He visited me in dreams.

The first time I saw him, I screamed until I couldn’t breath properly. Holding my blankets like a fortress that couldn’t be penetrated by his presence. He stood silent. An ethereal vision, only studying me with bright eyes. I thought I had become crazy after all those endless nights without proper sleep. I convinced myself those visions were the terrible result of mixing cafeine with sleeping pills. But he didn’t go away. He claimed my dreams as his favorite place. Sometimes he stood quite, balancing on his feet. Other nights he danced around, running and looking up at an imaginary sky. And sometimes, as if he was tired and bored of my uncreative dreams, he sat in the middle of a vast field and looked directly at me.

And then he spoke.

It was difficult then to distinguish between reality and dreams. I never could define what things my dreams have told me and what things the real him had spoke to me. Before he spoke in my dreams it was easy to pretend it was normal, to dream of him every night. But once his soft, tender voice started talking at me during my nights, it became difficult for me to focus. And even more to look directly at the real him and pretend he wasn’t there even when he wasn’t supposed to be.

The things he spoke about where confusing. Sometimes he rambled, like the real him used to do. Never shuting up or giving enough space for me to add a word in our one-sided conversations. Other times he frowned and shook his head, my clue to fill the strange silence of my etheral dreams. He talked one minute about flowers and the next he talked about the earth and the stars and destiny.

But then he became more violent. Asking questions about me and not giving up until he found the answer. I didn’t have to talk, it was as if he could, in his ethereal existence, crawl around my mind and grasp the answers before I could hid them beneath. He wanted revelations about myself. And he always got them with a proud smile on his face.

He knew about my desperation. He knew about my depression. He knew about my self-deprecating thoughts and beliefs. And sometimes, when I woke up and had to climb onto our car with the real him beside me, I felt his stare and wondered if he knew too. My dreams were making me closer to someone I barely spoke during the time I was awake. It became disturbing not to be able to set frontiers about who was who. Who was the one I was close to, who was the one who knew me as deeply as the man in my dreams did?

And then he touched me.

I was particulary tired that night. And maybe he noticed, maybe he only felt my defenses lowered than usual. The thing was that he stood up from the dreamy grass and approached to where I was. He ran his fingers through my hair and murmured to my ear.

“All will be fine.”

Those words became the words I whispered from then on during the times I was more desperate or stressed. Sometimes the real him looked at me confused. One time he even asked what was what I had said intrigued, maybe even shocked. And a blush crept over my face and I muttered “It’s nothing” and closed my eyes.

He starting touching me with more frequency. Always running fingers though my hair, singing lullabies and whispering soothing words to my fears. One time I grasped his hand and didn’t let go. That morning I woke up more rested than ever. And as if conscious about the weirdness of my dreams, I started noticing the real him always around me. Close, too close. During our rides to concerts, during our times of make up, he always was around. Either typing furiously on his phone, listening to music or making jokes with the staff. His eyes and mine always met in one way or another. And I noticed the small smile he always gave to me, so similar to the one the man of my dream drew every night. I blushed and looked away.

The night after the news of me breaking up with her, he kissed me.

His smile was brighter. The shadows and colors of my dream had changed and were more powerful, shining with strength, coloring everything with hints of blue and green. As if he had been waiting for me, he ran the moment he saw me arrive. His arms tightened around my waist and I felt him pull me closer. He was shaking. I didn’t ask and he never explained why, but he was crying. And yet he found my face, his eyes beamed with hope and our lips met. I was gasthly, like kissing a ghost. And I wished, for the first time, I was awake. I wanted to be awake, but I wanted him to be there with me.

We talked. He seemed distracted. Looking around, as if he was scared I would wake up at any second and leave him. I caressed his soft skin and whispered to his sadness.

“I’ll come back to you.”

He cried harder. And I didn’t know what to do to stop the tears and the shaking of his shoulders. I woke up feeling disturbed. I wasn’t sure one could feel sadness so strongly in a dream.

The real him was there when I left the apartment. Sitting on his side of the car, covering his eyes with dark shades. It wasn’t until the staff asked him to take those off that I saw the shadows under his eyes. He looked tired, his shoulders slumped. I asked him if everything was fine. He said yes and avoided my eyes. I worried for him as I worried for the one in my dreams. Why were the both of them falling like this?

The next night his eyes didn’t cry, but his face was heartbroken. I received him between my arms and cooed him. For the first time, he fell asleep on my dream. I wondered what a dream within a dream felt like. It all seem bizarre to me, and yet it was addicting. My dreams had became addicting. His presence, so close to me, was addicting.

And suddenly he asked me, during one of those dreams in which we would run around the field that had became our private place. He asked avoiding my eyes.

“Will you love me?”

I didn’t answer but grabbed his hand and kept running. The answer forgotten. His eyes seemed dissapointed but he said nothing and followed me. His hair disheveled by the wind. Maybe he noticed the idea creeping in my head. He smiled. He had my answer.

The next morning the real him wasn’t waiting for me on the car as usual. I asked for him. He said he had left the apartment before me. I scowled in anger and slammed the door closed. I saw him, looking at me from the reflection of the mirrors. Before he could escape, I grabbed him and slammed him on the wall. I became confused. Was I dreaming or was I awake? I felt the need to touch his face, for him to smile as the one in my dreams did.

“Don’t ever leave without me again.”

His eyes widened and my eyes wandered down to his lips. It could be so easy as it was in my dreams. By instinct, I moved closer. He didn’t move away. We looked at each other for a long time until I pulled away. His eyes fell down.

He wasn’t there that night. I waited for him but he never showed up. The green field was silent and desert. I woke up angrier than usual. All of them noticed. He noticed. He intercepted me and asked me in the same soft voice I dreamt about.

“Are you ok? All will be fine.”

I looked at him in shock. I asked him to repeat what he had just said. He drew back, eyes scared, and he bit his lip. He didn’t say it again. I moved closer and pushed him to the wall. Again his lips, again his eyes were there, tempting me like they did in my dreams. I ran my tongue over my lips. I prayed for control. My fingers ran over his skin. He shivered under my weight. And as soon as it started, I pushed away once more and ran. I knew then that I had lost my mind. I had totally lost my mind.

He was there that night, but his eyes were fierce and his hands fisted. I tried to approach to where he was but he shook his head. There were tears, furious tears running down his cheeks.

“Coward. You are a coward.”

I shook my head. I gulped. I tried to answer back. There was no strength in me. My knees gave up and I touched the ground.

“Coward! You stupid coward!”

The fiel started spinning around. Colors blended with each other and his face became distorted, what had been his eyes now were black lines. All of him vanishing from existence. I woke up. His voice was still there.

“ing coward!”

With a jerk I opened my eyes. Seungri was there, lying on my bed by my side. His hair covering his face which was hidding over my chest. His hand grabbing tightly onto my clothes.

“Stupid coward.”

He cried without stop until he fell asleep, never noticing I was awake. And then, right there, I understood. I held him tight and let myself, for the first time, cry outside of my dreams. I saw him, I felt him, real and close.

My Seungri had visited me all this time in my dreams.

This one is quick. Hope you enjoyed it. Leave a comment, I enjoy those. =)