OBE - Out of Body Experience; the experience of observing yourself from an external perspective as though your soul has been distached from your body. 

 

“What is reality even?” As soon as those syllables escaped Taeil’s mouth, Kyung hissed out a sigh. This had to be the nineteenth time this week his best friend brought up his newest topic in psychology class. There was no desire to stop him there though, Kyung would much rather listen to Taeil’s rambling then focus on Mr. Cha lecture about human geography at the front of the classroom. So, the younger rested his chin in his palm, letting his eyes flutter closed as he mentally prepared for the endless rant that was to come.

 

“Is it just electrical impulses interpreted by your brain?” he whispered, trying not to draw attention from the teacher. “If so, then what’s the difference between real life and dreaming? Tell me, Kyung.”

 

Kyung heaved out another sigh. It was his senior year and Taeil was his only friend he made during his high school experience (he was beginning to regret that fact). And although the older tended to get on his nerves more often than not, it was better than being completely alone. That being said, it was more of a “I’m a -out-of-luck loser with no one to eat with at lunch” than a friendship, but he wasn’t complaining. Taeil was a nice guy, now that Kyung thought about it. He was seemingly the only boy in school who didn’t either ignore him or pay him too much attention by giving him a bloody nose on Wednesdays. Just kidding, that’s terribly cruel.

 

It’s usually on Mondays.

 

But Kyung guessed that’s the consequence of being the only out-of-the-closet male in probably the whole system. There had to be more, he was sure, but he’s the only one that was discovered. Luck has never been on his side.

 

“Hello?” Taeil said, trying to snap Kyung from his thoughts which in turn, caused Mr. Cha’s eyes to dart to the corner of the room the two sat in. Taeil’s face flushed the color of cherries before he tucked his chin into his chest in embarrassment. He wasn’t much of a troublemaker.  

 

 “Truthfully, I could care less.” Kyung finally replied as he flicked his ebony hair to the side in an attempt to be cool. He ended up popping his neck, but he tried to mask his cringe and continue on with the conversation.

 

“Couldn’t,” Taeil corrected him. “If you could, then that means you do care.”

 

“Tae, I’m about to slap you upside your head.”

 

“But seriously! How does this not interest you just the teeniest bit? Who’s to say our dreams aren’t real? What’s so unreal about them? We can smell in them, taste, touch…”

 

“We can’t feel pain in them, that’s something,” Kyung murmured, internally groaning.

 

The older opened his mouth to retort, but the chiming of the dismissal bell cut him short. With not so much as a goodbye, Taeil darted out the door, not even sparing a glimpse behind him.

 

Such a good friend. Kyung thought to himself as he gathered up his books, but he couldn’t help but feel relieved that today’s ramble only lasted a few minutes.

 

He kept his gaze low as he swung his backpack over his shoulder, the strap digging its mark into his skin. Before he could even take a step towards the door though, Mr. Cha was quick to stop him.

                      

“Mr. Park,” he began in that monotonous voice of his that made Kyung want to rip his vocal chords out. Seriously, the man could be talking about dragons fighting off Martians in space, and it would still sound painfully boring.

 

Despite his hatred for the man, he still kept a respective tone. “Yes?”

 

“My desk, please.”
 

“But I’ll be late to-“

 

“I’ll write a note. I need to talk with you.”

 

He shuffled over to the mahogany desk at the front of the room. He stared at the ground, it striking a new fascination with him. “Mr. Cha, did I do something?”

 

Mr. Cha’s fingers tapped a rhythmic beat on the wood of his desk, his eyes staring daggers at Kyung. The man was laid back for the most part, but his eyes could burn you up and shrink you to the size of a mouse. His voice was sharp when he finally began talking, “It’s not so much as what you’ve done, but what you haven’t done.”

 

Kyung swallowed hard. “I—I don’t understand.”

 

Mr. Cha straightened his back, folding his hands on the table. “Park, you owe me eight homework assignments. You’re failing my class.”

 

“Failing? But I-“

 

“I suggest you turn in those assignments at the end this week if you don’t want to repeat this class next year.”

 

Kyung could feel the sweat dotting his forehead at the thought of telling his dad the news. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled, ashamed, and began making his way to the door. He didn’t even accept the note Mr. Cha offered.

 

Inch by inch, Kyung made his way down the dull, grey hallway. His backpack seemed to grow heavier and heavier with each step, and he thought he might just lay down and curl up into a ball with this added stress of failing another class. It was his fault. All his fault. Everything was his fault. Scenarios of telling his dad about human geography raced through his mind. He wondered if it would be like telling him he failed English class, which he did just three weeks ago. His dad could react two ways, much similar to the kids at Kyung’s school, he would either ignore him… or care too much.

 

Kyung found himself meandering not to his next class, but to the exit. With a blank mind his feet shuffled over the tile, and he ignored the call of a hall monitor as he pushed open the double-doors leading outside. He expected maybe an alarm to sound off, or a K-9 unit to tackle him to the ground the second he stepped out, but he was awarded with nothing but the pelting rain from the skies. Kyung pulled out the umbrella he always carried in his backpack and casually strolled off campus.

 

He just couldn’t believe how bad he was slipping. A couple years ago he was acing every class, an honor student with awards and achievements, and now what was he? God, the school year was almost over and he has yet to apply for scholarships, for universities; he hasn’t the slightest idea where he’s going with his life. This dull, black-and-white life of his, made out of nothing but routine. A routine that’s gonna lead him nowhere but to a dead end. What’s gonna happen…? When he reaches that dead end?  Kyung clenched his fist around the umbrella, his knuckles turning white as rage coursed through him. How could he let this happen?  

 

Thoughts like this only raised his stress level, so Kyung quickly tossed them aside. Instead, he wondered,

 

…Where the hell am I going?

 

—

 

Kyung found himself standing on the steps of his noona, Saehim’s, porch. He knocked on the door, waiting a few seconds before it swung open, and his wide-eyed sister greeted him with a confused look.

 

“Kyung? What are you doing here, little guy?” She questioned, concerned, scanning him up and down for any cuts or bruises.

 

He had missed the sound of her voice. It was so sweet and endearing, it calmed him down. He wondered who she inherited it from.

 

“Can I just come in, noona?” He asked, climbing up a step to meet her eye level. His lips twitched up at the corners, relieved to see his sister after such a long time. Even though she lived just a few blocks from his house, she never visited. But he could understand why, their parents were never jolly people.

 

She tousled with the ends of her shoulder-length black hair as she on her cheek. “Yeah, sure. Go sit down.”

 

He said his thanks as he stepped in through the door; the smell of her burning mango scented candle slapped his face welcomingly. Noona used to always burn candles in her old room, too. He kicked off his shoes and his sock clad feet met with the plush, beige carpet. His eyes skimmed the living room, noticing how she had placed frames with pictures of Kyung and his little brother, Chan, in them. Yeah, his noona had to be his favorite person.  This was only the second time he had been inside her house, the first time being the day he helped her move all her stuff in. It felt so much more cozy now that Saehim had left her print on it. Right away he was able to make himself at home, he was always comfortable around his noona. He flopped down in a recliner, stealing the TV remote and began flickering through the channels.

 

“Did school let out for bad weather or something?” Saehim called from the kitchen as she did the dishes.

 

Kyung knew he could be honest with her, so he blatantly hollered back, “Nope.”

 

He heard her scoff. “So you’re ditching? Is that what Park Kyung does nowadays?”

 

He settled the channel on a documentary about mermaids. “Yeah, I don’t know, I’m just a bad kid now, noona. I found out today that I’m failing my human geography class.” He said it jokingly even though it saddened him to admit it because he knew he could do better.

 

“You’re what? What the , Park Kyung?!”

 

“Yep, eight missing homework assignments,” he switched his tone of voice to match that of Mr. Cha’s. “If I don’t turn them in by the end of this week, I repeat the class next year.”

 

“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed over the clink of the glass plates. “Are you being serious right now?”

 

“Completely.”

 

“So, you’re gonna do them… right?”

 

Kyung reached for a bag of potato chips sitting on the end table beside him, and popped one into his mouth. “Mm, probably not.”

 

He heard the rushing water of the kitchen sink come to an abrupt halt. Now it was dead silent.

 

“Noona?”

 

Kyung screamed when a blanket was wrapped around his head, and he was forcefully pushed out of the recliner. He was on his back, lying on the carpet as the person kept raveling the cloth around his head.

 

“You little punk, what’d you say?” Saehim questioned as she held his body down so he couldn’t move off the floor.

 

“Noona! Noona, I can’t breathe!” Kyung’s muffled yells only made Saehim laugh.

 

“Yah, Kyunggie, are your feet still ticklish?” He could hear the grin in her voice.

 

Kyung struggled to get out of her grasp before breathlessly replying, “No.”

 

But it was too late, Saehim’s fingers were dancing along the bottoms of his feet, and he squirmed and howled with laughter.

 

“You know noona can tell when you’re fibbing, right?” She chuckled.

 

Kyung was gasping for air now, flailing around on the floor like a fish out of water. His hands were trying to find purchase on anything so he could pick himself up and make a run for it, but Saehim showed no mercy.

 

“Noona, I’m suffocating!”

 

“Uh-huh, you gonna do those missing assignments?”

 

“Saehim, please!” he probably was just panicking, but who wouldn’t be with a blanket raveled five times over your mouth and nose?

 

“Are you gonna finish those assignments and turn them in?” She questioned again, and Kyung could tell she was wearing a devious smile.

 

“Yes, I swear! I’ll do the assignments!”
 

“Hmm…”

 

“Noona!” he screamed, desperately.

 

“Alright, alright!  Christ, my neighbors are gonna think I’m committing homicide, loud mouth.” She unwound the blanket, tossing it aside and chuckling as Kyung in a lungful of air.

 

“You’re… evil…” he said between breaths.

 

“I’m blushing,” she flipped her hair over her shoulder dramatically.

 

“I hate you.”

 

“Really, ‘cause I looooove you and I missed you, little guy,” Saehim said as she ruffled Kyung’s hair. “And you know, I’m sorry to hear you’re failing, I know you’re going through a tough time with mom and dad and everything, but you’ll get back on your feet. So yeah, just keep watchin’ your weird documentary and I’ll bake you a cake or something.” She grinned an award winning smile before jumping to her feet and making her way back to the kitchen.

 

Once again, Kyung knew that his noona had to be his favorite person.

 

—

 

Once it was the time school would be dismissing, Saehim gave Kyung a ride and dropped him off at the end of his street so it would look like he had walked home like normal. He said his thanks and waved his noona off as he reminded himself to visit her more often. The walk home was short and Kyung was thankful that it had long stopped raining. Once he stepped inside his house though, his stress level immediately sky-rocketed. His father was standing in the kitchen, booming about how there was no food in the fridge, and how everybody just helps themselves around here while he makes the money and doesn’t get squat. Kyung wanted to remind him that last night he had eaten three dinners, but knew that would earn him nothing but a slap to the face. His eyes flickered around the room from his dad to his mom who was, like always, sprawled out on the couch with the blankest of expressions on her face. It wasn’t her fault really; about a year ago she experienced a rough car accident and ended up injuring her spine, forcing her to leave her job. Feelings of uselessness made her succumb to depression. You could hardly speak to her now. Kyung tried not to ponder on her too much.

 

“Hello, dad,” Kyung bowed and said in his most polite tone as he quietly shut the door behind him. He noticed the glance his father took at his watch, checking to see if he was late so he could have an excuse to yell at him. Fortunately, Kyung was right on time.

 

“What.” His dad spat back.

 

“I was just saying hi,” Kyung assured him as he slipped his shoes off.

 

“Did you eat all the leftover ddukbokki?” He interrogated, his lips pressed into a straight line.

 

“Um, no. Maybe Chan did, I’m not sure.”

 

His father slammed the refrigerator door shut, making it rock back and forth and the house vibrate. “Damn it, CHAN!”

 

Kyung bowed again as he slipped into the hallway, passing his younger brother on the way and shooting him a genuinely apologetic look. Kyung hoped nothing too serious would happen. Finally, he made it to his room. He gently clicked the door shut, twisted the lock, and then flopped down on to his mattress. He cringed with every curse word that echoed throughout the house, with every thrown dish that shattered, and with every retching cry Chan emitted, that would always be etched into the side of his mind.      

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, a tear streaming down his cheek.
 

He wished it was all a dream.

 

—

 

Kyung awoke in a cold-sweat in the middle of the night. He didn’t remember falling asleep yet here he was. His heart was racing for some peculiar reason and his whole body had erupted into a tingling sensation. His drowsy eyes darted around the dark room, the rivulets of the moonlight pouring in being his only light. Something had to have woken him up, right?

 

Suddenly, to his left, the scurrying noise of mice paws were heard tapping away at his hardwood floor. His eyes widened, his heart picking up more pace. Now there was rapping at his window, making him whimper. And that’s when he realized. He couldn’t move. He was completely paralyzed. His thoughts were shuffling now, filing away through the archives of his mind trying to remember something Taeil had mentioned during one of his rambles. It was all too familiar. Sleep paralysis, that’s the term, right?

 

More scurrying replayed around the room and Kyung squeezed his eyes shut, trying to reassure himself that none of it was real. But then a deep voice in his right ear ruined everything from him,

 

“You’re awake?” the voice whispered, hot breath ghosting over the shell of his ear and everything. It sent chills down his spine, and he felt like he needed to scream for Chan or someone, but he couldn’t. It was like he was a frozen block of ice, completely helpless.

 

Finally, after seemingly a century of internal pleading with his brain, Kyung’s body finally came to life, and he nearly threw himself off his bed. He’d never been happier to be on his feet again, he felt so light, almost weightless. He peered down, shamelessly smiling at his glorious, blessed feet only to see them… hovering three inches off the ground.

 

“Holy. . What the hell is happening?!” He screamed, but nobody could hear him, nobody so much as stirred.

 

His eyes snapped up to his bed, only to see his sleeping body stretched out on his mattress. His eyes widened to the size of plates, and he thought they might pop out of his skull. Trillions upon trillions of ideas were coming and going through his brain, trying to piece together a logical reason as to what was happening. His mouth was agape, as if he were about to scream. Scream for anything, for help. Would anybody come? Probably not.

 

Outside, the sun was rising, coloring the sky a bloody red, with streaks of orange. And although fear had stricken Kyung to his very soul, he found himself wandering closer to his bedroom window, peering through the glass. There were people, slumping around with hunched backs and shuffling feet, who stared at the ground, seemingly not noticing each other… stuck in their own world. While others were walking with straight backs, waving and sounding out greetings. What even had the neighborhood up at 5 AM? Curiosity getting the best of him, Kyung reached to slide the window open. To his surprise, his hand couldn’t grasp on to the sill, and instead went through the solid wall. He couldn’t contain the gasp that escaped his lips.

 

He had to be dreaming. That’s the only thing that made sense.

 

He hesitantly passed through the wall leading outside. He scanned the area, it looked identical to his neighborhood, yet none of these people looked familiar.

 

As he hovered closer to the stream of passing people, the chiming of a gigantic bell made his movements halt. The ringing made the entire ground vibrate and the strolling people froze in place, the clamor seized and the whole experience had a complete eerie feeling to it. The clashing of the invisible bell only got louder, shaking the ground more until the people began rushing, hurriedly finding some place to cover as they all joined in a cacophony of harmonizing cries. Kyung didn’t know what to do, what was happening. He found himself slowly levitating backwards ‘til his back hit the trunk of the willow tree planted in his backyard. He stayed pressed up against it, his heart pulsing faster with each loud clang. Suddenly, two woody arms sprouted from the tree and wrapped themselves around Kyung’s middle. He screamed in utter shock, pain striking him in the gut. He noticed the people paying him no mind as they went on their business to help themselves, him being crushed by the mutant tree. He cried out louder, the tree’s grip going tighter and closer to breaking his ribs. His eyes only grew wider when he noticed a bumblebee the size of a car buzzing right for him just a few yards away.

 

“What the ? Little help here!” He coughed out desperately, forgetting his manners as he thrashed violently to escape the tree’s grasp and flee from the enormous bumblebee.

 

Kyung let out a whimper when the grip around his waist tightened, leaving him almost breathless. He needed to wake up from this dream, it was getting out of control. His vision was darkening around the edges as his oxygen supply lowered, and he was growing too weak to fight back, the black soulless eyes of the bee hovering in front of him sending a pang of fear to settle in his gut, but he remained limp in the woody arms.

 

“Help,” he whispered for the last time, his voice hoarse.

 

What would happen now? Would he wake up?

 

“Oh, my god! Kyung!” a voice yelled from across the street, making Kyung’s lids snap open and his mouth gasp for air. How did he know my name? It was extremely familiar, the voice, deep and raspy. The boy, around Kyung’s age if not younger, dashed across the pavement, treading at record speed. He kicked up dirt behind him as he reached for the tan satchel that looped around his shoulder. In one swift movement he ped the worn bag and pulled out a packet of dust. The boy was panting hard, his chest heaving, Kyung knew he was just as scared. But with confidence, he reached in for a handful of dust and showered it on the bee, leaving the rest to splash on the tree. In a few seconds, the mutants evaporated and Kyung was no longer restrained. He in gulps of air, with each inhale it felt like a stab in his gut thanks to the crushing grip. He placed a hand over his racing heart, trying to coax it back to normal pace.

 

“, Kyung, are you alright?” the boy asked, peering at him with a concerned look. “God, you came at the wrong time.”

 

“Who… are… you?” he gasped as he examined the stranger. He had golden-blonde, dyed hair that crossed his black, fox-like eyes at an angle. His plump lips were parted as he continued to pant. Yeah, this guy was pretty, but Kyung still had no clue who the hell he was.

 

“I’m Zico,” he answered in that familiar deep voice as he placed the packet of dust back into his bag.

 

“What… was that?” Kyung questioned, gesturing toward the satchel.

 

“Just don’t worry about it now, okay?” he gave him a reassuring smile. “I just need to get you out of here before something else happens. You really did come at the wrong time. What a ty first experience, right?” Zico continued as he reached for Kyung’s hand to lead him back to the window.

 

“What do you mean? I’ve had tons of dreams before…”

 

He sighed. “We’ll save this for another time. But I swear, it isn’t always like this around here.”

 

“Can you please expla-“ Zico pressed a thin finger against Kyung’s lips to silence him as he gestured for Kyung to enter the room.

 

Once they were inside, the blonde instructed Kyung to lie down on the bed, matching the position of his physical body. “Now, this will take some time, but if you want to go back to normal, you’ll just have to be patient. Okay?” Kyung found his voice soothing. “I’m sorry we didn’t have a more formal meeting or that you didn’t get to stay longer. But hey, next time, eh?”

 

After that, Zico ped his bag and pulled out a needle with a roll of thread. “This shouldn’t hurt,” he assured the older, then began weaving the threaded point in and out of Kyung’s bodies, entwining them perfectly with skill. Kyung watched him, noticing how his blonde hair fell over his charcoal eyes, those eyes that supervised every pristine movement his fingers made, noticing how his plush lips remained pressed in a line of concentration. He wanted to thank Zico, he felt like he needed to, like he owed him at least that. But before he could form the first syllable, his vision went black.

 

—

 

When Kyung awoke that morning to the sound of his alarm clock howling, the first thought that intruded his mind was Zico. He wasn’t real, just a figment of Kyung’s sub-conscious, but he was going to thank him. He didn’t know why, he didn’t know how, but he had to do it. He had to see him again.

 

a/n
HAAAAY 
so yeah here's my newest story i'll hopefully keep working on, no promises xoxo you're allowed to stone me if i dont continue this if this gets any readers otl
but yeah sorry if this is a little boring it'll get bETTER I SWEAR
if youre confused about the whole dreamland thing and kyung, your questions will eventually be answered so no worries, babes 

-z