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In the velvet expanse of night, where stars dance like distant fireflies and the moon whispers secrets to those who dare to listen, there exists a magic that transcends understanding.
A magic that connects hearts across time and space, weaving destinies together in patterns only the cosmos can comprehend.
Park Han believed in such magic once.
At sixteen, with eyes full of dreams and a heart brimming with hope, he stood on his balcony on one clear autumn night, watching the nothingness as stars painted the darkness above.
"I wish for someone who understands me," he’d whispered to the universe, "Someone patient and kind, and someone who sees the real me behind the walls I built all around myself. Someone who makes me feel safe and warm… like coming home after a long journey."
High school graduation blurred into university enrollment, and the romantic notions of his sixteen-year-old self seemed distant and naive. Yet somewhere in the depths of his subconscious, that wish remained, dormant but not dead, waiting for the right moment to bloom.
Until one night that’s been particularly long, stretching into eternity.
In a dream, Han found himself in a place that felt both familiar and unknown. A garden filled with flowers that glowed softly in the moonlight.
There was someone with him whose presence brought a comfort so warm it made his heart ache with too much longing. They walked together through the luminous garden, hands occasionally brushing, sending sparks of warmth through Han's entire being.
The stranger spoke in a voice that sounded like honey and rain, so gentle, and though Han couldn't recall the exact words later, he remembered how they made him feel seen, understood, and cherished.
Time seemed to stretch and bend in that dreamscape, allowing for what felt like days of companionship compressed into one night. However, just as the stranger was about to say his name, leaning close with eyes that held galaxies of their own, the shrill beep of Han's alarm clock shattered the dream into a million pieces.
Han jolted awake, heart racing with frustration and loss.
He stared at his ceiling, tracing the cracks with his eyes hoping they might contain the answers to his questions.
What the heck was that?
Who was that?!
Why did he feel so real?
Why did his absence create a sudden emptiness in Han's chest?
"Park Han! Are you awake yet? You'll be late for class!" his mother's voice and furious knocking at his door pulled him from his reverie.
With a sigh, Han dragged himself out of bed and began his day.
After that night, the mysterious man began appearing regularly in Han's dreams, lingering like a ghost at the edge of his consciousness.
Sometimes they would walk along a beach at sunset with the waves washing over their feet. Other times they would sit in a cozy café, sharing stories and laughter.
The romantic side of Han had this feeling that they'd known each other for lifetimes.
The dreams became so precious to his that he started seeking sleep almost every other second. He would nap between classes, doze off during lunch breaks, and even found himself nodding off during lectures.
And this obsession with sleeping didn't go unnoticed.
"You've been sleeping a lot lately," Jay, his best friend, commented one afternoon as Han struggled to keep his eyes open in the campus cafeteria.
"Just been really tired," Han mumbled, stirring his cold soup with little interest.
Jay raised an eyebrow but didn't press further, though Han could tell that his friend suspected there was more to it than simple fatigue.
But how could Han explain that he's chasing a man who existed only in his dreams… someone whose face he couldn't fully recall upon waking up?
No one knows.
Several years passed, and though Han's life changed, new classes, different apartments, evolving friendships, the dreams remained constant with the frustration growing with each passing month.
In his dreams, he could see and feel him so clearly.
The gentle curve of his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the soft texture of his hair, and the warmth of his touch. He could feel the sweetness of his soul, the gentleness with which he treated Han, and the indulgent way he responded to Han's increasingly clingy behavior in those dreams (to which even Han himself didn't notice when he started clinging like a kitten).
But upon waking up, the details would fade like mist in the morning sun, leaving behind only the emotional imprint of their time together.
This drove Han to desperate measures.
He filled lots and lots of sketchbooks with attempts to capture the man's face, drawing different angles, expressions, and features based on the fragments that remained in his memory. Yet none of the drawings felt quite right, always missing some essential quality that made the man in his dreams so captivating.
And the stress of it had eventually became too much to bear alone.
One evening, as he and Jay were sitting in Han's small apartment, Han finally confided in his friend.
"There's this man," Han began hesitantly, "who appears in my dreams. He's been visiting me for years now, and think… I'm falling in love."
Jay listened without judgment, only a thoughtful expression on his face. "Wow. Is he pretty?"
“Very much."
“Right. Of course."
“Yeah."
“How does he look like? Do you think you're older than him or is it the other way around?"
“I don't know. I don't… remember much of his face whenever I wake up.”
Jay blinked. "Have you tried drawing him right when you wake up? Before the details fade?" he asked.
"I've tried," Han sighed, gesturing to the pile of sketchbooks. "But I can never remember enough." he added.
"Then keep a sketchbook by your bed," Jay suggested. "The moment you wake up, start drawing whatever you can remember. Even if it's just an eye or a smile. Something is better than nothing."
"Oh, yeah. You're right. Why didn't I think of that?” Han replied.
After that conversation, the two of them ate lots of snacks while binge watching a series and ended up sleeping in the living room.
Hab began keeping a sketchbook and pencil on his under his pillows, and though his drawings remained incomplete, they slowly improved, capturing more of his mystery man.
One detail that remained vivid in Han's memory was the nickname the man used for him.
"Hani," he would call him, the word spoken with such affection that it made Han's heart flutter every time he heard it in his dreams.
When Han shared this with Jay, his friend's response made him even more flustered than he already is. "That's actually really sweet," Jay said with a smile. "It sounds like 'honey'." to which only deepened Han's attachment to the nickname and the man who’d given it to him.
Now, sitting in the university library with Jay, Han found himself drifting off again. Their afternoon class has been cancelled due to an emergency faculty meeting, leaving them with unexpected free time.
The library is quiet, filled with the soft rustle of turning pages and the occasional whispered conversation. Han had initially intended to study, but the comfortable atmosphere and his persistent exhaustion soon lead him to doze off in his chair.
Who knows how long he slept.
Jay is absorbed in a game on his phone when he notices Han stirring from his sleep before abruptly sitting up straight, eyes wide as he looks around frantically searching for something.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Jay asked, pausing his game.
"He's..."
"Who?"
What is wrong, Han?" Jay pressed, concerned by his friend's agitation.
"Him," Han whispered, still scanning the area.
"What?" Jay responded in a hushed tone, still confused.
"I felt something," Han explained.
"Like what?" Jay prompted.
"I uhm..." Han struggled to explain the sensation.
"Ah, did you dream of him again as usual?" Jay guessed, trying to help.
"Yes," Han confirmed even though his gaze is still distant.
"What is it this time?" Jay asked.
"He was holding me. He's... it felt so real. It felt like he was actually here holding me," Han described, voice filled with wonder and confusion.
"Damn," Jay muttered, processing the information.
"What?" Han asked, turning his attention to his friend.
"That's... I don't know what to comment on that, bro. But maybe he's actually near," Jay suggested thoughtfully.
"You think so?" Han asked, hope rising in his chest.
"I'm not sure. I can never guess it. But maybe that feeling you felt is a sign that he's actually getting nearer and nearer to you, unlike before. Maybe you're about to meet him in person. Although I find your constant dreaming of a man you never recognize the name and face a little weird, I do believe in soulmates and destiny. So my guess is that the love of your dreams is about to be a reality soon," Jay explained, offering a perspective that both comforts and excites Han.
"Oh. If that is the case, then I'm the most excited to meet him," Han admitted as a genuine smile finally appeared on his face.
"Let's just hope that he's not straight… Bisexual, at least. Or maybe let's hope that you're his type so we wouldn't have to chug glass after glass of hard liquors on a random Tuesday night just because your supposed soulmate doesn't swing that way or is not into some loser kitty who wants its owner's attention all the time—"
"Are you really my friend?" Han interrupted him, looking playfully offended.
"What? I'm just giving you a reality check," Jay defended himself with a grin.
"It is much appreciated, but can you at least tell me something else?" Han requested, shaking his head at his friend's bluntness.
"Whatever, dude. Anyway, we need to go home, it's getting a little late," Jay said, pocketing his phone and standing up.
The library had grown quieter as evening approaches, the warm light from the desk lamps creating cozy pools of illumination in the gathering dusk.
"Right," Han agreed, gathering his scattered notebooks. The possibility that his dream man might be near has infused him with a strange mix of excitement and nervousness.
As they walk out of the library and into the cool evening air, Han found himself scanning the faces of passersby, as if he might somehow recognize the man in his dreams among the strangers.
Back at his small apartment, Han felt an unusual surge of motivation. He spent the evening cleaning and organizing his space.
Books were arranged alphabetically on shelves, surfaces were dusted, and floors were swept until they gleam.
In the bathroom, he took longer than his usual hot shower, letting the steam relax muscles he didn't realize were tense. Standing before his closet afterward, he then spent nearly an hour experimenting with different hairstyles, trying to find one that looks both natural and intentionally stylish.
As he prepared for bed that night, Han still felt a flutter of anticipation.
Could tonight be the night he finally learns his name? Could he, maybe… meet him sooner rather than later?
With these thoughts, he drifted off to sleep, hoping for answers.
The next morning, Han woke up with a sense of disorientation.
Something is missing.
As he blinked against the morning light filtering through his curtains, he realized what it is.
He didn't dream.
For the first time in years, his mysterious visitor didn't appear in his sleep, and that absence left a hollow feeling in his chest, like a song cut off before its final note.
He had a dreamless sleep.
Throughout the day at the university, Han's mind wandered away.
Even during his most engaging lectures, his thoughts drifted to the empty dreams of the previous night. He checked his phone repeatedly, expecting some sign or message that might explain the absence, but he found nothing.
Days passed in a blur of academic demands.
Final exams approaching, thesis defense preparations consuming his evenings, and pending assignments piling up on his desk.
The intensity of his studies left little time for dwelling on dreams, even when they do return. His mysterious visitor makes occasional appearances, but never with the clarity or intensity of previous encounters.
When the academic storm finally passes, Han found himself exhausted but free.
With his thesis defended and exams completed, he decides to treat himself to an afternoon at a café near his apartment. Jay would have joined him, but his friend still has some commitments to wrap up before the break truly begins.
The café is cozy and warm, filled with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the gentle hum of quiet conversations.
Han chose a corner table, settling in with a book he's been meaning to read for months but hasn't had time to start.
For a while, he simply enjoyed the atmosphere, sipping his coffee and watching the world outside through the large front window. However, halfway through his drink, the sky darkened unexpectedly.
Rain began to fall.
Han watched as people outside rush for cover, umbrellas suddenly appearing like colorful mushrooms sprouting on the sidewalk. He decided to wait out the downpour, ordering another coffee and settling deeper into his chair.
However, hours passed, but the rain shows no sign of letting up.
The café gradually emptied as other patrons found ways to leave or grow tired of waiting. When the evening began to approach and the rain still wouldn't stop pouring, Han decided he can't wait any longer.
Pulling up his hoodie and bracing himself, Han made a run for it.
The rain is colder than he expected, instantly soaking through his jacket and jeans. He headed toward the nearest waiting shed several blocks away even though his vision is obscured by the sheets of water cascading from the sky.
However, just as he's approaching the shelter, someone emerged from an adjacent alley, running in the same direction but clearly unable to see well through the downpour. Before Han could react, they collided… hard
The impact sent both of them tumbling to the wet pavement.
Han struggled to his feet, head spinning from the fall. He looked down to check on the person he bumped into, noting that the man is looking up at him with furrowed brows, but he doesn't speak, only trying his very best to stand up.
There's something strangely familiar about him, though Han can't quite place it through his disorientation.
And then the man reached toward Han's face with his hand, but before he can make contact, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed forward into Han's arms.
Han's shock is written all over his face, heart racing wildly as he struggled to support the unconscious man's weight while also recovering from the dizziness that hit him after the collision.
He did his best to regain his footing and hoist the man into a more manageable position. Though not particularly tall, the man has a solid build that made him difficult to carry.
After a few awkward attempts, Han managed to lift the unconscious man in his arms, muscles protesting at the unexpected strain.
The walk back to his apartment is arduous.
Each step feels heavier than the last as the rain continued to pour down, plastering Han's hair to his forehead and making his clothes cling uncomfortably to his skin. By the time he reached his building, his arms and back are aching, but the thought of leaving the unconscious man outside never even crossed his mind.
Inside his apartment, Han gently laid the man on his bed, taking care not to jostle him too much. The stranger's clothes are soaked through, and Han worries about him catching a chill. After a moment of hesitation, he decided the man would be more comfortable in dry clothes.
Finding something appropriate proves challenging since most of Han's clothes are too tailored to fit the stranger's broader frame. Eventually, he settled on a loose sweatshirt and a pair of comfortable sweatpants that should work well enough.
As he carefully changed the man's clothes, trying to preserve as much dignity as possible, Han couldn't help but notice how handsome he is… even if he's unconscious.
There's something about his features that seems strangely familiar, though Han can't quite place where he might have seen him before.
Once the man is dressed and tucked under the covers, Han took a quick shower himself, needing to warm up and change out of his own wet clothes. When he returned to his bedroom, he found himself unconsciously staring at the man's face, studying the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his eyelashes rest against his cheeks.
He just kept staring, unaware of tears running down his own cheeks.
When he finally realized, he quickly wiped them away and left the room, heading to the kitchen to prepare something for both of them to eat when the stranger wakes up.
While cooking a simple porridge, Han began to feel unusually heavy. A familiar ache settling in his bones, and he recognizes the symptoms of an impending illness, the same exhaustion and body weakness that often precedes a fever or cold.
By the time the porridge is ready, he feels particularly tired and weak.
When he returned to his bedroom to check on his guest, he found the man sitting up in bed, looking around with a confused expression.
The stranger noticed Han's approach immediately, his brow furrowing with concern.
"You're awake," Han said, voice softer than he intended.
"Yes. Oh my god, I'm really sorry! I was in a hurry, because I left my glasses in my car. The rain suddenly poured while I was heading back to the parking lot that's why I didn't see you," the man explained, sounding really apologetic.
"It's okay. Are you feeling alright? You collapsed pretty suddenly," Han asked, leaning against the doorframe for support.
The man ran a hand through his hair… a gesture that seems somehow familiar to Han.
"I think I just got overwhelmed. The rain and the running. Sometimes I really faint when I'm overexerted. I'm Cha Woongki, by the way. And I'm incredibly sorry for causing you trouble."
"I'm Park Han. And it's no trouble, really," Han responded, though he sways slightly as he speaks.
Woongki's expression shifted from apologetic to concerned. "You don't look so good. Are you okay?"
Before Han could answer, a wave of dizziness washed over him, forcing him to grip the doorframe more tightly. "I think... I might be getting sick," he admitted reluctantly.
"You should lie down and rest," Woongki insisted, already moving to get out of bed.
"No, no, you're the guest. I made some porridge if you're hungry," Han protested weakly.
"Nonsense. You took care of me, now it's my turn to take care of you. Where can I find the porridge?" Woongki asked, his tone leaving no room for argument.
After Han directed him to the kitchen, Woongki helped him into bed, pulling the covers up around him. "Just rest. I'll bring it you in a bit."
As Han drifted in and out of consciousness, he hears Woongki moving around his small apartment. The clatter of bowls, the gentle hum of the microwave, the soft sound of footsteps approaching and retreating. There's something comforting about these sounds, something that feels right and natural, as if this is how things should be.
When Woongki returned with two bowls of porridge, Han found he has little appetite but forced himself to eat a few spoonfuls at his companion's insistence.
The simple act of being cared for by this stranger feels surprisingly intimate, stirring emotions Han can't quite name.
Later that evening, when Han's fever has risen and his body aches too much that makes even breathing difficult, Woongki insisted on staying over. "I'll sleep on the couch," he assured Han when Han protested about taking his bed instead.
"You need proper rest, and you're my guest—"
“I'll sleep on the couch, Han."
Han still wanted to argue, but the effort feels too great.
He watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Woongki arranged pillows and blankets on the small couch in his living room, creating a makeshift bed that looks surprisingly comfortable.
"Try to get some sleep," Woongki said softly, leaning in the bedroom doorway. "I'll check on you in a bit."
Han nodded weakly, already drifting toward the welcome oblivion of sleep.
The last thing he saw before his eyes closed completely was Woongki's concerned face, illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp Han had forgotten to turn off.
Sleep didn't come easily. The fever created a landscape of fragmented dreams and uncomfortable sensations. Han found himself tossing and turning, unable to find a comfortable position despite his exhaustion. His body alternates between feeling too hot and too cold, and his mind raced with disconnected thoughts that makes no sense at all.
At some point in the middle of the night, a particularly intense chill seeped into his bones, causing him to shiver violently despite the warmth of his blankets. He curled into a tight ball, teeth chattering, feeling utterly miserable and alone in his discomfort.
The soft click of his bedroom door opening barely registered through his fever-induced haze. A moment later, he felt a cool hand gently press against his forehead.
"Han? Are you okay?" Woongki's voice is quiet but clear in the darkness.
"So cold," Han managed to whisper, voice barely audible.
Woongki disappeared briefly, returning with a glass of water and what Han recognized as fever medication from his cabinet.
"Here, sit up a bit. This should help."
With Woongki's assistance, Han managed to swallow the pill and drink some water. The effort left him trembling and weak, but the presence of another person, this kind stranger who has somehow become his caretaker, actually comforted him.
As Woongki helped him settle back against the pillows, Han found himself reaching out, fingers curling around the fabric of Woongki's sleeve.
"Stay," he whispered, the request emerging from some deeper part of himself that recognizes this man as someone safe and comforting.
Woongki hesitated for only a moment before carefully sitting on the edge of the bed. "I'm here," he said softly while leaning closer to Han.
Han shifted closer, seeking the warmth of another body. His head found its way to Woongki's shoulder, and his arm draped across Woongki's waist in a half-hug, half-leaning position that feels both vulnerable and secure. Rather than pulling away, Woongki settled more comfortably against the headboard, one arm coming around Han's shoulders while his other hand began to gently stroke Han's hair.
The motion is soothing, and Han could feel his tensed muscles begin to relax. The fever still rages, but Woongki's presence helped him.
Through the fog of sickness, Han can hear Woongki speaking softly, though the words blur together into a comforting melody that lulls him toward sleep.
"It's okay, Hani. Just rest. I've got you," Woongki murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
The nickname cut through the fever haze like a beam of light, startling Han into partial awareness.
Hani.
That's what the man in his dreams calls him. The coincidence strikes him as significant, but his illness-addled brain couldn't quite process the implications before sleep claims him again.
This time, his dreams are different. Instead of the familiar landscapes he usually visits with his mysterious companion, he found himself floating in a warm, peaceful darkness. The man is there too, his presence more vivid than ever before. Han can see his face clearly. The gentle curve of his smile, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, and the soft texture of his hair.
They're sitting together in a garden that glows with soft light, just like in his very first dream of this stranger.
"You found me," the man said, voice exactly as Han remembers it, warm and gentle, like honey and rain.
"I've been looking for you," Han replied, surprised by how clear his own voice sounds in this dreamscape.
"I've been waiting," the man responded, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from Han's forehead. "It took you longer than I expected, but you're here now."
The man leaned closer, eyes holding galaxies of their own, just as Han remembers from that first dream. "I have something to tell you, Hani. Something important."
Han held his breath, waiting for the revelation that has eluded him for years.
"My name is—" the man said, but just as he's about to speak the words Han has longed to hear, the dream began to fade.
"No, don't go!" Han cried out, reaching for the man as the dream dissolved around them.
"Han? Han, wake up! Hey," a familiar voice penetrated the fading dream.
Han's eyes fluttered open to find Woongki leaning over him, concern etched on his features.
The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow in the room.
For a moment, Han is disoriented, caught between the dream world and reality.
"You were having a nightmare," Woongki explained, hand still resting on Han's forehead. "Your fever seems to have broken, though. That's good."
As Han's awareness gradually returns, he realizes two things. First, that he can still clearly remember the face of the man from his dreams. Every detail, every feature, every expression. Second, that the face he remembers with such perfect clarity now is exactly the same as the man currently looking down at him with concern.
The resemblance is uncanny… impossible!
It's more than coincidence. It's as if the man from his dreams has materialized in his bed. Han's breath catched in his throat, heart beginning to race with a mixture of shock, wonder, and dawning realization.
Woongki noticed his reaction, his brow furrowing with concern. "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Han opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. How can he explain the impossible connection he feels to this man he just met yesterday?
How is he supposed to take in the years of dreams, the sketches, and the longing, only to have the object of his subconscious desire suddenly appear in his life in the least ordinary of circumstances?
As he continued to stare at Woongki's face, so familiar yet so new, Han's mind raced to make sense of it all.
The nickname, the feeling of safety and comfort, and the sense of having known this man forever despite their brief acquaintance.
It all clicked into place with a suddenness that left him almost breathless.
The only problem now is that Woongki doesn't seem to feel the same way, even though he is unusually so fine with staying over a stranger's house.
Han reached up to touch Woongki's cheek, needing to confirm that this is real, that he's awake.
I think… I dreamed you into life.