Song: Endlessly - Duffy

Character: Sehun x reader

Wordcount: 1668

Rating: G

Warnings: None

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He is the space between daring and darling and no matter how hard you try, you just can't pin him down. But god does he know how to pin you. With his hand curling around your neck and his lips taking, no, stealing your breath away, you can't help but succumb to his voltage induced touches. They create electric currants which surge through your veins and spark your heart, and you wonder how you can feel so alive in a place that isn't real. 

You count the number of times he his lips in a minute, one or maybe two you note. You keep a tally of many nights there are dedicated to his lulling smiles and alluring eyes. You spend five, sometimes ten, minutes every morning savoring the tingling traces his hands painted over your body, or haven't painted. 

Because you have fallen in love with reverie, a dream, and for a handful of forevers each night, you can pretend that in the dips of his collarbones and secured inbetween the curve of his wrists is where you belong. Then you wake up and the world snaps back in crystal clear focus, needle-sharp and definitely painful.

It started off as a few flashes of his raven hair between the blurring lines of dreams and reality. Next you heard his strong laugh buzzing through your subconciousness, followed by a glimpse of his amazingly broad shoulders and long statue. After weeks of peering at this striking backside, you started getting used to the idea that the mystery boy in your dreams was going to remain faceless, so you contented yourself with drinking in the motioning lines of his back muscles whenever he moved his arms. You observed the way his head tilted in such a way that the curve lining his neck and shoulders created the perfect arc, and your lips had never wanted anything so badly before. His slim legs went on for miles and they composed the most gorgeous contrast against his wide chest. He was the most enchanting silhouette you had ever had the pleasure to dream of, and if that was all you were going to get, then you had already asked for too much.

But he turned around, and you swore you had never had more a beautiful dream.

You look for him in the streets, between the crevices of buildings, underneath the pounding foot steps on concrete in a place where subway trains come and go like he does every night. But you don't have to search, for he is already there in all of the things you do. People say you look happier, healthier, glowing, but what they really see are the remnants of him left in your eyes still glistening like the stars that had watched and burned for you two each night. Now you only fall asleep to dream and you search for him because he is no longer a comfort; he is a necessity. And when everyone else looks like a wrong answer, he is your best guess. Because how can he be wrong, if he does not even exist?

The most vivid and brilliant memory you have of him is when he touched you for the first time. His long fingers reached out for your small, quivering hand and knitted them together, caressing your knuckles and the valleys between them, filling them with him. His touch made your breath hitch and crawl down you spine, edge itself in the space between of your heart and the arch of your ribs, preventing you from breathing normally. That time you swore you wouldn't wake up. The warmth of his hand, the gentle pressured of his thumb, the temperate breaths fanning over your cheeks—how could it just have been a dream?

You wake up, the weather outside illuminating your room in a gloomy sheet of reality, and you savor the few seconds before waking up from the hazy limbo between imagination and substance. The disappointement from realization becomes more manageable each morning and the amount of minutes between getting out of bed and turning on your coffee machine keeps decreasing steadily. With a robe cloaked over your body and a coffee stained cup in your grip, you lean against the counter with folded arms whilst your eyes monitor the path of raindrops cascading down your balcony window. It is Saturday and your body feels unusally heavy. The sound of your door bell pierces through your ears and it snaps you out of a daze, quite like your alarm clock does on weekdays. Your slipper-clad feet drag themselves against the floor and the sound mixed with the pitter patter of rain against glass echoes through the apartement.

You almost drop your cup when you see him standing on the other side of the door.

Your eyes seem to be the only functioning part in your body, and they scan him over. He stand before you in all his glory, bed head ruffled on top of his head, long limbs draped in sweats, a t-shirt and a sleepy smile curving on his pink lips. He has his hands in his pockets, making his shoulders slouch a bit and you swear your heart stops.

"Good morning, I'm Sehun. I just moved in next door-" You notice the slight lisp when he pronunces the s's and it makes you want to grab his cheeks and interrupt him with your lips. "-and I was wondering if I could borrow some sugar?"

You decide to play along and you thank your wonderful imagination for projecting a voice as divine as his. He hasn't been the boy next door yet in your dreams, and you curse yourself from the cliche "borrowing sugar" excuse your subconciousness has picked up from watching too much tv. You release the breath you are holding and invite him inside. This is the first time he tells you his name so you run it along your tongue, relishing the taste, and you decide that it suits him perfectly. But why was he asking for sugar when he could just his lips?

You hear him laugh a loud, booming symphony that plays your heartstrings like a harp, and that is when you realize, your tongue is way too connected to your thoughts. The last thing you want to do is wake up from a dream where he is present in, but you've never made a complete fool out of yourself around him before either and you discover that today holds a lot of firsts. With a flaming red face and a mutter of apologies pouring out of your mouth like a broken record, you shuffle over to your cabinets to retrieve the sugar in order to get him and his silent snickers out of your apartment. You catch his amused eyes when your weekend alarm rings you are absolutely mortified. The force of gravity seems to have quadrupled and it roots you to the ground. It nails you down and prevents you escaping the very real sound of your alarm clock which seemingly increases with every beat of your heart. You squeeze your eyes shut until colorful phosphenes cloud your sight and you have never so desperately wanted to see your nondescript, eggshell white bedroom ceiling before. Panic claws it's way up your spine, hope puddles around your feet. You are awake, everything that has just happened isn't a dream and the crease of confusion knitted between his eyebrows is very much real.

That is the first time he confirmed your gift.

The second time is when you let out a loud laugh and push yourself off of his body with a look. "Your hand is treading into dangerous grounds and I suggest you control it before it gets replaced with a hook. Take me on date first would you?" He blinks up at you, his lips curve themselves devilishly and you know you'd sin for his smile. "I already have. Several times actually," you freeze, still on top of his toned stomach, and you feel his heart under your palm. The air in your living room starts to dissipate and you are struggling to keep your breath even. "There was last Wednesday, we went for coffee remember? And the week before that we-" The sound of a slap on his shoulder bounces off the walls and you fall on top of him once more when he defends himself. "Okay, let's pretend they were real dates," you huff, as you sit up again and drag a hand trough your hair. "We should at least have kissed, pretty boy." 

You know he doesn't get the joke when his arm belts around your waist and his free hand finds your neck and draws you down. 

"Let me fix that," he breathes, and stops his lips a millimetre away from yours just in case you want to pull back. The barely existing gap between you and him chars your lips like fire so you press yours against his to put it out. He kisses you back until both of your lungs are burning, and you think there couldn't be a more beautiful way to die. But neither of you are ready to leave each other just yet, so you pull back more lightheaded and in love than you've ever been. 

"I couldn't get tired of this even if i wanted to," he says, between soft pecks and deep, slow kisses. "Good," you smile against his lips and you realize, this was just how you imagined it. And you kiss once for every star in the sky.

The third time he verifies your ability, you are wrapped in tulle and silk and looking into his gleaming eyes across the room. You are walking in small steps down the aisle and you feel a hot tear run down your cheek and drip off your chin. It is just how you imagined it, and you can't care less.

Because this time, you aren't waking up.