! Jaemin, the boy that got you this letter, was one of the kids you helped in your dream – he became the Dream Walker not long before he was assigned to guide you in your dream, actually.
He liked the way you assemble your dreams and recommended us to recruit you. Honestly, I feel like there was some personal motive here, but as I said – we’re always hiring.
In the next envelope you’ll find an offer with terms of employment and the contract. You can review it for now – of course, you’d have to sign a real one in our headquarters. Don’t worry, this job will not affect your studies. And yes, we will pay you real money.
I think, this is all I have to say here. I hate writing letters.
See you soon.
Bye!
The contract seemed a bit too real to be a scum, no matter how many nights Jeno had to read it. He was waiting for the morning he would wake up and tell himself that the dream was just a dream, the Jaemin guy wasn’t real, and the Tourist Guide he found on his desk was there his whole life.
Of course, it wasn’t. Jeno was living in Seoul since birth, why would he need it?
And just like this, now he was standing in front of the sliding doors of Dream Zone, with Johnny the Coordinator’s hand lying on his shoulder. The suit was real, the kiss Jeno’s mom planted on his cheek before he left the house was real. He said it’s a work-from-home situation – he doesn’t want her to always support him financially. She didn’t pry, and set him off to visit the office.
Johnny smiled, looking at the newbie. They all look like this when they first come to Dream Zone, confused, not fully believing themselves. Their unconscious trusts their dreams more than their conscious. Their ego, too used to live in real world, tries everything to prove it’s not real. So they came up with physical evidence. It was important to make it viable, but not too wild – so the recruits wouldn’t lose their minds trying to piece dreams and reality together. So they used something anyone could have in their house, but weird enough for the life they live – tourists guides for natives, letters, sometimes just some random magazines or even ads on utility bills.
Johnny heard that this Jeno wasn’t too hard to convince. He was almost willing to believe that Dream Zone is real.
Jeno would be a good Walker, Johnny thought.
“Let’s go,” he said, pressing his fingers in Jeno’s shoulder slightly – reassuring him, “I’ll bring you to your coordinator.”
***
This boy seemed like he had not a wink of sleep for years, to be honest. Jeno looked away before the boy would notice – though, he was too out of it to notice anything.
The boy tried to pull himself up from the table, almost swiping his half-finished drink on the floor. He blinked, shook black bangs away from his eyes. The laptop in front of him was in silent mode for some time already.
Doyoung nudged Jeno.
“Is that your classmate?”
“We have a few classes together,” Jeno nodded. “He’s in fine arts.”
“Oh. He looks like he’s about to lose it.”
“Yeah, and it’s just the start of the year.”
Jeno avoided his gaze from the boy and focused on the book in front of him, though he wasn’t actually reading it. Doyoung sipped his coffee a little too loud for Jeno’s taste, but he wasn’t brave enough to say this to his coordinator.
“That’s kind of convenient that we got someone with nightmares so close to you,” musing, Doyoung sat back in his chair and flipped through another one of Jeno’s books. “Just be sure not to alarm him or let him discover you.”
In one of Jeno’s notebooks, he wrote a few weeks ago:
When preparing the target, make sure to appear around it just enough to slowly merge into the background of their dreams. You can assume the role of the cashier of their local 7/11, barista at a place they frequent, or even a passenger on the same bus. Do not overdo it, and try to avoid direct contact as much as possible. The target must be aware of your presence in the Reality just enough to have your imprint in their Dreams.
So, this is what Jeno was trying to do — with Doyoung on board. It was already good that Jeno had classes with Renjun, the overly tired boy, but he also had to bring Doyoung in the boy’s dream, so — Doyoung brushed the dust off his old student backpack and came to campus, pretending he’s helping Jeno with some project. They visited Renjun’s favorite coffee place and tried to appear somewhere near the Art’s building — there was a pretty gazebo where Jeno would sit and work on his homework while Doyoung would read some books on dreams and psychology.
Right now Renjun was trying to write something — no, just anything, for creative writing classes, but he was too exhausted for this. He kept getting distracted, looking around, searching for the idea among café visitors and empty cups with dried coffee on the table next to him.
Whenever Renjun tried to actually focus, he would yawn and close his eyes, ready to fall asleep. And when he closed his eyes, he would see the dream he had for almost two months.
In the dream he just had an overwhelming amount of stuff to do, and it was always something ridiculous — sorting all sorts of beans, polishing the already shiny silverware; in one dream he had at least fifteen palettes, and he had to remove colors from one box without mixing them up with each other and transfer to another box. Renjun knew he was sleeping, and he couldn’t open his eyes at all — it seemed his eyelids were glued together. Renjun was waiting for his morning alarm like for a savior, but it never happened — instead he woke up late and grumpy, with intense hatred for paints and no energy to draw right before an important exam.
When he came home later, Renjun passed the living room without so much as “hi” to his parents. They didn’t notice him either, too busy arguing about something — probably stepfather’s alcoholism, he guessed. The door behind him shut, and Renjun dropped on his bed, almost immediately falling asleep.
When he opened his eyes, he was in the art studio of his high school. On the desk in front of him were hundreds of brushes and palette knives, all covered in dried out oil.
“Clean them up,” said the voice somewhere behind Renjun. His neck was stiff after hours and hours of painting, he couldn’t even look back. So he took the first palette knife, reached for sunflower seeds oil, but the voice interjected.
“No. With your hands. It’s not that hard.”
Fingers did not listen to him, thin nails broke whenever he tried to hook dried out paint with it. It didn’t even feel like oil at this point — more of the stone or rust. Renjun’s fingertips hurt, but he continued. In every dream like this, he knew for sure — there will be punishment if he’d refuse.
“Renjun!” Mom’s sharp voice made him jerk up. The brush he had in his hands fell down, and on the break of waking up Renjun heard someone’s muffled voice — he couldn’t make out the words, but it wasn’t his mom’s or the person always standing behind him, supervising Renjun’s work.
After all, it all was just a dream. Anything can happen there.
Jeno walked through the automatic doors. He wasn’t really sure how, but whenever he fell asleep, he would appear in front of the Dream Zone building. Of course, nothing he was doing today was simply explainable, but sometimes he really wanted to know the mechanics.
Today he went to sleep in his room after finishing his essay. Then he opened his eyes in the art studio — dim light weren’t even enough for anyone to doodle something, but there was Renjun, sitting by the desk filled with so many palette knives you could arm a small nation.
Then Jeno heard Doyoung’s voice in the back of his mind. “Try not to make a sound. Just watch, for now.”
Jeno nodded. He heard someone’s stern voice ordering Renjun around, he saw him listening, not trying to retaliate — the art room was filled with Renjun’s heavy breath and long sighs whenever the brush or a knife would slip out of his hands or his nail broke.
“That’s a weird nightmare to have,” Doyoung mused. He was probably sleeping somewhere in his bedroom and only Jeno dreamed him. “I wonder what burdens him so much.”
“I heard art courses are tedious. And he went to cram school for this, I’m sure he’s so done with all of this.”
“Maybe.”
Jeno couldn’t tell how much time passed before they heard someone’s voice calling Renjun. The boy woke up instantly — and his dream wrapped like gift paper. Jeno yelped — he wasn’t used to this kind of dream end; he heard Doyoung sigh in the back of his head.
“Come to the office,” said the coordinator. “I’ll help you with the plan.”
So now Jeno — finally in a comfortable sweater and jeans, — was walking through the metal and glass of the Dream Zone building, nodding and bowing to people he met. On his way to Doyoung’s cubicle, he met Jaemin, who seemed like he wanted to talk a bit more, but was dragged away by Donghyuck. Johnny was waiting for the elevator — headphones on, hands in the pocket of a fluffy hoodie, he was watching his own reflection unemotionally, but once seeing Jeno appear, he smiled and nodded.
“How’s it going?”
“Good? I think. We’re practicing already. I found a guy with Nightmares in my class, actually.”
Johnny pressed his lips and nodded in approval.
“That’s cool. Big baby steps.”
As Jeno shrugged, the elevator opened its doors. Behind the metal doors was a cozy, almost vintage space with appropriately relaxing music above their heads. Jeno remembered this elevator on his first day.
“Why is the elevator different?” he asked, turning to Johnny.
“Because you’re dreaming this space right now. And I dream it, too,” explained Johnny with a smile. “We’re in a collective dream right now, and my conscience affects this place stronger than yours.”
“Does it mean that the more I dream, the more my conscience will affect the collective?”
“Maybe. Not everyone can grow like this, but I’m pretty sure you’re capable.”
The elevator chimes ringed softly, Johnny left on his floor, waving. Jeno noticed the sign before the doors closed — Floor 1,6. He couldn’t find the button for this floor.
Doyoung was waiting for Jeno in his cubicle, drumming his pencil on the desk out of boredom. There was no one else on this floor, even though Jeno already knew some other people worked here with Doyoung. Yuta, literally one of the coolest men he had ever seen, was in a dream — as according to the display right above Doyoung’s desk. Johnny just left on some weird numbered floor as well. Jaehyun’s desk was messy, as he was just working with papers but left somewhere abruptly.
“I was betting on actually scary things, but I guess everyone has their own sort of horror,” said Doyoung without even greeting Jeno. They did just leave someone’s dream a few minutes ago, anyway.
“You can say that about pretty much anything,” Jeno shrugged.
“I mean, yes, we all have the same images appearing with the similar meanings, yes, but we react to these images in different ways, and every meaning hits our unconscious differently. This boy just… got different things every time, be it paint knives or needles. And he pretty much surrendered to this voice in his head, even though he’s clearly in stress and pain.”
Doyoung’s soft eyes met Jeno’s — and he smiled.
“Keep watching him. I’ll accompany you from time to time, but it’s going to be weird if I’m around when you and him cross roads somewhere else. And don’t be afraid to Walk into his dreams, especially on the days you’ve seen him or contacted him briefly. That’s when you’ll be the strongest.”
Jeno nodded, even though he would very much prefer Doyoung being around a little more. Watching someone, even if it wasn’t that stalker-y, wasn’t something he was used to. Just trying to act normal when Renjun was in his vicinity without appearing creepy or something was hard enough.
He dragged the chair from Yuta’s desk and sat there, feeling like the chair transformed from a comfortable gaming one to a boring office one. He shifted uncomfortably.
“For now let’s go through your thoughts here,” Doyoung took a thin notebook with ribbon bookmark, flipped until an empty page appeared, and casually nodded for Jeno to speak.
“He was cleaning the painting supplies in this dream, and in the previous one he sorted rice grains by their size. I mean, we’ve seen him, he looks obviously stressed even when joking around with others. My guess it’s both studies and home life – I heard that he’s living with his parents, and they might have caused something as well,” Jeno shrugged.
Supervisor's fingers were flying over pages, then slowed down as he furrowed.
“Domestic abuse or, maybe, just some tension between family members?”
“Not enough info to actually decide. I’ll watch him for the rest of the week.”
“No one ever talked about it?”
“Not as far as I know. We’re all pretty new to each other, and we’re in different courses, so…”
They went over the information Jeno had on Renjun – including the basics, some hearsay Jeno heard through these few weeks. Nothing bad, just how Renjun helped a girl out when he noticed someone following her, or how he and one of the professors already had some kind of argument – and Renjun claimed they were just debating some things on color theory.
“Well, good job. I’ve really got myself a capable subordinate.” Doyoung smiled. His face scrunched up a little and he sniffed the air. The coffee cup appeared on his desk, and he already reached out – but his eyes slowly turned glassy and drowsy, hand relaxed and dropped over the papers, and soon he dissolved – probably just woke up. Jeno quickly made a few sips of coffee before it disappeared as well. Soon he will be waking up, too.
***
Renjun scrolled through his notes, but he couldn’t even focus on words. He planned this day ahead, all needed now is to follow the list, but Renjun felt like he was a jello in warm water – slowly disintegrating piece by piece.
Wash up and take care of yourself. Prepare breakfast. Wake mom up. Visit doctor. Work on assignment. Prepare lunch, wash the dishes. Work on assignment. Do the laundry. Clean up in the living room. Work on assignment. Groceries. Bills?? If have time – figure drawing. Prepare dinner. Shift at 11 P.M. Do not procrastinate!! Figure drawing on shift?? Maybe still life?? Try to get sleep. Don’t forget to collect the laundry. Everything will be okay.
Coffee burned Renjun’s tongue but did nothing to his sleeping brain. Shaking his head, Renjun slowly got up and turned the stove off. He still had to brush his teeth and do something about hair sticking out in every direction. Probably should get a haircut, but when?
As Renjun was walking past the living room, he saw stepfather, knocked out and probably drooling. Renjun picked up the brush and tried to smooth out the bangs before entering mom’s room. She wasn’t sleeping – just lying in bed, squinting to the light that Renjun brought with him in the room.
“This bulb is too bright,” she croaked. “Is he sleeping?”
“Yes. I’ve made breakfast.”
“Mhm.”
Renjun helped her get up and walk to the bathroom. Closing the door, he let out a sigh, instantly regretting even opening his mouth – the stench of overnight germs and coffee was a bit too much to handle. Renjun quickly opened the notes and scrolled back and forth before proceeding with his day. He can brush before leaving the house.
He didn’t notice when the washing machine has stopped.
Renjun was sitting on the floor in the bathroom, sketchbook and pencil in his lap. Few lines were all he could lay on paper, not even a simple shape – Renjun probably just touched the paper accidentally as he tried to find the motion to draw anything.
In his accidental nap, Renjun dreamed of piles and piles of wet sheets, all tightly tangled. The commanding voice somewhere behind his back told Renjun to fix it – untangle, fold neatly, hang outside. And he tried, honestly, but fabric would stretch and rip, and the sound of threads being torn apart resembled Renjun’s own chocked sobs and mother’s deep sighs.
But this time, Renjun felt someone else’s presence in his dream. It was barely noticeable, but there – just someone’s watchful eyes observing him.
It followed him into reality, too, but Renjun carefully shook it off before getting up. His legs and back were sore from sitting on the floor. He lost more than an hour of his day, so there’s no way but to skip figure drawing until his shift at the mart.
He went through the rest of his tasks, blocking the sounds of his surroundings with headphones. Renjun knew that there’s more arguing in the living room. He also knew he couldn’t really help it.
Just a few more months.
Just a few more times of sucking it up and doing things anyway.
(He preferred not to think about how much harder his life would be once he moved out. His mom, contradicting stepfather’s opinion, didn’t grow a fucking wimp.)
Renjun only turned off the music in his headphones when he dropped by mother’s room. She smiled at him weakly and asked to turn off the lights as well.
“Good luck on your shift.”
Night shifts at grocery stores go either uneventful or things happen all at once, and this particular night just had it all. Drunk people, creepy people, someone trying to steal a bag of chips and a cup of ramyun (quickly interjected by the appearance of some tall guy with impressive ears and nice deep voice; he bought a cup of coffee and gave it to Renjun, which made him believe in humanity a little bit more); one of the shelves almost folded on itself because of the sheer amount of rice it had on it (Renjun winced, vividly reminded of a dream he had); and the cash register has few bills less than it was supposed to be.
After everything was dealt with, Renjun opened his sketchbook and started to draw. The graphite left smooth lines on the paper, lines turned into shapes, and shapes turned into images. Renjun loved the way two lines and two circles would make a cylinder, and one you shave a cylinder a little and give it a little bit of muscles, attach another circle as a ball for a joint, a square, another five circles, then a few rectangles — that would be half of an arm.
And you can turn practically any shape into a head — just attach some ears, some eyes like salt to taste, hair, lips and even nose, if you feel super creative (nose can be any shape too, but most people slap triangles). It’s fun, and sort of therapeutic. In fact, you can do the opposite and dissect anything in life into simple shapes and rearrange it as you please.
The face that appeared under Renjun’s seemed familiar. It wasn’t anything he personally knew or anything. Maybe someone he saw on campus. Maybe one of the customers tonight, or a few nights ago, or it’s just his imagination creating imaginary friends out of shapes he scribbled absentmindedly.
The face blinked. Then blinked again. Renjun blinked back and rubbed his face. Coffee never kicks when it’s needed. The doodle froze, pretending its eyelids never moved.
Renjun poked it with the pencil.
The face said ouch.
“Umm, excuse me?..” asked the face.
Renjun jumped.
He was sleeping on his sketchbook right in the middle of the shift. The face he doodled still seemed familiar, but it wasn’t moving or saying anything — just stared at Renjun with graphite gray eyes.
In front of the counter, there was a visitor — a guy trying to melt into his huge parka. It’s probably freezing outside at this hour of the night.
“How can I help you?”
Renjun asked, voice getting stuck in the throat. He really needed some rest.
“Just this,” a customer slid a bag of chips on the counter. Renjun glanced at the clock but didn’t say anything. He, too, often wanted a good bag of chips and a few hours of sobbing every now and then.
That is precisely what will be in his schedule for tomorrow.
***
As the sun settled on the horizon, getting ready to sleep, Jeno left his watch post — near the bulletin board, where pretty much everyone had someone waiting for them. Three nights before, he found out that Renjun was working at the night mart, not far from his home. Then there was a dream in which Renjun was painstakingly checking out never ending stuff with either barely readable or fucked up either way barcodes. This nightmare made Jeno wince; sometimes the scanner wouldn’t even pick up normal barcodes, and Renjun would groan and colorfully curse under his breath.
Next morning Renjun, almost visibly dried out of his energy, was the first person to come for creative writing class. Jeno was the second one — he saw Renjun taking a nap on the desk and decided not to Walk into whatever dream he had now. He just hoped it was about delicious food or, at least, about something pretty.
Jeno left the bulletin board and walked right into Renjun. They bumped shoulders, sending Renjun’s folder with figure sketches flying all over the place, and Jeno felt the pang of pain — honestly, he thought to himself, it’s for your own good.
“Oh god, sorry! Let me just…” Jeno dropped to his knees before Renjun could even understand what happened. Among all the sketches he found the one he needed — the one that resembled his, Lee freaking Jeno’s, face, and carefully hid behind him.
“It’s okay, don’t worry,” Renjun sighed calmly, getting on his knees as well, but his voice sounded more like he’s about to yell in frustration. “But do better next time, we’re not in a romcom.”
Jeno blinked. Then smiled sheepishly, handing Renjun some of the sketches while almost sitting on the one he was trying to hide.
“Yeah. I just haven't been sleeping well lately, you know. Uni’s been crazy from the start.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
Yawning, Renjun took the last sketch from Jeno’s hands and got up.
“Bye.”
And left. Jeno curled into a ball, trying to suppress the cringe. Whatever he was doing right now. It’s for the mission. It’s for Rnenjun’s own good. Yeah.
He quickly folded the sketch and scrambled.
Doyoung looked at the sketch for a good five minutes. Sometimes he would glance at Jeno, comparing him with a pencil drawing. Then back at the sketch, pressing his lips as if he was an art critic and Jeno was the part of the whole work he didn’t really like.
“I mean, you definitely look better in this sketch,” he said before finally dropping the face and snorting. “Okay, no, you look better in real life, of course, but Renjun’s really good.”
He prolonged the E almost annoyingly long. Jaemin’s habits rubbed off on everyone, Jeno thought.
“Yeah. He’s also really grumpy and barely dragging his feet around.”
“Any ideas?”
Jeno frowned. Honestly, he would prefer Doyoung to suggest anything, or really find an explanation, but since the day Doyoung entrusted this to Jeno, he really committed to it. Coordination was his main job, of course, but what’s with helping out the rookies with more than just a comforting smile and storage permission?
“I think… Maybe we need someone to help him in these Nightmares? And that voice with no face bothers me. It doesn’t really sound like anyone he knows.”
“Why don’t we give it a face?” Doyoung asked. “Or maybe not a face but just… an image. Something he could define. As for the helper — that’s a nice idea. Just make sure it’s not as obvious it’s you. Make it a little fucked up.”
“So?”
The voice behind Renjun suddenly sounded a little closer. He stared at his hands, all covered in cuts and scratches, the knife he used to peel the potato lying beside his hand.
“How long are you going to sit here?” the voice demanded. The breath touched Renjun’s hair, and the presence behind his back suddenly disappeared. He was left alone in the kitchen, all cluttered with buckets full of potatoes. There's so much work to do, thought Renjun, looking around. But why was he doing it?
“Yeah, why?”
Another voice was coming from Renjun. Not out of his throat, and it wasn’t ringing in his head. There was a small rag doll in his pocket – its long bunny ears peeked out of it.
The doll’s face was drawn on its cotton face – two big dots for eyes, little black nose, even teeth under its lips. Renjun looked at the doll closely, and it seemed like the doll was looking at him too – its gaze followed his own.
“Don’t do this, please,” the doll asked when Renjun pressed it’s fluffy tail a little. “It actually hurts. Why would anyone inflict violence on the little cute critter such as myself?”
“And why are you speaking?”
The doll’s face never changed visually but now, for some reason, it looked flabbergasted.
“Why wouldn’t I?! Here, put me a little closer to your ear, I’ll tell you a secret.”
Renjun did as he was asked, and in return was punched in the face by a soft small paw of the doll.
“And to know that you didn’t even feel the pain when you’re the one putting me through it!” cried the doll. “What an unfair world. Oh, how I wish you weren’t the creator of this misery!”
Renjun stared at the doll blankly. Then he put it down on the table, picked up the knife – and was about to continue with potatoes, but the doll cried out again. “No! You, young people, never listen to your elders. Sit here and let me tell you something before That One is not here to watch your every step.”
And Renjun watched as the doll jumped on its feet, stretched a little, dusted itself carefully like it was wearing a nice suit, and even cleared its throat, probably filled with cotton, too.
“My name is… Bunny. Let it be Bunny. Someone tasked me to help you out with all these tedious tasks. Of course, it’s too much of a hassle for such a distinguished gentleman as myself, but I assure you – once I’m given a task, I will dutifully complete it.”
It was too much even for Renjun. He shook his head and opened his eyes – now in the comfort of his room, lit up by some mood lights. There was an unfinished assignment on his desk and leftover coffee. What was it if not the opportunity to finish the draft of the project?
“Collect all these needles and organize them by the size of their eyes,” the voice said. Renjun turned around – to see someone wearing a long black hood, like an evil witch of some sort – it’s just the hands under the sleeves were young and thin, and the voice was youthful, almost gentle.
Renjun decided to call them the Hood.
The Hood tilted their head slightly, like an owl or confused dog. But instead of being cute, it was sinister. No seeing their eyes or even as much as lips run shivers down Renjun’s spine. He slowly moved his shoulders.
“Do you not hear me?” the Hood asked, their voice monotone.
“I hear you,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll do it.”
The Hood lingered around a little more, watching Renjun assembling his work place – an old desk made of long wooden boards, shabby and uneven. The desk and the floor around were covered in sawing needles of all sizes, and Renjun felt the sob gathering in his throat. Whenever he tried to pick up the needle, his fingers and nails wouldn’t cooperate, and needles would fall through the openings between boards, get stuck in small excavations of wooden patterns.
His hands started to shake out of frustration and anger.
He carefully moved the needles on the floor closer to the desk. He didn’t notice when the Hood left, but no one was now watching him. So he found the doll in his pocket – he didn’t really know why was he sure the doll was there. Bunny’s face seemed to lit up, even though cotton and drawn on eyes stayed the same.
“What do you want for helping me?” Renjun asked in a whisper, his eyes still darting around the room, hoping the Hood is not hiding in the shadows of an old cupboard or standing behind the door.
“Just give me something to eat before we start. Then go to sleep and try to rest as much as you can. The morning is wiser than the evening.”
Renjun pulled the needles away to make the space for Bunny and its little dinner. In the cupboard he found a piece of bread, raisins and some nuts, carefully arranged them on the plate.
Then Bunny rushed him to sleep.
The bed was hard on his bones, but it still was something. Only now, with the head touching the pillow, Renjun felt the exhaustion in his body. He closed his eyes and fell into the comforting dreamless sleep, only to wake up what seemed 5 seconds later, with the doll already hiding in his pocket, and needles all sorted out.
After that, whenever the Hood appeared and gave Renjun another obnoxious task, Bunny would appear, eat whatever they could find and sort things for him. At first, they didn’t talk much – Renjun was just watching the doll eat (which was pretty much grotesque – the loaf of bread would just disappear in small pieces right in front of the doll’s mouth) and then go to sleep.
But as the time passed, they started to talk a little. Or it was just Renjun starting to trust Bunny more and ramble about anything that was on his mind – that annoying classmate really pulls on his nerves; assignments are never ending; the rent is fucking insane, and he might never leave his parent’s house; this guy in his creative writing class whose name Renjun can’t seem to remember seems nice – maybe they should talk a little…
Then Renjun would go to sleep.
And when the dream would end, Renjun – the one in real life, – would feel a little better.
He also tried to prepare real-life snacks for Bunny – so Renjun would hide oreos or some crackers under his pillow. At first nothing happened to them, but several tried later Renjun found a whole bag of chips in the old cupboard.
Bunny, seeing the chips, froze, but didn’t say much.
But not only the trust between Renjun and Bunny would grow, but also the amount of tasks the Hood would give to Renjun.
Before, the whole cleaning and sorting would just take a whole night of time. But now the Hood came up with way more things for him to do – be it a whole deep cleaning of this old house or even work in the garden.
The Hood became angrier, too. Sometimes they would stay with Renjun for a long time, watching him wiping out the insane amount of dust from the shelves or weeding out the rundown garden.
And, no matter how hard Renjun tried to catch even a glimpse of the Hood’s face, he never saw even as much as their chin.
That night The Hood was late. Renjun sat in the kitchen, doing something just to make himself look busy: he took out some cutlery, washed it, then found a cloth to polish it. Bunny sat in his pocket and whispered to Renjun some stories — about phoenixes, dragons, magical flowers that burn brightly in the night and turn invisible in the day.
Renjun started to feel uneasy. He was busy, but it wasn’t a real task. He tried to go through other rooms and find something else to do, but only got a pencil and some paper.
“You sit and draw,” said Bunny. “It looks to me that our Hood is tired of bullying you. Do what makes you happy, Renjun.”
He already got several pages filled with sketches — the kitchen, gloom scenery out of the window, red oranges with some red pencil he found in the cupboard. Then the lights went off.
Renjun never noticed if there was a lamp on the ceiling. The whole house was engulfed in darkness, and even the lights outside seemed to cease. He was looking through all the shelves to find at least a brief candle, when the door opened — and The Hood appeared in the room, barely visible in the dark.
“Spare your breath, there are no candles here or anywhere in the house,” Renjun heard a smile in The Hood’s voice. “Go find House of the Witch in the forest. Ask for some light.”
The Hood disappeared just as they appeared, and Renjun carefully took Bunny out of his pocket.
“I’ll get killed if I go there,” he whispered. “No one came back from the House of the Witch.”
Bunny stretched its little hand and legs. Then it seemed to smile, even though its mouth never changed.
“Do not worry, go into the Woods. I’ll keep you safe. And the Witch will never hurt you.”
Renjun opened his eyes in the middle of the forest. The trees surrounding him were touching the sky, now getting darker with every long second. Soon the sun is going to set, so how will Renjun find the house of this Witch then?
He continued moving further and further into the woods, not sure if there’s even the House or the Witch. But if Bunny said it’s going to be okay, then, probably, Renjun really should trust its judgment.
The forest turned from reddish brown to indigo blue, then became red again as the morning came. Renjun found himself staring at the House — even though he wasn’t sure who in their right mind would call that a house.
It was a small wooden hut, barely enough to fit one person, clouded in weird shadows and ivy. Surrounding it was a fence made of human bones, skulls hanging on some of them with a faint glow in their eyes. And what Renjun first perceived as weird shadows were huge human legs, now sitting crisscrossed, supporting the hut.
“Go inside,” Bunny whispered. “The Witch is not here yet.”
The hut was bigger than it seemed on the outside. It had a kitchen, spare room for the Wizard, judging by the bed and amount of clothes Renjun noticed lying on every horizontal surface.
The hut was a mess, honestly. But it was a cozy mess — the one that tells you that the place is occupied, and it breathes along with its person. Renjun thought about The Hood, how it made him clean all over again, even if there was a small, barely noticeable speck of dust.
“Let’s wash the dishes for now. I doubt the Witch will give us anything without a price, so we’ll warm them up before even asking for anything.”
That, Renjun thought, he can handle himself. He propped the doll on the shelf and started cleaning up, from one corner to another, collecting dishes, wiping away the dust and crumbs. Bunny was keeping him company and talking about practically anything – through the noise of running water Renjun even heard something about the impressionist movement and the way Caput Mortuum pigment was created. Bunny’s voice would’ve lull him to sleep if Renjun wasn’t so busy.
The sky changed again from pale blue to indigo, and the door into the hut opened. Renjun didn’t really know what the Witch would look like – like an old hag, fit for this hut, or maybe someone his mom’s age, or a child even – or someone who looks like a child. But standing in front of him was a young man covered in black rugs, stuff in his hand and some leaves stuck in his dark hair.
“And who the hell are you?” he asked, squinting.
“My name is Renjun… My– I–” words stuck in his throat whenever he tried to say anything. “I was sent to you to ask for some light. Maybe flashlight? Or candles? Anything.”
The Witch huffed. He walked past Renjun, leaving the scent of bergamot and pineapple behind – a scent too strange, foreign to this place.
“You can’t have something of this importance for free, you know?” The Witch propped his stuff to the wall. Ran his fingers on the table, evaluating Renjun’s cleaning. “You already did well, but stay here for a little more.”
He gave Renjun a crooked, yet somewhat warm, smile.
“I guess whoever sent you to me is not going to uproot the forest to find you here. So it’s okay. Settled, then.”
Renjun felt Bunny shift in his pocket, but just nodded. He wasn’t scared or nervous. The Witch didn’t look that scary as they were usually in fairy tales. The hut is weird, and this whole situation is not something Renjun would've found himself, but… isn’t it just a dream?
“Renjun? Wake up, you’ll be late.”
He sat on his bed in one rushed motion. Dizzied, still stuck in a dream, Renjun looked around – he found himself in his own room, mom standing by the door with a worried wrinkle between her brows.
“You stayed up late again,” she shook her head. “Get ready and go, I’ll get to the doctor by myself.”
“But mom…»
The door silently closed behind her. Renjun finally found his phone in the fold of the blanket. He, indeed, was very late.
But what was strange is… he wasn’t exhausted at all.
Renjun went through the day without dozing off in the middle of a lecture, his eyes were clear as he prepared the canvas, and he even managed to get a coffee with Chenle when they’ve met between classes. He came back home, helped his mom to clean up after the dinner, quickly finished his assignments, and even got to sleep before midnight.
Weird, Renjun thought, as his eyelids became heavy. But it’s nice.
***
In the morning the Witch would give him a whole list of chores – prepare dinner, wash the windows, do the dishes, organize stuff on the shelf, but don’t you dare try anything – you’d die a painful death; weed the garden, sweep and mop the floor, and here’s an old, heavy iron and a bunch of laundry.
Then the Witch would disappear in the forest until the very evening.
Renjun and Bunny shared the chores – something tedious for you, something tedious for me; then we get something easy for each of us, too. When it came to cleaning the skulls on the fence, it was Renjun’s job – Bunny was just too terrified.
It took a few days for Renjun to finally get used to the glow in their empty eyes. At first, he tried to look anywhere, but soon enough started wondering who these people were before their death. And how the Witch got these skulls to begin with.
In the evening, just after the sun would set, the Witch would come back, look around and smile – Renjun couldn’t really read this smile, but assumed it was the one of satisfaction. Of course it is, the hut was a mess before they came here, and now the Witch was living his life comfortably – with bed always done and food always prepared just before he came back.
The Witch would sit at the table and motion Renjun to join him. At first Renjun hesitated, but then, even if he already ate while cooking with Bunny, he would take little portions of porridge and meat.
“You do your job really well,” said the Witch once. He looked up, and Renjun tried to examine his face, learn from his emotions.
“There’s nothing difficult to do. That per…” Renjun suddenly coughed, as if food stuck in his throat. No matter how many times he tried to bring up The Hood in conversations with the Witch, nothing except coughs left his mouth. “I’ve been doing things harder than that. More absurd, even.”
As the Witch tilted his head, Renjun noticed a small dot under his eye. “Is that so… And no one was helping you?”
“Actually… at first, no one.”
Renjun carefully fished the doll out of his pocket. Bunny froze in his hands, pretending to be just a rag doll. But the Witch touched its belly with his finger, forcing Bunny to flinch.
“Then this doll appeared and started helping me out. It helps me here too… to an extent. In exchange for some food, like… a piece of bread.” Understanding what he just said, Renjun quickly added: “I only give it food from my own portions, if that’s important.”
Glimmering eyes of the Witch studied Renjun for a few seconds.
“Doesn’t it feel good to share your burdens with someone?”
Renjun blinked. He didn’t know if he heard it right.
“I gave you so many chores, and this doll helped you in exchange for food. It also kept you company, I believe, does it not?”
Bunny slowly stood up on palm and nodded.
“We talk a lot,” it said. “About his school, family, part-time job…”
“And do you hate it?”
Bunny shook his head. “Why would I?”
“See,” the Witch shrugged. “Your feelings are not a burden.”
“Yeah. I’m not a burden, my feelings are valid, and murder is okay…”
“What?”
“Nothing.” And Renjun quickly collected the dishes before the Witch could even protest.
“The morning is wiser than the evening.” The Witch’s voice was silent, but it filled Renjun’s head, flooded his mind – and made him wake up.
Now he was in his room, in the middle of the night. Renjun could hear his stepfather’s snoring in the living room. His mom shifting in her bed, probably trying to lull away the pain.
Renjun sneaked to the kitchen. In the back of his mind, he still heard the voice of the Witch. His own lips unconsciously repeated the last thing he heard, as if he tried to dissect it word by word. It wasn’t so deep, honestly – yes, no one should listen to their thoughts after 21:00 or something. By that time, anyone with a basic sleep schedule would feel tired and wouldn’t really think straight.
“Not sleeping?” Mom was standing in the corridor, hand in the pocket of her pajama pants. Probably hiding cigarettes again.
“Yeah, weird dreams,” Renjun nodded. “How are you?”
“Better. Can’t sleep, that’s all.”
“You want some tea?”
“…Sure. Let’s talk a bit?”
***
Doyoung was waiting Jeno at the café.
When Jeno got there, all tired and sweaty after basketball practice, his supervisor was taking selfies without any care in the world. At least he had drinks already prepared for them.
“I thought you had enough of the campus.”
Doyoung glanced at him from behind his phone, annoyed at first but smiling gently right away.
“I mean, it’s kind of nostalgic,” he shrugged. “It’s been a while since I was a student.”
“Believe it or not, I’m freshman, and I already can’t wait to graduate and forget all about this place.”
Jeno sipped on his drink – a little too sweet. He’ll have to empty a bottle of water after that, but at least it’s tasty.
“Look there,” Doyoung pointed somewhere behind Jeno – at another table by the window.
There was Renjun – his bangs cut short, letting his forehead breath, at last. He had a barely visible charcoal stain on his cheek, collars of his shirt turned gray; they probably had graphics previously.
Now Renjun was so focused on his sketchpad he didn’t even notice the waitress placing his cup in front of him. Renjun’s hand was flying above the paper, making the pencil look like some sort of magic wand.
“Looks like he’s doing better,” whispered Doyoung, hiding a smile behind his cup. “I don’t see these horrendous bags under his eyes.”
Jeno carefully nodded.
“I mean, we’re doing everything we can.”
“Now he must do something, too.”
Doyoung left after a while. They talked a lot about other things rather than the Dream Zone — Jeno’s classes, Doyoung’s travel plans, favorite snacks. There was another class soon, but Jeno decided to skip it. He was carefully observing his subject whenever he could.
Before leaving, too, he went to the bathroom and walked past Renjun. He just wanted one glance — for simple, mortal curiosity sake, — of what Renjun was working on so hard.
Renjun’s table was filled with his things — pencil case, sketchbook, small sketchbook, sketch pad on rings so he could discard paper if needed; kneaded eraser was lying in the saucer, pencil of different colors scattered between other things like colorful strokes. Renjun’s sandwich, half-eaten, was waiting for him to finally be over with it.
And on paper, he saw the Witch.
It wasn’t resembling him — Renjun did quite a few sketches searching for an inspiration then learning the shape of his face, curve of his lips, shadows that bangs made when it fell on his face. Even the dot under the Witch’s eye was different in its placement, and — did Renjun even tried different shapes? The one marked with an energetic red circle was the one shaped like a spark.
Renjun felt someone towering over him. It wasn’t that uncomfortable — professor would always stand behind Renjun and watch him mix paintings or laying down the first strokes of the painting. It’s just… the presence was too big.
Like a bear. Or a big dog. Samoyed twice its usual size.
And also — the scent. Familiar and not, it was lingering in the air, barely even noticeable in the aroma of coffee.
But when Renjun, as slowly and carefully as he could, turned around, no one was there.
No one was staring at him or his sketches. Not even in his direction. Maybe someone was just standing there, maybe waiting for something? Or, Renjun was just too deep in his thoughts; about his life and about the project he’s been working on; about his mom and his future; about the sandwich he forgot to eat.
Renjun shook his head. Nah, he’s overthinking. Better finish this sandwich down and start packing things up; he has a shift later that night.
***
“So you are blessed.”
He was in the House of the Witch. The Witch was staring at the doll sitting in Renjun’s palms, his lips stretched in weird, unreadable smile.
“Yeah, kinda.”
That’s a weird response, Renjun thought to himself. His tongue wasn’t really listening to him. As well as hands. Now it was grabbing Bunny tightly, and Renjun could hear it’s grunting in soft cotton voice.
“Take a skull from the fence,” the Witch suddenly stood up. “And run home. I don’t need anyone blessed here.”
Renjun blinked. How did they even come here? What was the point of serving the Witch? Did Renjun somehow offended him? Or maybe Renjun did everything right and now was his clue to…
Next thing he knew — he was walking through the forest with the skull stuck on a branch. It was dark and cold, but skull’s eyes spread light around Renjun and allow him to see far enough to not be afraid of the night. Bunny was strangely silent in Renjun’s pocket. Maybe it was tired of all the chores it had to go through lately. Or maybe the Witch did something to the doll, and now Renjun would have to work all by himself in the house of the Hood.
From the ship to the ball.
When Renjun opened the door to the house, it was darker than he even remembered it. The Hood was waiting for him, quietly sitting in the corner of the room, face still hidden.
“Finally, a light,” the Hood whispered. Their voice now was coarse, exhausted, and Renjun wondered if they were doing all the work he and Bunny did in one go to tire them so much.
“Yeah. Take it.”
The Hood slowly approached Renjun, their hands reached out for the skull — while its eyes seemed to glow more and more. The light seemed to burn the Hood’s eyes, and it flinched away, tried to cover their face with hands — the cloth falling on their shoulders.
They had short dark hair. One of their hands had a big birthmark.
The skull cracked its mouth open.
“Look,” it said softly. “Doesn’t they seem familiar?”
The Hood quivered, trying to hide their face, and Renjun hesitated. It’s not like he was scared to know, or scared of the Hood; he just wasn’t sure it was even needed to be acknowledged.
It was him under that cloak. Renjun.
Now he was watching this scene as someone in the audience, not one of Renjuns. Reaching out to the Hood and pulling away their hand with a birthmark, looking into their face, identical to him. It felt alien. Not his own, yet a carbon copy. Renjun yanked the cloak completely, exposing his twin to the light.
The other Renjun tried to scream, tried to hide, but the skull followed him, burning his skin with bright, blinding light — and Renjun, the real one, woke up before he could know what happened to the part of him he hated.
It probably was still there. Scarred, scorched, pained, but it was all of his own doing — whatever you’d try to bring up, Renjun took it upon himself, be it his responsibility or not really.
Renjun turned on the night lamp and looked around his room. There was the project he decided to do alone; no one will really do it like he could. There was the folder with mom’s results from the clinic he forgot to give her back. There was his grocery store apron he took to clean. And there, behind the wardrobe, the bottles he and mom decided to hide from stepfather. Oh, and another project, the personal one. And a whole stack of assignments to work on. Bunch of books to read. Weekly schedule, all covered in doodles and notes — do this, do that, do not forget this thing, and that one too.
Among them, a short one: “breath a little?? somewhere???”
And sketches of the Witch. First ones he did when Renjun couldn’t fall asleep again after another vivid dream.
***
“So… do you think he would make it?”
Doyoung, Johnny and Taeyong were all glued to the monitor on the latter’s desk. Doyoung was restless, he shifted his feet here and there, but then he would catch himself and try to appear calm. He saw Jeno standing just a little behind them, waiting for a cue to file his report. The other two were stiff like statues. Taeyong didn’t even seem to breath.
No one replied to Doyoung’s question for some time.
Jeno carefully took a little step closer, just so he could see what was happening on the screen. It was CCTV footage. The mark in the corner said “WVQKUN”. The video was of a corridor — white walls, no doors or windows, a piece of floor.
Nothing was happening for a while, but soon Jeno saw branches growing over the walls slowly. And as the pieces of walls started flying out and freezing in the air, Jeno realized — they were cracks. Huge cracks running deep through the walls, demolishing them from the inside.
A few seconds later, someone appeared on the screen. Dark hair, dark jacket with gray hood underneath. Their hands were touching the walls — it seemed like this person was the one destroying it.
Jeno quickly glanced at supervisors. Taeyong was biting the skin on his thumb. Johnny stood still, hands crossed over his chest, eyes fixated on the screen. Doyoung curled his shoulders, and hugged himself with one hand, as if trying to escape the cold.
“That’s… too much. Too dangerous. He’s not going to make it.”
Doyoung’s voice cracked at the last few words.
Johnny shook his head. “No. Give him some time.”
“He knows these kids better than anyone,” said Taeyong. Jeno didn’t need to see his face to know that lead Walker barely blinked while he was staring at the screen for the last minute. “We need to trust him and his actions.”
“But…”
Doyoung cut himself short and took a step back, finally cutting the invisible rope that held him near the screen. He rubbed his eyes, letting out an exhausted sigh, and finally turned to Jeno.
“Put it there, please,” he nodded at the desk and smiled — that was a weak parody of what he was capable of. “We’ll discuss it later, okay?”
As Jeno was about to leave, he heard Taeyong’s voice again.
“You did a good job, Jeno,” Taeyong was smiling too — more like an apology for the state Jeno had to see them in. “Take a rest for a few days. Walking for such a long time could be dangerous.”
When Jeno woke up in his bed, that last part lingered in his head like an earworm.
***
A slap woke Jeno up.
He didn’t realize he fell asleep; it probably happened in the first part of the lecture — Jeno was so cozy in his new jacket and sweater, the laptop hid him so well, that he couldn’t help but close his eyes for a quick second. Turns out the class had ended.
And now Renjun was standing in front of him, leaning on the desk and into Jeno’s personal space. Renjun’s eyes were studying him meticulously, as if Renjun tried to remember every line and shadow on his face — or revive some distant memories.
“W-what?” Jeno asked, blinking as he tried to shake the drowsiness away.
“Yeah, you look exactly the same,” Renjun mused. He was silent for a few seconds, just as the last students were leaving the room.
When the door finally closed, he dropped his head on the shoulder, eyes sharp as pencils.
“I knew I’ve seen you before. I’ve drawn you before. Hm…,”
Jeno tried to melt into his chair, but Renjun leaned in even closer – now Jeno could smell his perfume, light and flowery.
“Tell me the truth and don’t try to make a joke out of it.”
A pause. Jeno nodded, in case Renjun needed a sign of understanding from him.
“Was that you in my dreams?”