i bet you all thought it was a oneshot e u e

it's not.

happy birthday, pimpchan

雨の日には夢を見る
The dream I see is a rainy day

あの日あの場所、走って来る君を見て
That day, that place, I see you come running

君に駆けつける夢
I rush to you in the dream

捕まえたいのに 、捕まえられない
Though I want to catch you, I don’t

君に届かずに私は 、夢の中でも君は
I fall short of you, the you in the dream

僕の肩に触れる雨より
From the rain hitting my shoulder

もっと冷たかった
It’s cold

雨が降る
The rain is falling

あの日のように
Like that day

君を送ったが、送れなかった
I sent you off, but I didn’t say farewell

三年前　あの日のように
Like that day three years ago

It’s a recurring nightmare.

Himchan sits at that back table in the café, staring out the window and waiting, until he finally sees you come running to him and you walk through the door and approach him.

Your mouth moves, but nothing comes out, and he can comprehend nothing, he still comprehends nothing, even after you’ve turned and left him alone, standing, frozen.

Everything is dark, so dark, except for you, light radiating off of your form dimly while Himchan bolts out the door and runs.

Runs and runs and runs, until his breath runs out or he trips and falls or his legs just stop moving (it varies from time to time—today is one of the days where he falls, invisible gravel scraping his cheek and the wind knocked out of him from the impact), his arm forever outstretched, but he never catches up, his fingers clenching around naught but thin air, your form vaporizing the moment his fist closes.

And then he wakes, heart pounding and chest heaving, his eyes wide open as he grasps the bedsheets, your name on his lips like it’s the only thing that can save him from losing everything.

Ironic, he always realizes, because you were the one who led him down this path of destruction.

It’s raining today, and Himchan laughs dryly as he stares out the window next to his bed—the sky is still dark (his phone helpfully supplies that it’s just past four in the morning) and the rain is just beginning, the sound of the drops few and far between, but he knows that it’ll pick up soon enough.

It always does after these dreams.

It’s cold, like all early mornings are, and he buries himself back into the blankets, but makes no effort to fall back asleep; many a futile effort have taught him that no matter how hard he tries, his body will never ease itself back into slumber after those dreams. He stares at the ceiling, his eyes h