The dream opened slow and quiet, like a book falling open to the most worn page.
You were already there.
Sitting beside Bang Chan on the rooftop of the impossible city —
the place that belonged only to you and him.
The lanterns floated above, their golden light making your skin glow.
The stars blinked low and drowsy.
The night held its breath.
Neither of you spoke for a long time.
There was no need.
Your shoulder brushed his.
Your hands rested between you, close but not touching.
The silence wasn't empty.
It was full.
Full of every word you were too afraid to say.
Full of every heartbeat you hadn't dared to offer yet.
Finally, he shifted.
Turned toward you, just slightly.
His hand brushed yours — barely, a whisper of a touch — but it was enough to make your breath catch.
He was trembling.
"I need to tell you something," he said, voice raw at the edges.
You turned to him, the world tilting just slightly under your feet.
His eyes searched yours — desperate, certain, terrified —
like a man standing at the edge of a cliff with no fear of the fall, only fear of what would happen if he didn't jump.
You nodded.
Wordless.
Open.
"I think—" he started, voice cracking. "*No... I know—"
The dream trembled.
The stars flickered.
Something behind him — the mist, the sky, the seams of the dream itself — began to fracture.
He felt it pulling at him.
Tugging him away.
Tearing at the moment.
"Wait," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "Please—"
You reached for him.
He reached for you.
Your fingers brushed—
And then—
⸻
He woke with a start.
Gasping.
Heart slamming against his ribs.
Hand reaching out into the dark, finding only empty air.
Your name — your real name — was on his lips again.
And this time, it wasn't a whisper.
It was a prayer.
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if he could force himself back into the dream.
As if he could drag you back across whatever invisible line had stolen you away.
"I almost told you," he whispered to no one.
And somewhere, deep in the heart of the Dream World,
the stars wept with him.
⸻
Second-Person Echo:
You woke too —
with a weight in your chest you didn't know how to name.
A sadness so sweet it made your throat ache.
You pressed your hand to your heart.
You didn't know what he had almost said.
But you knew —
you knew —
it was meant for you.
And it always would be.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆
BC woke before the sun.
The hotel room was still thick with night, the window dark, the city outside holding its breath.
Only the faint hum of electricity and the soft whir of the heater kept the silence from swallowing him whole.
He lay there for a moment, blinking up at the ceiling,
his heart still hammering out a rhythm he couldn't name.
You.
You were still there —
just beneath his skin, just behind his eyes.
The echo of your touch.
The ghost of your name.
The almost-confession still burning on his tongue.
He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, hands dangling uselessly between his knees.
The world felt wrong now.
Too solid.
Too heavy.
Without you, the waking world felt like wearing clothes that didn't fit anymore.
Everything chafed.
Everything ached.
He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to shake it off.
Trying to remind himself it was just a dream.
But it wasn't.
It wasn't.
He had known you.
Not with logic.
Not with memory.
With something deeper.
Something older.
And he couldn't pretend otherwise anymore.
⸻
By the time the sun rose, Bang Chan was already dressed.
He pulled a hoodie over his head, tugged a cap low over his eyes, grabbed his phone, and slipped out of the room without waking anyone else.
The streets were still quiet.
Still misted with the last breath of night.
He walked aimlessly, hands shoved deep into his pockets, sneakers scuffing against the sidewalk.
Looking.
Not knowing what for.
Maybe he thought he'd see you again — turning a corner, standing under a streetlamp, waiting.
Maybe he just needed to move.
To act.
To stop sitting in his own skin like it wasn't enough anymore.
His phone buzzed in his pocket — texts, schedules, a life that wanted his attention.
He ignored it.
Instead, he found himself in front of a coffee shop that hadn't opened yet, its windows fogged with the cold.
In the reflection, he saw himself —
hood pulled low, exhaustion carved into every line of his face.
And for a moment, just a moment—
he imagined you standing behind him in the glass.
Smiling.
Waiting.
He turned around.
Nothing.
Of course.
⸻
He leaned his forehead against the cold glass.
"I'll find you," he whispered. "I swear."
The promise tasted like rain and dreams and all the pieces of him he hadn't known he was missing until he met you.
The sky began to lighten — a thin strip of gold pulling itself over the horizon.
And somewhere deep inside,
Bang Chan made a decision he didn't know how to take back:
He wasn't going to wait for fate anymore.
He was going to find you.
Whatever it took.
Dreams or no dreams.
Stars or no stars.
He was coming for you.
⸻
Second-Person Echo:
You woke with a start —
heart racing, breath caught between fear and wonder.
You didn't know why you felt like something had changed.
Only that somewhere, someone had made a promise.
And your soul —
your stubborn, dreaming soul —
had heard it.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆