He's been dreaming of that boy ever since he could remember. In grade school he really never thought much of it, but as he eventually moved on to junior high then high school he began to feel as though something wasn't right. It wasn't the same dream every night, no. Rather, it was just similar. They were always in a bed, him and that boy. Most of the time the boy would be sleeping and he'd find himself caressing his pale face and making sure each and every dark hair was in place. When the boy was awake he'd reach out to the side of Jongin's face. His eyes shone like stars as he'd and his plump lips would stretch into a small smile. Jongin was entranced all of the boy's curves, lines, expressions and touches. He was like a holy being meant to be protected from all of the world's evils. Though as soon as Jongin opened his eyes, the boy was gone. Even in the waking hours he longed for the boy with doe-like eyes and small, nimble fingers that plagued his dreams.

Jongin would spend his conscious hours drawing. He drew the boy whom he couldn't see while his eyes were open. A majority of the walls in his apartment were filled with many different portraits of his dream boy. Whatever Jongin had dreamed the night before was what he filled each piece of paper with. In a variety of different methods he captured the boy's beauty. There were watercolours drying on a line that threaded through his home, all of which were what he'd seen the boy do. Charcoal drawings littered his kitchen and living room, capturing his captivating looks in dark lines and smudges. Pencil sketches sprawled across his desk in an effort to quickly remind Jongin of his dream. A variety of digital work also hung around his bed and clouded his computer in an effort to expand his abilities to further compliment his boy. He began a blog to chronicle each and every piece of artwork that he produced. He gained money this way, and was able to get by. A part of him hoped that through this blog he'd be able to meet the boy. He'd heard many stories of people being reunited through the power of the internet, and every fibre of his being hoped that he would have the same luck. All his life Jongin had been in love with this boy, and he wanted nothing more than see him outside of his subconscious.

The keys on his knock-off used laptop were smudged will all sorts of materials that he'd use to do his artwork. As he typed in the URL to his blog he could feel his fingers beginning to get coated in the grime on his keyboard. He'd clean that later. First, he needed to upload his newest piece. It was a sketch, for he always started the day off with a rough pencil sketch, but this one was different. In last night's dream the boy had been sleeping as he had for the last few nights. He was wrapped in the bronze satin of the sheets, breaths even. Jongin watched him, an arm behind his head so he would be able to see his beauty even whilst he was asleep. On most nights the boy would be spread out and look peaceful, but that night he was drawn into himself with his hands held close to his body. His fingers grabbed at the sheets, and Jongin knew his dreams weren't pleasant. Hesitantly, Jongin reached his hand over the boy's back before he settled his fingers with the other's. Soon the boy's fidgeting lessened to almost nothing and Jongin could feel the smile that was sweet on his lips. He captured the innocence of his boy's form in the graphite of his pencil. His body was still drawn in to itself, but it seemed more calm, more at peace. The corner of his lips were drawn up in the smallest of smiles and his small fingers were still tangled with Jongin's, perhaps giving him that smallest bit of satisfaction that his lips illustrated.

Within seconds he received feedback. "Amazing as always!", "i rlly like this one", "Is that your hand", "how do you come up with this stuff?". They were all well intentioned and kind, yet he couldn't find himself being thankful for the praise. There were critics who wanted him to draw other things like models and landscapes, but he couldn't. All he could draw was what he dreamt. Some would call him useless while others would call him committed. He couldn't care less. "You'll never find him!" were some comments he could do without. They made the anxiety within him bubble up until he burst. Hours of heavy drinking would follow and he'd find himself almost in tears out of a need for the small boy in his dreams. Later he had been rummaging through his cabinets for that bottle of pills he'd hidden after his last episode. He'd down at least two more than he should before he would pass out, hunched over his small kitchen counter. For what felt like hours longer than usual, he'd be able to watch his love, his boy, sleep. Inside of his dreams he was happy and normal and he had at least someone. Days like this didn't happen often, thankfully.

Warmth encircled him as woke in a bed that he'd been seeing since infancy. Despite moving several times and never once owning a bed or sheets like that he was always able to come back to that one bed staged in the room of his subconscious. It was a constant that he almost couldn't live without. The mattress was the most comfortable thing he'd ever laid on, because even though he wasn't truly laying on it the way it gave underneath his weight and greeted him when he rolled over had him aching for a bed like it in his apartment. On the mattress was an expensive set of sheets that he wouldn't mind owning. The way the threads were woven made him sure they were soft (sometimes he swore that he could feel them) and the way they enveloped his partner in their silky fibres always caused him to smile. Their bronze colour was an absolute contrast to his alabaster skin. He always had a sort of look about him, even when sleeping, that set a fire in Jongin's heart. It made Jongin want to squish those round cheeks and touch those full lips with his own. There was no questioning it. Jongin had fallen hard and there was no way he could get up.