His Name

obviously baekhyun-centric; the italicized he/him/his pertains to the stranger baekhyun meets. i hope you gaiiiis get it. ;~; and comments will be loved.

The first time he dreamt of him, he had a long day at work.

Sales were drastically declining for their best seller product, paper work piling at his office desk left untouched, angry customers complaining that no, this wasn't how this worked before!, asking reimbursement or I'll file a lawsuit and sue your company for this lack of professionalism.

No, actually, it was more complicated than that.

Tears clouded his vision then, emotional turmoil creeping up in ways unexplainable as the translucent liquid buds out from his eyes, waiting for its turn to cascade down like waterfalls on his

cheeks,

jaw,

chin,

neck,

and the section where his collarbones meet as his shoulders sag and he's sobbing into his hands.

It felt like failure at its best and it still does.

Anyway, that was also the day he set his eyes on the dreamcatcher hanging loose by his window. He was most captivated when he'd seen it in an antique shop, its pattern of thread intricately woven inside the round brown willow hoop with three feathers delicately stringed at the bottom.

Baekhyun first steps in an eerily familiar convenience store. The one down his apartment. His almost always go to when he couldn't be bothered to drive further in town for the supermarket. The sun is shining brightly that he squints his eyes when he looks at its direction. He almost feels the scorching heat lightly

just very lightly

grazing his skin.

It's a sign anyway that it's in the morning when it happens, when he walks through the sliding door and his gaze falls on a stranger crouched near the fridge of a variety of beverages perfectly aligned in rows. He doesn't know who he is, doesn't know why he's looking at him, but he's drawn to him and he's walking nearer

and nearer

until he looks down and notices the white and black patterned tiles like ones on a chess board.

He could make out what looks like an energy drink firmly held by the hands of the stranger when he looks up again. He notices his side profile, his jet black hair, his pale-colored skin contrasting to the color of his hair, the way the sun glistens on his black rimmed glasses—exactly at what angle it reflects on.

The man is walking.

The man is sideways on his view, gracefully gliding toward the counter. To pay for his drinks, maybe.

But he couldn't make out his eyes, probably a beautiful pair hiding beneath black rimmed glasses. He couldn't make out his nose and how they probably would look the perfect level.

So he balances on the balls of his feet and toes. He's desperate to see his face, even just a glimpse.

But then it ends there,

wraps up abruptly,

and he never gets to see the man's face clearly. He wants to, he'd like to, but his feet are stopping him,

won't let him continue,

won't let him walk nearer.

There's an invisible boundary he couldn't get over.

He tells himself that maybe he's a new employee, so he asks Kyungsoo when he comes to work the next day.

"Kyungsoo," he starts out slow, tapping his fingers on his desk, peering over at his friend's work cubicle. "Is there a new employee? Pale-skinned, jet-black hair, rimmed glasses?"

"No."

Work was a bit hectic, so he doesn't pry further, and continue asking silly questions about a man that probably doesn't exist.

They've somehow pacified the situation from a week back and the sales were back to normal, only a little shaky because damage control can only do so much.

But the answer he received was enough to keep him hoping. That someday their paths may cross and he would meet the mysterious stranger.

So he meets him again a week after.

He sees a familiar physique in his peripheral view as he's typing up paper work.

This week's setting is in the office: a spacious room enclosed in glass, it's ceiling decorated with fluorescent lights, work cubicles each with mahogany desks and desktop computers, and a carpeted floor. Only that the work place is a clutter of thin strips of paper here and there—the shredder may or may not be broken at this point.

"Hey," he hears, deep and velvety in tone.

He cranes his neck to the side, watches the stranger wave at him and walk nearer

and nearer

over where he is this time.

He notices the same jet black hair, his pale-colored skin, his black rimmed glasses, and he is tall is his conclusion before he could even make out a clearer view of his face again.

The telephone line is bursting with life.

He needs to wake up.

"Is there really no new employee?"

"No, Byun Baekhyun," Kyungsoo assures him firmly. "If there was, you'd have to meet him one way or the other."

"But I saw him. I was at the office. Yesterday he was here. He waved at me. I couldn't see his face clearly, though."

"Ah, I left while you were sleeping," Kyungsoo remembers. "You must have been dreaming."

On the third week he dreams of him, he had a fight with his mother about quitting his job when he spontaneously visits their home. She said it's not doing him any good (his work, she means) and that the company he's working for is almost always in the news and particularly not in a positive light either.

He has to agree she was telling the truth, but counters that it pays well and provides him for the most part.

She says they're bound to go bankrupt anytime soon, but of course he thinks that he won't let that happen.

Not now.

Not when things were finally doing well with the sales again.

Not when he hasn't yet met the stranger he still tells himself is a new employee.

The view is like a movie. Like he's in a movie with the man he still couldn't see clearly the face of.

They're out in a patch of grassland with the sun's rays shining down on them, blessing them with its presence.

They look more intimate now, more comfortable in each other's arms that it feels as though things have escalated so quickly. This time Baekhyun is not looking through his own pair of eyes. He's much farther, his view a little blurred by soft lights as he watches himself sitting on the grass field and on his lap lies the head of the mysterious stranger.

They look happy.

They are laughing.

He runs his hand through his jet black hair.

He sees himself smiling. Maybe he popped a joke or two, but he doesn't know.

He watches himself reach a hand out to cover the eyes of the man lying on his lap.

He knows his dream self is teasing him, because he still couldn't see his face.

But now he could make out pearly whites and the contours of his lips, pouty and a full shade of pink

He wakes up to a beautiful and brand new morning.

The next week, he's bored and out of his mind when he enters his room and free falls on his soft queen-sized bed. He drifts off to sleep splayed out in a position he couldn't figure—(he doesn't care) and the last thing he thinks of is dreaming about him and he does.

It starts from where his first dream with him in it stopped.

They're in that convenience store. The sun is still up the way it was then.

His back is still facing him as he pays for his energy drinks.

This time, he could walk nearer and step slowly and carefully on the white and black checkered tiles.

There's still a spark of light reflected in his glasses as he turns around and finally meets his gaze and they stare at each other for even a while.

Now he could make out his eyes, a touch of curiosity in them as he stares back.

He silently celebrates in victory when he makes out that his nose is perfectly leveled as well like what he had in mind.

The stranger smiles at him, a crinkle in the corners of his eyes and a lovely twitch that makes the other eye look slightly smaller.

He's offered a hand, probably for a handshake when the man speaks, "Hi, I'm—"

He opens his eyes to the sight of his mother peering down at him just like she does on weekends when she brings food over.

On the fifth week, his boss gets angry at him and yells at him for the damage he caused apparently four weeks ago. All his co-workers were witness to this: to every word, to every tone, harsh and powerful that were exchanged between them.

Embarrassment eats him at his core as his boss stalks off. His hands are shaking with anger. It's his only way to stop himself from doing something rash—something he may regret doing later on.

His boss doesn't fire him and only told him to do his job better, albeit in a commandeering and bossy voice that was witness to his co-workers.

But he might as well be. Get fired, that is.

That night, to make things worst, he gets a paper cut out of one of his office files after skimming through them.

He sleeps with thoughts about dreaming about him.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he wakes up with a sharp pain on his hand.

The pain stings.

It's heightened even more by the fact that he couldn't see his face for the second time.

So he tries sleeping again

and again

and again,

but he doesn't see him anymore than he already has.

It's been a few weeks since he's been dreaming so vividly, he swears to Kyungsoo they're not just random fragments created by his imagination. It was real. He saw him in full, from head to toe. He remembers exactly where the sun shone on his glasses and how his face was illuminated by the blinding morning light the first night. How he saw himself threading his fingers in his jet black hair on the third.

He remembers his eyes, twitch and all, and his perfectly leveled nose.

His teeth a set of pearly whites and his lips a shade of pink, pouty and full in form.

He remembers.

But then the dreams just had to stop.

Right when he was introducing himself too, telling him his name.

It feels like failure.

Now Baekhyun steps in the convenience store down his apartment—he's running out of supplies. The sun is shining brightly that he squints his eyes when he looks at its direction. He almost feels the scorching heat lightly

just very lightly

grazing his skin.

It's a sign anyway that it's in the morning, when he walks through the sliding door and his gaze falls on a stranger crouched near the fridge of a variety of beverages perfectly aligned in rows. He doesn't know who he is, doesn't know why he's looking at him, but he's drawn to him and he's walking nearer

and nearer

until he looks down and notices the white and black patterned tiles like ones on a chess board.

Like how it was in his dream.

He could make out what looks like an energy drink firmly held by the hands of the stranger when he looks up again. He notices his side profile, his jet black hair, his pale-colored skin contrasting to the color of his hair, the way the sun glistens on his black rimmed glasses—exactly at what angle it reflects on.

The man is walking.

The man is sideways on his view, gracefully gliding toward the counter.

But he couldn't make out his eyes—(not yet, at least), but probably a beautiful pair hiding beneath black rimmed glasses. He couldn't make out his nose—(not yet, too), and how they probably would look the perfect level.

So he balances on the balls of his feet and toes. He's desperate to see his face, even just a glimpse.

To know if he's the one he's looking for.

To know if he's the one gracing his dreams for weeks now, not until it stopped anyway.

But this time he walks nearer

and nearer

and nearer.

This time there's no invisible boundary he couldn't get over.

There's still a spark of light reflected in his glasses as he turns around and finally meets his gaze.

Now he could make out his eyes, a touch of curiosity in them as he stares back.

Just like he knew.

He silently celebrates in victory when he makes out that his nose is perfectly leveled as well like what he had in mind.

Like what he saw in his state of dreaming.

The stranger smiles at him, a crinkle in the corners of his eyes and a lovely twitch that makes the other eye look slightly smaller. His teeth a set of pearly whites and his lips the same shade of pink, pouty and full.

Baekhyun remembers every detail.

He's offered a hand, probably for a handshake when the man speaks, "Hi, I'm Chanyeol. Park Chanyeol," deep and velvety in tone like he remembers.

When he finally clasps his hand with Chanyeol's own in a handshake, flashes of his dreams for the past few weeks come and go.

They come in spurts, flying in and away,

but this time the stranger is right in front of him and he knows

his name is Chanyeol.

He knows it's real.