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Despite Wonshik’s warning, Hakyeon can always tell when it’s a dream. Jaehwan’s mouth always tastes like cotton candy, for one. Hakyeon loves him, but the boy’s mouth has only ever tasted like mint toothpaste and grape bubblegum, maybe even caramel flavored coffee drinks, never like spun candy treats.
Time works differently in this realm, a fact Hakyeon has to constantly remind himself. If Wonshik should ever be worried, it’s that Hakyeon might one day lose track of his time and just – stay. The dream root may eventually lose its effects, but Hakyeon can picture himself just lingering around, lying on the grass with Jaehwan’s weight pressed to his side, solid and nearly real.
He remembers the day of the accident like it was yesterday and not twelve years ago, but then again Hakyeon realizes that time only matters to those who choose to stay tethered to this reality. He’s given up on that a long time ago. It used to come to him as nightmares, shards of a painful memory plaguing him in his sleep – a bright light, a moment of fear, Jaehwan’s terrified screaming, and then the agonizing ache of his heart shriveling to death as he cradles the boy’s broken body.
Hakyeon doesn’t get nightmares anymore, though. It doesn’t mean he’s forgotten about that night. He’ll probably never will.
Wonshik tried to cut him off sometime last year, when things got so bad that Hakyeon barely left Jaehwan’s side, barely got to work, barely kept his apartment, barely lived at all. Wonshik tried almost everything, save for telling Hakyeon exactly how he felt. He’d cried and begged, but he didn’t say the three words he ought to have said.
Not that Hakyeon would react to it.
And so Wonshik keeps supplying him with what he needs, turns a blind eye when Hakyeon seems more alive when he has the packets in his hands, eager to rush back home and start his routine. Water boiled, roots steeped, and Hakyeon is on the bed, steaming mug at his lips, curled elatedly as he thinks about meeting Jaehwan again. The dream root concoction is never tasty, awfully bitter and ashy, dregs of it always hurting his throat, but Hakyeon gets used to it pretty fast. He’s down for the count after two minutes, as always, curled on his side like an infant.
Sometimes Jaehwan wakes him up. Sometimes Hakyeon has to actually get up and search for him. It doesn’t matter, because they always find each other. Tonight, Hakyeon wakes up on his childhood bed, feet almost dangling off of it, his pale blue curtains billowing in the wind. He’s in his parents’ house, but they’re never home, because they’re not the important ones. Jaehwan can be anywhere, but the possibility is fortunately always limited – his own house, the soccer field behind their school, the creek where they had their first kiss, the grassy plains where Hakyeon first told Jaehwan he loved him.
Jaehwan is waiting for him on the meadow when he arrives. He’s wearing his summer clothes even though the weather feels like the end of fall. Hakyeon tries not to make a noise, but Jaehwan looks up anyway, smiling the contagious smile that Hakyeon misses all the time. There’s a picnic spread in front of him, and Hakyeon’s heart thuds dully in his ribcage when he sees the cupcake. Jaehwan tugs him down onto the picnic blanket and holds it up so he can blow the candle out.
“Happy birthday,” Jaehwan says, bright smile still in place.
Hakyeon can never resist smiling back, hand cupping Jaehwan’s cheek and stroking softly. “Thank you. Sorry for making you wait.”
Jaehwan shakes his head, unruly hair swishing left and right. “I don’t mind. It’s not like I’m busy.”
Hakyeon’s smile fades, but Jaehwan doesn’t notice it. He watches as Jaehwan reaches for his sketchbook, flipping to a clean page. “What are you drawing?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jaehwan shrugs, lower lip jutting out. “The most beautiful boy in the whole wide world, maybe?”
Hakyeon laughs, poking him in the ribs, drinking in the sound of his giggling. Hakyeon realizes he misses that too, always missing everything that makes up Jaehwan – his soulful eyes, beautiful mouth, lovely voice, the way he smells, his soft skin. “You’re such a cheeseball. Why do I put up with you?”
“Because you love me,” Jaehwan replies, voice muffled behind his raised sketchbook. His eyes flick up to meet Hakyeon’s, lively and happy, and Hakyeon almost cries at how tangible it feels.
The last time he saw Jaehwan’s eyes, they were helpless and clouded with fear.
“I do,” he chokes out, reaching out to run his fingers through Jaehwan’s hair. “I do love you, so much. Won’t you come back to me, Jaehwan-ah?”
Jaehwan looks puzzled, eyebrows bunched. “But I’m here. I’m right here.”
Hakyeon stutters out a smile, lowering his head so his tears don’t show. “Yes, you are. Thank you for being here. Thank you for holding on for me.”
There’s a beeping noise in the distance, and Hakyeon’s insides feel like crumbling. There’s never enough time.
Jaehwan’s halfway through his sketch, a pair of feline eyes and a sharp nose, Hakyeon’s face taking shape underneath the gentle strokes of his pencil. Hakyeon touches his wrist, tilts his chin up, and kisses him despite his protest. Jaehwan opens up for him, cotton candy sweet, plush lips moving against Hakyeon’s, moaning as their tongues curl into each other. Hakyeon leaves them both breathless, clutching at Jaehwan’s shirt when they pull apart, gut clenching at the way Jaehwan blinks up at him, pupils blown with lust.
Maybe tomorrow, Hakyeon thinks, when he can afford to take his time. There’s always tomorrow.
“I have to go,” he says regretfully. Jaehwan sulks, whining for him not to leave, calling him hyung because he’s a brat, and Hakyeon kisses him once more just for that.
Jaehwan ages with him, but he’s still the sixteen year-old boy underneath the magic of it all. Hakyeon never allows himself to forget that. The walk back to his parents’ house takes an instant, and he lies back on the same bed he woke up on, and opens his eyes to the blaring sound of his alarm. The mug he was drinking from is cold on the bedside table, and he has to stop himself from reaching for it again.
He has to wake up some time, that’s what Wonshik keeps telling him. So Hakyeon does, turns on his shower and stands beneath the hot water, and tries not to cry.
.
Jaehwan’s parents finally learned to leave Hakyeon alone. They insisted and pleaded for him to go home after a month of Hakyeon clinging to Jaehwan’s bedside, but it was as if he couldn’t hear them. The doctors thought Jaehwan had very little chance of waking up from his coma, and never in his eighteen years of life was Hakyeon as livid as the moment they discussed about the possibility of taking him off the life support.
“How could you?” he’d screamed. “He’s your child!”
Jaehwan’s mother tried to calm him down, telling him that they were not considering it, only laying out the options that they had. Jaehwan’s father had been curter, reminding him that it wasn’t his place, and Hakyeon had nearly punched him in the face. They let him stay at the hospital more often after that, not knowing how to deal with an angered teenager who loved their son too much.
Wonshik approached him at school, asking him how things were going. Hakyeon had nearly decked him, too, until he said something about being able to help. Wonshik’s mother dealt with witchcraft, everybody in school knew it, and Hakyeon had never given a shit about the things he saw Wonshik could do, but he held onto the boy’s hand and asked for every detail.
Eventually Hakyeon told Wonshik about the night of the accident: how they were excited about Hakyeon’s birthday the coming week, how Jaehwan had promised to celebrate it with cake and sweet pastries, kisses and maybe more. They never saw the truck coming, and Hakyeon’s life had shattered in a matter of seconds.
African dream root, Wonshik had introduced to him. The second Wonshik asked if he’d wanted to see Jaehwan again, he’d been sold on the idea.
“It won’t be real,” Wonshik explained. “You’ll be dreamwalking. People in a coma dream all the time. You can walk into his dream and meet him there.”
“Will he recognize me?”
Wonshik pursed his lips, looking sad all of a sudden. “He will, but he won’t know what’s happening. His time is permanently frozen, so he won’t notice even if you keep coming for him.”
“As long as I can see him, talk to him,” Hakyeon said, holding the plastic bag like a lifeline. “I just want to be with him again.”
“You have to always come back. It’s important, Hakyeon,” Wonshik warned. “No matter how short you think the time you spent is, you have to return.”
It won’t be easy, Hakyeon knew that much, but it would be worth it.
.
Sometimes Hakyeon dreamwalks every night. He’s always tired at work, unfocused and disoriented, but he manages enough not to get fired. If he can’t do it, he’ll be visiting Jaehwan, carding his fingers through Jaehwan’s hair and holding his unmoving hand. He talks to him just like in his dream, wondering if Jaehwan can hear him that way, too. The nurse would let Hakyeon help her groom him some days, and Hakyeon glides the razor across Jaehwan’s handsome face, patting his skin dry and kissing him fervently even when he’s being watched.
It’s different than kissing Jaehwan in the dreams, and Hakyeon’s glad he can still differentiate it.
Jaehwan’s almost always waiting for him to open his eyes when he falls into the dream after a long time. He’ll be extra affectionate those nights, and often they won’t even leave the place Hakyeon wakes up in, mouths pressed together, bodies tangled in a passionate craze until Hakyeon truly wakes up, in his bed, sticky with release. Those nights, Hakyeon feels like a teenager again, hands fumbling and heart throbbing with shame.
April is always the hardest for Hakyeon. It’s a month full of reminders: that Jaehwan’s life has ticked by another year, that it was his birthday thirteen years ago that Hakyeon confessed his feelings, palms sweaty and throat dry, only to have Jaehwan throwing his head back and laughed, telling him I wanted to tell you the same thing, hyung!, how twelve years ago they had taken each other’s first times, and cried about it because they were emotional saps.
Jaehwan’s parents don’t celebrate his birthday anymore, Hakyeon supposes. They’re never there at the hospital when he comes by. He does what he does every year, brings his beloved boy some flowers, takes a picture with him, and sits by his bed just to stare at his peaceful face. By nightfall he’s leaving for his own bed, kettle on the stove and dried roots scattered at the bottom of his mug.
He drinks it in one go, finishes every drop although it never seem to make any difference on how long the magic lasts, he’ll stay with Jaehwan as long as he wants to. Hakyeon wonders if he should be afraid about that, but he figures the worst thing about it would be just that – that he stays with Jaehwan.
He wakes up in Jaehwan’s old bedroom this time, but Jaehwan isn’t waiting for him. So Hakyeon gets up, and walks out of the house – still the same grey one he remembers from long ago. Everything around him feels fuzzy, the enchantment not quite sinking in yet, but his steps are sure.
Soccer field, creek, grassy plains.
He’ll find Jaehwan eventually.