Work Text:
Kyujin woke up at 3:17 AM without any alarm or sound. She opened her eyes, stared at the ceiling for a few seconds and then slowly sat up.
She had dreamt of that person again.
This time, it was in a studio filled with easels, the air thick with the smell of turpentine and paint. That person was facing away from her, slathering vast, almost violent strokes of blue onto a canvas. She had deep brown hair, loosely tied up at the back. Kyujin tried to move closer, to see what was on the canvas, to see her face—she could never see it clearly at this point in the dream, or it would blur rapidly upon waking—but she stumbled over something, a slight feeling of weightlessness followed, then she woke up.
She wiped her face; her palm was slightly damp, whether from sweat or something else. This wasn't the first time. For two weeks straight, every two or three days, she would dream of the same person in the deep night or early morning, in different settings. The dreams were unnervingly clear, the details vivid upon waking: last time it was a rainy bus stop, that person holding a transparent umbrella, raindrops sliding down the ribs; the time before that, a library at dusk, her reaching on tiptoe for a book on the top shelf, revealing a sliver of slender waist.
These dreams left her unsettled, even anxious. She had looked up psychological explanations for "repeatedly dreaming of a stranger"—theories ranged from subconscious projection to excessive stress, none of which fully convinced her.
She threw off the covers and got out of bed, walking barefoot to the kitchen for a glass of cold water. The icy liquid sliding down her throat dispelled some of the dream's lingering haze. The city outside the window was still asleep. She sighed, knowing she probably wouldn't fall back asleep easily tonight.
The next day was Monday. Kyujin walked into the office with two pronounced dark circles under her eyes. Jinsol at the adjacent desk was yawning at her computer screen.
"Morning," Kyujin set down her bag.
"Morning," Jinsol yawned again. "Went hiking with Yoona over the weekend, exhausted. You? What did you do over the weekend?" Jinsol asked, organizing files on her desk.
"Caught up on sleep," Kyujin said, not mentioning the dreams.
"Doesn't look like it," Jinsol glanced at her sideways. "You look worse than I do."
"Insomnia," Kyujin mumbled, opening her email.
The day's work was intense and monotonous. Kyujin tried to focus on reports and data streams, but that dream kept intruding. During an afternoon meeting with the product department, she even zoned out a bit until Jiwoo tapped the table with her pen, calling her name.
"Kyujin, any issues with this part of the data?"
Kyujin snapped back to attention, glanced at the projection. "Oh, no, this part was updated last week, accuracy is at 99.4%."
Jiwoo nodded and continued. Kyujin took a quiet deep breath, forcing herself to concentrate. After work, Jinsol asked if she wanted to try a new ramen place. Kyujin thought of refusing, going home for a quick meal, but thinking of the empty apartment and the possible return of the dreams, she nodded.
"Sure."
The ramen place was busy. Yoona had already secured a table, waving them over.
"Wait long?" Jinsol sat beside her, touching her hand. "Your hands are so cold."
"Just got here a bit ago," Yoona tucked her hands into her sleeves a little, smiling at Kyujin. "Kyujin, busy lately?"
"Same as usual," Kyujin sat opposite, picking up the menu.
They ordered and chatted while waiting.
"Oh," Yoona suddenly remembered something, pulling a small notebook from her canvas tote, flipping it open, and handing it to Kyujin. "I went to a small art exhibition last weekend, saw this one, always felt a bit special. But couldn't say why."
Kyujin looked down. It was a postcard print of a small watercolor. The center of the image was a woman's, standing by a window, outside a gray-blue curtain of rain. The woman's hair was deep brown, loosely tied.
Kyujin's heart gave a sudden jolt.
"Who's the artist?" Her voice sounded tight to her own ears.
"A not very well-known independent painter, named… Haewon?" Yoona flipped to the back of the postcard, looking. "The description says she's good at capturing 'slices of momentary emotion.'"
"How come you're interested in this?" Jinsol leaned over to look.
"Not sure, just was drawn to it when passing by." Yoona took back the notebook, glancing at the small painting again.
Kyujin didn't say more, lowering her head to poke at the condiment jar on the table with her chopsticks.
Coincidence?
The next few days, the dream didn't return. Kyujin almost began to think it was all a hallucination from stress, plus a bit of coincidence. Until Thursday night, working overtime past nine, dragging her tired body out of the office building, a light rain started falling.
No umbrella. She frowned, put her laptop bag over her head, and jogged toward the subway station. Passing a convenience store at the corner, she glanced at the window display. Then, she stopped dead in her tracks.
In the window was a modest poster advertising a small joint exhibition at a nearby art district. The design was simple: black background with thumbnail images of a few participating works. One of them was a fierce, almost burning slash of blue brushstrokes. Though the details were unclear, the feel of the color and composition struck her instantly—bizarrely similar to the violent blue in her dream.
Below the poster, small print listed the names of several participating artists. Kyujin moved closer, searching on the damp glass. Found it: Haewon.
Haewon.
She silently repeated the name.
The rain grew denser, hitting the window, blurring the poster's outline. Kyujin stood under the convenience store awning. She wanted to meet this person.
On the weekend, standing at the entrance to the art district, Kyujin felt she might actually be a little crazy. The district was converted from old factories, rough red brick walls with withered vines, a rugged style. It was quite crowded on weekends, mostly young faces.
She bought a ticket and went in. It was more spacious inside than expected, works displayed by artist in sections. She quickly found Haewon's section.
Kyujin looked at each one. Then, her gaze stopped on a small painting in the corner of the section. It was a close-up of a person's profile in sleep, eyelashes lowered, cheek resting on an arm, light falling from above, casting faint shadows on the bridge of the nose and jaw. It wasn't realistic, the brushstrokes even a bit rough, but that sense of utterly defenseless serenity was captured precisely.
What made Kyujin's breath catch was that on the painted person's earlobe was a very small, light brown mole. In the exact same location as the one on her own earlobe.
She unconsciously touched her own earlobe.
"This one is called 'Sleep,'" a voice said beside her.
Kyujin turned her head.
Deep brown hair, loosely tied at the back. Wearing a simple black turtleneck and faded blue jeans, a bit of unwashed blue pigment still on her hand.
It was the face that had always been blurry in the dreams. Now, appearing before her.
Kyujin opened her mouth, finding no sound came out. She had imagined many scenarios of "meeting," but now all plans failed. She just stood frozen, looking at the other.
Haewon seemed slightly surprised by her reaction, tilting her head a little, her gaze shifting from the painting to Kyujin's face, then landing on her earlobe. Then lifted again, meeting her eyes.
"We…" Kyujin finally found her voice. "Have we… met somewhere before?"
As soon as she said it, she felt stupid.
Haewon didn't laugh, nor show any offended expression. .
"Perhaps," she replied. "In a dream?"
That sentence was like a fine needle, and instantly confirmed one thing for her: this wasn't just her hallucination. The other person knew. At least, sensed something.
"I…" Kyujin took a deep breath, deciding to discard all politeness and probing. "My name is Kyujin. I… have been dreaming of someone lately. Painting, using a lot of blue. Back view, or profile. Can't see the face."
Haewon's eyes flickered. She didn't speak, but turned to look again at the small painting "Sleep," then turned back, her gaze settling on Kyujin's earlobe.
"How long?"
"About two weeks. Frequency… every two or three days."
"Settings fixed?"
"Not fixed. Studio, rainy bus stop, library… but always that person." Kyujin paused. "Deep brown hair, tied up. Doing something, very focused."
Haewon was silent for a moment.
"I've been trying to paint some… fragments of memory lately," Haewon began slowly. "Or, not memory, some kind of… impression. Very blurry, like through frosted glass. Someone sleeping, very serene. Someone waiting for a bus, a bit lonely."
She looked at Kyujin: "But I couldn't paint that person's face. Until about ten days ago, I painted this 'Sleep.' The detail on the earlobe, for some reason, appeared very clearly in my mind. A very small, light brown mole."
"So, you saw it too?" Kyujin asked.
"More like a… daytime daze. While painting, or spacing out, some image fragments would suddenly jump in. And it started about two weeks ago."
The timeline matched.
The information was too much, too bizarre, needing some time to digest.
"Want some coffee?" Haewon suddenly suggested. "There's a small shop at the back of the gallery, not many people."
Kyujin nodded. She needed to sit down, and also to keep being around this person.
The coffee shop was indeed quiet, only a few people.
"What do you think this is?" Kyujin asked. "Psychological? Coincidence? Or…"
"I don't know," Haewon answered, looking out the window at the bare branches in the district. "I didn't believe in these things before. But the facts are here. What you dreamt and what I 'saw' overlap too much. That can't be explained by coincidence."
"What do we do?"
"Since it's happening, there must be a reason. Or, at least, see how it develops."
"You mean?"
"Stay in touch, see if any more information appears."
"Okay," Kyujin took out her phone. "Then exchange contact info?"
They exchanged numbers and added each other on social media. Haewon's profile picture was a blank canvas, her name simply "Haewon." Kyujin's was a pot of succulents.
The connection was already established, and the story had only just begun.