Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Soobin was perplexed.

Growing up, Soobin always got along with people. Effortlessly. He had a certain charm most couldn't ignore—whether it was his soft-spoken demeanor or the gentle confidence he carried. And, of course, there was the matter of his looks. And the matter of his rather generous bank balance, courtesy of his father.

People came to him. That was just how it worked.

Soobin didn't mind. He never needed to chase anyone, never had to try. Relationships, friends, even flings—they all naturally floated his way.

Which is why, today... Soobin was perplexed. Because suddenly, he was asking himself a question he hadn't asked since he was a child:

How exactly does one make friends again?

He sat in the back of the classroom, chin resting in his palm, a slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. His gaze was locked on a particular seat near the window.

A petite boy sat there, sunlight pooling around him like it had a personal fondness for his hair. The wind drifted in from the open window beside him, ruffling the strands softly every now and then.

That was all Soobin could see from where he sat—the back of the boy's head. And yet, it was enough. More than enough. There was something about the quiet curve of his shoulders, the delicate angle of his neck, that stirred something in Soobin's chest.

Curiosity? Longing? A thrill he couldn't name?

He sighed, lips parting for just a moment before pressing into a line.

Something had to give.

Before he could talk himself out of it again, Soobin stood up. His steps were slow but certain, each one echoing in his ears like a countdown.

'It's not like anyone's here to see,' he reasoned silently, glancing around the empty classroom. 'It's just me and him.'

That should have been comforting, but it wasn't. If anything, it made his heart race faster.

Despite his usual calm exterior, Soobin wasn't used to this. This fluttering sense of urgency. This ache to know someone he hadn't even spoken to yet. It was ridiculous.

And yet, there he was, approaching the boy like he was drawn forward by invisible strings.

When he finally reached him, Soobin stopped.

Up close, the boy's features were even softer than he imagined. Pale lashes casting shadows under deep eyes. A nose that dipped gently toward a subtle curve of lips. It was too much. It was too unfair.

Soobin hesitated. For a moment, he forgot why he was even standing there.

And then—those eyes looked up. Slowly, they met his own.

Everything fell silent.

Soobin felt like he couldn't breathe. This was it. The moment he had dreamed of so many times—sometimes vague, sometimes vivid—but always ending the same: him walking away before a single word could be spoken.

But this time...

He didn't move. Didn't back away.

Something inside him snapped.

Not violently. Just—a soft break. Like the gentle shatter of glass under pressure. All his doubt, his careful restraint, his pride—it just spilled out of him.

Soobin leaned down, slow and deliberate.

And then, without a single word...

He kissed Beomgyu.

A brief, breathless press of lips. A confession made in silence. It was perfect— No eyes watching. No time rushing them. Just sunlight, and dust, and them.

But most importantly— This was not real. None of it was.

Soobin was dreaming.

Curled under his covers, legs tangled in a mess of blankets, Soobin was fast asleep. His brows furrowed ever so slightly, chest rising and falling in quiet rhythm.

And yet the dream lingered, vivid and unreal.

In the haze of that dream, he pulled away— Panicked. Even if it was just a dream, What did I just do?

He braced himself for the usual ending—Beomgyu staring back at him, blank and unreadable. Maybe fading like mist before he could speak.

But this time was different.

Beomgyu didn't vanish.

Instead, he looked amused.

No—more than amused. He looked like he'd been waiting.

A grin crept across his face, eyes crinkling in a way Soobin had never imagined before. There was something teasing in his voice as he tilted his head slightly and said, with visible mockery,

"So you grew a spine while asleep, Dreamer boy?"

Soobin's eyes widened.

The dream had never talked back before.

Chapter Text

Soobin woke up with a gasp, lungs aching, as the distant chirping of birds filled the quiet room.

"What was that?"

He nearly shouted, his voice too loud for the quiet morning, startling even himself. The innocent boy of his dreams, once soft and untouchable, had completely changed. And worst of all— it had felt real.

Dragging a hand through his tangled hair, Soobin stumbled into the bathroom. Switching the faucet on, he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

The bags under his eyes were growing by the day. Splashing his face with water, he leaned on the basin and looked at himself again. The water had done little to wash away the sour expression staring back at him.

'Pathetic,' he thought to himself, the single word echoing in his head. It had not been long. Maybe three weeks—was it four? That's when he first met the boy of his dreams. And also the day his classes resumed, but that was not important.

Because since the day he met the boy, he was all Soobin could think of.

It wasn't until that day that Soobin finally realized how socially constipated he was. Instead of walking up and speaking to him like a normal person, Soobin had fallen back into an old, dangerous habit.

Lucid dreams.

Soobin didn't stumble into lucid dreaming by accident. He learned it—practiced it. After a myriad sleepless nights, Soobin came across a new concept. One that changed his life for a while, for better or for worse.

Lucid dreaming simply meant knowing you were dreaming—and staying inside it.

For most, it was fleeting. For Soobin, it had become an escape. An escape where he could live a life he could only dream of. Literally.

But with it came a number of new problems. Exhaustion, mental fatigue, headaches, a persistent fog in his head, but worst of all— Acne!

It had been a few years since he'd grown out of the habit, but now—here he was again, willingly dragging himself back into a world that wasn't real.

Soobin sighed.

'So pathetic.'

***

The day carried on in its usual rhythm, indifferent to the unrest brewing beneath Soobin's skin.

Outside, the sun had already begun to climb, painting the sky in soft, sleepy pastels. Within the quiet halls of campus, time moved a little slower—each step echoing too loudly, each corner too sharp, too real. Yet somehow, it all still felt like a dream.

Everything blurred together after the mirror. The cold splash of water. The low murmur of voices outside his dorm. The weight of his bag pressing against tired shoulders. He moved through it all half-aware, like he hadn't truly woken up at all.

It was only when he stepped into the lecture hall, the air stale with yesterday's dust and the faint scent of dry markers, that the fog in his mind began to lift.

And then— there he was.

Beomgyu. Standing near the windows, sunlight kissing his hair, conversing with the few people around him.

To Soobin, Beomgyu was always easy to spot. He just stood out in the crowd, really. Not even mentioning his looks, he had a presence that was hard to ignore. One that everyone found easy to admire. He was always laughing at some silly joke told by a stranger. Always smiling brighter than the sun. Always shining like an angel.

He always smiled like that. Like nothing in the world could touch him. Like everything was easy. Like everyone around him wanted to be near him—and didn't mind admitting it.

Yeah, he was really easy to spot.

At least, to Soobin.

He didn't speak to him—not that day, not any day. There was never really a reason to.

They had a few classes together. Sometimes Soobin sat just a few rows behind him, other times across the aisle. Close enough to hear Beomgyu laugh, to catch the casual way he spoke to people around him. A few of Soobin's friends even knew him— maybe from group projects, or mutual friends-of-friends— but Soobin never found the courage to bridge that tiny gap.

There'd been moments. A brush of shoulders by the door. A shared look when someone said something ridiculous during a lecture. Once, Beomgyu had even passed him a handout with a distracted little smile.

Soobin hadn't stopped thinking about it for days. He doubted Beomgyu even remembered it happened. Still, he kept finding his gaze drifting toward the window, toward the light, toward the boy who never seemed to be anything less than golden.

By the time class ended, Soobin realized he hadn't taken a single note. The margins of his notebook were filled with crooked lines and half-formed words. The voices around him were dull, the edges of his mind coming apart at the seams, slow and silent.

He told himself he was just tired.

After all, he'd barely slept the night before. He hadn't really slept at all, not in the way that counted. He walked home through a campus glowing in late-afternoon light, with the world tilting just slightly sideways. Everything felt like a half-remembered story—one he couldn't stop rereading, no matter how much it hurt his head.

The moment he reached his room, he didn't even try to fight it.

He let his bag slip off his shoulder, shoes barely kicked off before he fell into bed, his body giving in. The pillow smelled faintly of detergent and something else he couldn't name. Something worn and familiar. He pulled the blanket over his head.

The soft hum of the ceiling fan blurred into nothing.

And before long, He was back in the classroom— quiet and still.

Just him and the boy of his dreams.

His petite back facing him once again. His frame illuminated by light. It was all exactly as Soobin had shaped it. This time, it didn't take Soobin too long to muster up courage to approach him. After all, what can be worse than yesterday? However, Soobin had a small seed of doubt in his heart. The last moments of the previous dream still lingering in his mind.

What did it mean? Why had Beomgyu suddenly turned into something foreign?

Was it the manifestation of Soobin's own disdain towards this escape of his? It wasn't just once that he called himself out for being pathetic that day, after all.

Maybe the guilt of kissing the boy, albeit in his own dreams, had made the gears of his brain twist in an unexpected rhythm. One he wasn't prepared for. Maybe kissing him in a dream had felt like a betrayal of reality.

Was his subconscious trying to punish him?

That is what he told himself. And yet.

Yet, there was still the small seed of doubt that had bloomed in his mind. A really irrational one, and yet Soobin couldn't help but feel uneasy at that thought.

What if it was real?

What if that was somehow the real Beomgyu?

What would he think of Soobin, if it was?

At some point, Soobin had found a seat across from the boy, arms resting on the chair, chin on his hands. Watching.

There was nothing unusual.

Beomgyu sat as still as ever, eyes locked on a book, like he did every day inside his dream. No emotion. No expression. No sign of life.

'Yeah,' Soobin thought, 'now this felt more normal.'

Beomgyu was not supposed to talk back, not in his dreams. At least not unless that's what Soobin wished for. That was the rule.

After all, everything in his lucid dreams were events he consciously planned for.

The subtle breeze caressing Beomgyu's dark ebony hair; the sunlight illuminating his soft features; the empty rooms and corridors, leaving them completely isolated from the rest of the world; it was all things Soobin wanted in his little dream.

Lost in these thoughts—Soobin just sat there, staring at the boy in front of him absentmindedly. He was so engrossed in his own internal strife that he did not notice the subtle changes in the other boy.

The little spark of life instilling in Beomgyu's eyes, as he subtly looked up towards the other. The corner of his mouth slightly stretching, like he was trying his best not to burst into a fit of laughter. The amusement in his expression that he couldn't hide even if he wished to.

Mirroring the taller of the two— Soobin, Beomgyu sat with his hands in his palms as well. Staring back at him, he said in a playful but slightly mischievous tone, "Thinking of kissing me again, Dreamer boy?"

At first, Soobin couldn't even register that he was spoken to. He just blinked back a few times... until he replayed the words in his mind again and again trying to make sense of them.

And then his brain finally caught up.

And when it did, his face lost all color.

He stumbled backward, chair screeching, limbs flailing as he landed ungracefully on the floor. His breath caught in his throat. He stared at Beomgyu like he had just seen a ghost.

He was a mess, a stuttering mess, as he looked back up at Beomgyu with a complicated look on his face. One of complete devastation and fear.

"Wh— What. The. Hell!?" is all Soobin could say before he was pulled into a completely new world.

Chapter Text

The silence that followed Soobin's words was so sharp, it hummed in his ears.

He barely had time to breathe—his body still frozen from the shock, his hands gripping the edge of the desk like it might anchor him. But then, all at once, the ground beneath him betrayed that hope.

It began with a crack. A soft, splintering sound from above—so faint, it could've been mistaken for the creak of an old ceiling. But Soobin looked up.

And the sky was breaking.

Thin fractures bloomed across the ceiling like spiderwebs made of ice, glowing faintly against the artificial blue of the classroom sky. The cracks spread quickly, multiplying with each passing breath, until long, jagged fissures ran across the entire surface overhead. A high, crystalline note rang out, sharp and metallic, just before a piece of the sky came loose.

It fell like a shard of glass.

Soobin watched in horror as the false sky rained down in fragments, each one vanishing before it could touch the ground. His classroom— the dream he had carefully, painstakingly built, was shattering like brittle grass underfoot. His desk, his chair, the polished floors and glowing windows, all of it breaking apart in delicate, beautiful destruction.

And beyond it.

A void.

Stretching wide above him, deep and endless, as if the universe had been torn open.

It looked almost like a night sky, speckled with stars, but the stars didn't twinkle. They pulsed. Some burned red. Others throbbed faintly, like dying embers. There was no warmth in it. No comfort. Only a quiet pressure that seemed to squeeze at Soobin's chest the longer he stared. The darkness there was deeper than shadow—thick and cloying, like it could swallow him whole if he dared to reach for it.

The classroom crumbled around him, falling into the void like ash in water, until only two figures remained.

Soobin and Beomgyu.

Standing still, weightless, as if gravity no longer applied here.

But just as suddenly as it had all fallen apart, something began to gather.

The fragments of the shattered dream didn't disappear entirely. They began to twist. To curl inward. Sharp edges shimmered in the dark, moving as though pulled by invisible threads. Glass-like pieces floated toward one another in slow, elegant movements, rearranging themselves with eerie precision.

And then, they began to form a room.

At first, it was just the outline of walls. Then came texture, color, weight. The fragments melted into substance, reshaping the world around them until the void was gone, replaced by—

A bedroom.

Unlike any Soobin had ever seen.

The walls were drenched in a dim red glow, like the entire room was lit by a single, unseen bulb behind crimson glass. The lighting clung to every surface like velvet—soft, heavy, and far too warm. Velvet curtains draped the windows, unmoving despite the silence, and the bed at the center of the room looked far too large, the sheets rippling like wine.

Soobin couldn't move.

The room was suffocating. Not hot, but too close. The light wasn't exactly bright, and yet it exposed too much. Shadows didn't gather—they watched. Every object in the room seemed deliberate, like it was part of some story he hadn't meant to write.

It was sensual. Alluring, even.

But not to Soobin.

To him, it was terrifying.

And that was because he couldn't move.

Literally.

He was strapped to a chair— thick, leather-like restraints looping around his wrists and ankles, holding him firmly in place. The material wasn't rough, but it was tight, uncomfortably so, like it had been designed more for control than harm. He could barely shift in his seat, and the more he tugged, the more aware he became of how utterly helpless he was.

There was nothing romantic about the way the light clung to his skin. Nothing comforting in the curve of the unfamiliar furniture, or the low hum in the walls that sounded like a breath being held. It was the kind of place meant for secrets. The kind of place you entered, not knowing if you'd leave.

And beside him— Beomgyu still stood.

Unmoved. Unbothered.

Still watching him with that same amused look.

Soobin's heart pounded so hard it echoed in his ears. The silence stretched for a second too long. He sat motionless, breath shallow, pulse wild. His wrists were strapped tightly to the arms of the chair, ankles bound to the legs. The restraints weren't rough, but firm—firm enough to remind him that this wasn't something he had asked for. At least... he didn't think he had. He couldn't be sure of anything anymore.

The dim red glow painted the room in a shade that made everything feel too intimate. It stained Beomgyu's pale skin like watercolor, catching in the soft angles of his face, casting long shadows down his jaw. He looked too real. Too alive. Too close.

Soobin could barely look at him. But he couldn't look away either.

Beomgyu was no longer sitting. He moved slowly now, walking around the chair, hands behind his back. His eyes were fixed on Soobin like he was studying him—like he was something pathetic. Or amusing.

Maybe both.

Then, finally, Beomgyu spoke.

"Well," he said, voice light, curling around the silence like smoke. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

Soobin flinched.

Beomgyu leaned down a little, just enough for their faces to be level. His eyes searched Soobin's expression—gaze lazy, half-lidded, and unreadable. Soobin felt like he was burning alive.

"I mean, you've been dragging me into your little fantasies every night for how long now?" Beomgyu clicked his tongue. "Honestly... I've lost count."

His voice was quiet. Too quiet. And low enough that its weight would make Soobin's spine feel like it would snap under it.

"I—" Soobin opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His throat was dry, tongue heavy.

"Oh, come on," Beomgyu smiled now, not kindly. "Don't go shy on me now, Dreamer boy."

Soobin's fingers curled instinctively against the armrests. His entire body felt stiff. The air was thick—too warm, too heavy—and the red hue of the room only made his head spin faster.

"W-what... is this...?" he managed to whisper.

Beomgyu didn't answer. Instead, he took a step closer, standing between Soobin's knees. The space between them disappeared entirely. He leaned in—one hand gripping the back of Soobin's chair, the other resting gently against his cheek.

Soobin froze.

Beomgyu tilted his head, as if examining him. "You've got a very active imagination," he murmured, tone almost affectionate—almost—before it turned sharp again. "But dreaming about someone this much... like this?" His lips brushed close to Soobin's ear. "That's not sweet. That's creepy."

Soobin visibly winced. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart squeezed.

"But I mean," Beomgyu sighed, straightening up slightly. "You clearly like being this way. Don't you?"

His hands moved from Soobin's cheek to his chest—light touches, barely there, but enough to make Soobin hold his breath. The room felt like it was shrinking.

"I... I didn't mean—" Soobin swallowed, voice trembling. "I wasn't— I just..."

Beomgyu leaned down again, just a few inches from his lips. "You just what?" he asked, almost kindly, but his smile said otherwise. "Didn't mean to dream of me? Didn't mean to think about me when you're awake? Didn't mean to kiss me?"

Soobin's face flushed so fast it was dizzying. His breath came out in short, embarrassed gasps, lips parted but too weak to respond. His only saving grace— the dark red lightings, hiding his embarrassing blush from being more evidence to his pathetic state.

Beomgyu laughed under his breath. "Wow," he said, "you're really easy to mess with."

He pulled back just slightly, just enough to tilt his head and watch Soobin with clear amusement. "All this time you've been making me into some perfect little daydream, and now that I'm standing in front of you, what? Cat got your tongue?"

Soobin shut his eyes tight, as if that would help make it stop. But it didn't. All it did was make him more aware— of the warmth of Beomgyu's presence, of the smell of him, of the faint sound of breath against breath in this too-quiet room.

"You know," Beomgyu added, this time softer, slower, "you can't control this dream anymore. Not like before."

Soobin's eyes snapped open.

Beomgyu smiled. It wasn't kind.

"This time," he said, brushing a thumb against Soobin's jaw with a mock tenderness, "I'm the one in control... or am I?"

Soobin didn't move. Couldn't move.

Not just because he was strapped down — but because his brain refused to catch up with what was happening. The pressure in his chest was unbearable, like he was being squeezed from the inside out. His palms were sweaty against the armrests, and his entire body was strung so tight, it felt like one touch might unravel him completely.

Beomgyu's gaze lingered on him like a slow drag of heat. Purposeful. Leisurely. Dangerous.

"You're still not talking," Beomgyu said, barely above a whisper. "I thought you'd be more excited to see me. Or maybe—" he paused, a slow smirk forming on his lips, "you like being talked down to."

Soobin shook his head weakly, though even he didn't know what he was denying anymore.

Beomgyu chuckled under his breath. "God, you're so easy to read. All flushed and trembling like that." He leaned closer again, just enough that their foreheads nearly touched. "It's honestly cute."

That word — cute — landed like a slap and a kiss at once.

Beomgyu's finger traced along the curve of Soobin's jaw, featherlight and slow, until it reached just under his chin. He tilted Soobin's face up, forcing their eyes to meet.

Soobin was breathing through his mouth now. Quietly. Carefully. As if even the air he pulled in might betray him.

"You dream of me every night," Beomgyu said softly. "But you've never even said hi to me in real life. Isn't that funny?"

"I-I've tried..." Soobin murmured before he could stop himself.

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? You tried?" He gave a small scoff. "Was that before or after you imagined kissing me in an empty hallway?"

Soobin's eyes widened. The blood drained from his face so fast it made him dizzy.

Beomgyu tilted his head. "Yeah. I know about that one too. You made me say your name like you meant something to me." He leaned in, voice hushed. "You even made me smile like I liked it."

Soobin wanted the ground to open and swallow him whole. His ears were burning, and his stomach twisted into a thousand knots.

"And now here you are," Beomgyu whispered, fingers brushing down his neck, slow and deliberate, "acting all scared— like you didn't want me to find out. Like you didn't want me to show up in your dreams. But can we be honest? You wanted me to find out, this whole time. Wanted me to belittle you. Wanted me to see you being a pathetic loser for me, didn't you?"

Beomgyu's touch reached Soobin's collarbone, where he paused — lingering there, just enough to feel the rapid pulse beneath skin.

"You're shaking," he murmured, tone mock-sympathetic. "I didn't even do anything yet."

Soobin shut his eyes again. It was too much. All of it.

But it didn't stop.

Beomgyu leaned in fully this time, his lips brushing just next to Soobin's ear. His breath was warm, and every word felt like it burned into his skin.

"Tell me," Beomgyu said slowly, "what exactly were you hoping I'd do to you if I ever caught you dreaming of me like this again?"

Soobin let out a quiet, choked sound — not quite a word, not quite a breath. His whole body tensed.

Beomgyu stayed close, unmoving. Waiting. Watching.

"Nothing to say?" he teased.

Soobin's lips trembled. "I... don't know," he whispered.

Beomgyu pulled back slightly, and for a second, the smirk on his face faded into something unreadable. His eyes searched Soobin's again — slower this time, more careful.

"Maybe you don't," he said quietly. "But your dreams know."

And then he smiled again — the kind of smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. A little too sharp. A little too pleased.

Then he whispered, his voice smooth like velvet and just as dangerous.

"So why don't we let it play out?"

Chapter Text

Beomgyu didn't wait for permission.

Soobin barely had time to process the words before Beomgyu was in his lap, straddling him like it was the most natural thing in the world. The red light behind him glowed like it had been summoned for this exact purpose — a spotlight casting shadows across sharp cheekbones, glossed lips, the glint of mischief in his gaze.

"You're not gonna scream, are you?" Beomgyu asked casually, like he was joking. But the grip he had on Soobin's jaw, was anything but light.

Soobin could only shake his head, barely managing a breath. His thighs trembled beneath the weight pressing down on them.

Beomgyu hummed, pleased. "Didn't think so."

He leaned down, just enough for his lips to ghost over Soobin's. Not kissing him, not really. Just letting the anticipation build, letting it simmer until it was unbearable.

"I've seen every version of me you've made up," he whispered. "The shy one. The nice one. The one that tells you everything you want to hear."

A pause. Beomgyu's smile darkened.

"Too bad none of those were real."

Soobin's heart was hammering. He tried to look away, but Beomgyu's fingers tilted his chin back again— firmer this time. Controlling.

"You like being watched, don't you?" Beomgyu's voice was lower now, closer. "You want me to see you like this. Helpless. Horny. Guilty."

His hips shifted— barely, but enough that Soobin felt the friction and gasped out loud. His wrists flexed against the restraints instinctively, and the sound that escaped him was desperate.

Beomgyu didn't miss it.

"You're leaking already?" he said with a smirk. "God, you're embarrassing."

His hand trailed downward— teasingly slow, stopping right at Soobin's waistband. He didn't touch him. Just rested his palm there, applying the slightest pressure.

Soobin bit down on his lower lip hard. His eyes fluttered shut as he tried to will himself to stay quiet, but his body betrayed him— hips bucking forward just a little, chasing more.

"Aw, you want me to touch you?" Beomgyu cooed mockingly. "You've spent weeks doing it to yourself thinking about me, haven't you?"

Soobin's face burned. He couldn't deny it — not with the way his body was reacting, not with the truth spilling into the open like dirty laundry under a red spotlight.

Beomgyu leaned closer again, his breath brushing against Soobin's ear.

"Say it," he murmured. "Tell me what you do when you think about me. When you're all alone."

Soobin squeezed his eyes shut, trembling. His voice barely broke through.

"I... I think about your hands."

Beomgyu stilled.

Then he laughed. Not cruelly, but like he was genuinely entertained. Like the shyest, dirtiest secret had just been handed to him on a silver plate.

"My hands?" he repeated, eyes glinting. "You really are pathetic."

And then he finally moved— slipping his hand beneath the waistband, fingers curling around the heat he found there, and Soobin moaned so softly, it almost didn't exist.

But Beomgyu heard it. Felt it. Fed on it.

"Keep moaning like that," he whispered against Soobin's neck. "And maybe I'll give you the version of me you've really been dreaming about."

Beomgyu's grip tightened around Soobin's member, just slightly, just enough to make him whimper through clenched teeth. The sound crawling out of his throat, helpless and involuntary.

"There it is," Beomgyu breathed, voice like velvet laced with poison. "You're such a mess for me already, aren't you?"

His thumb moved in slow, deliberate circles, dragging along sensitive skin, and Soobin arched in the chair despite himself. The restraints creaked softly with every twitch of his arms, like they were mocking him too.

Beomgyu watched him like a predator indulging in the slow unraveling of its prey. There was no urgency in his movements, only amusement — cruel, curious, and entirely in control.

"You know," he said, tapping his fingers against Soobin lazily, "most people have harmless dreams. Flying. Falling. Running through fields or whatever."

His hand tightened again— this time with purpose. Soobin gasped, the sound half-muffled by his own bitten lip.

"But you? You trap me in here just so you can jerk off to me every night?"

He leaned in close — so close his lips nearly brushed Soobin's own, warm breath making its presence known.

"You ever think about how fucked up that is?"

Soobin couldn't answer. His throat was dry, his heart pounding in his ears, and his body ached with a kind of tension he couldn't escape. He shook his head slowly, shame curling in his gut. But another soft moan betrayed him, forced out as Beomgyu stroked again, cruelly slow.

Beomgyu clicked his tongue.

"God," he muttered, "You're actually enjoying this."

The red glow behind him deepened— or maybe it just felt that way. Like the room was smaller now, like it was closing in. Beomgyu's scent was everywhere. Soobin was drowning in it.

"You dream of my hands?" Beomgyu whispered, lips now ghosting over Soobin's cheek. "What about my mouth?"

Soobin tensed.

"Oh?" Beomgyu chuckled darkly. "That got your attention."

Without another word, he slid off Soobin's lap and dropped to his knees— slowly, dramatically, like he knew exactly what kind of image he was creating.

Soobin's breath hitched. His legs trembled, and not from the cold.

Beomgyu glanced up at him, lashes low, expression unreadable. And then he smiled. That same cocky, maddening smile.

"Watch closely, dreamer boy," he said, voice low, almost sing-song.

"If you're gonna make me your fantasy every night, I might as well teach you how it's really supposed to feel."

Beomgyu's hands skimmed up Soobin's thighs slowly, deliberately. Like he was taking his sweet time deciding what to do with the trembling mess strapped in front of him. Soobin was burning from the inside out, unable to breathe properly, unable to think.

"You're shaking," Beomgyu muttered, almost to himself, his voice thick with mockery. "Is this what you wanted, or are you just this pathetic?"

Soobin opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out except a broken gasp.

Beomgyu snorted. "Of course you are. Just sitting there, tied up, dripping down your leg like some cheap toy for me. All because of a pretty face?"

He leaned in slowly, lips grazing the inside of Soobin's thigh, and Soobin flinched— not from pain, but from the sheer shock of how soft it was. How unfairly good it felt.

"You think about this when you see me in class?" Beomgyu whispered. "You think about my mouth every time I laugh? Every time I run my hands through my hair? You imagine this exact moment, don't you?"

Soobin squeezed his eyes shut, humiliated. But Beomgyu wasn't done.

"No, no," he said, fingers digging into Soobin's thighs, "I want your eyes open. I want you to watch."

And then he finally dipped lower. Taking in all of Soobin's cock in his mouth in one go.

Soobin nearly choked on his breath.

Warmth. Wetness. A slow, cruel drag of Beomgyu's tongue followed along his length— like he was tasting something new and expensive, something he didn't even want but had decided to savor anyway. It was too much. Too good. Soobin felt the moan rise in his chest before he could stop it, strangled and desperate, and Beomgyu hummed in approval, sending vibrations straight through him.

"Oh my god—" Soobin gasped, the words slipping out before he could catch them.

Beomgyu pulled back, just for a second, licking his lips.

"Already?" he repeated, smirking. "Baby, we're not even close."

And then he went back in.

Soobin's head rolled back, mouth parted in stunned silence as Beomgyu worked him with the kind of precision that couldn't have come from a dream— that felt too practiced, too wicked, too real. He used his tongue like he knew exactly how to ruin him. Not rushed, not messy — no, it was intentional, methodical. Like he wanted to break Soobin with nothing but his mouth.

And god, he was doing it.

Soobin was slowly breaking.

His fingers twitched against the restraints. His whole body was coiled tight, hips jerking slightly, betraying his need for more even as shame bubbled up in his chest.

Beomgyu noticed, of course. He pulled back again, lips swollen, eyes dark and amused.

"Look at you," he said, voice thick. "Flushed and fucked-out from just this much. You dream of me ruining you like this every night, don't you?"

Soobin's reply was a whimper. Nothing more.

Beomgyu laughed softly. "I knew it."

And then he went back down— this time deeper, faster, crueler. He didn't let up. He gave Soobin everything— tongue, mouth, throat. Taking him apart piece by piece with every wet sound that filled the room. The red light glinted off his lashes, off the corner of his lips, and Soobin could barely keep his eyes open through the haze of pleasure clouding his mind.

It wasn't just good. It was perfect. Better than anything Soobin had ever imagined. Beomgyu moved like he'd spent years perfecting this. Every swirl of his tongue, every hum and flick and suck intentional, devastating.

And the worst part?

He was enjoying it.

Beomgyu wasn't just giving Soobin the best head of his life — he was doing it with a smile, with a smug kind of confidence that made Soobin feel like the most desperate thing on earth.

"You gonna cry?" Beomgyu asked, voice muffled between licks, eyes flicking up to meet Soobin's. "Bet you are."

And honestly, Soobin wasn't sure he wasn't.

His whole body was shaking, breath caught in his throat, the chair rocking slightly under the force of his trembling legs. He was so close, so dizzy— so stupidly gone.

And Beomgyu was still going, dragging it out now, like he wanted Soobin to beg. His tongue teasing the leaking member, his eyes trained on Soobin's. The expression on mock now mixed with a mischievous glint of its own. Making Soobin feel so utterly small in front of that gaze.

Like he wanted to ruin every dream from now on with the memory of this one.

Soobin didn't know how long it had been.

Time felt like nothing here— like it was stretched and warped around the heat pooling in his stomach, around Beomgyu's mouth dragging sin down his spine with every flick of his tongue.

He was falling apart. There was no shame left, no sense of dignity. Just the soft, broken moans tumbling out of his lips and the way his hips kept jerking up into Beomgyu's face no matter how hard he tried to hold still.

"P-please—" Soobin choked, barely able to speak. "I can't— I'm gonna—"

Beomgyu pulled back just an inch, breath warm and lips slick. His eyes met Soobin's again, amused and glittering under the red glow.

"Gonna cum already, baby?" he mocked, voice low and lazy. "Didn't think my little dreamer boy was this easy."

Soobin's stomach clenched.

Dreamer boy.

The name landed like a brand against his skin. He wanted to hide from it, deny how much it turned him on — how much it made him feel small and exposed, like Beomgyu could see straight through his skull and into every filthy fantasy he'd ever tucked away.

"Look at you," Beomgyu continued, tone now dipped in syrupy cruelty. "Tied up. Falling apart. Just because of a dream. You really are pathetic, aren't you?"

Soobin whimpered, thighs shaking violently.

Beomgyu tilted his head, fingers tightening around Soobin's hips as he delivered another slow, devastating lick. "I bet you're gonna cum just from me calling you that again."

His tongue curled around him, hot and wet and merciless.

"Dreamer boy."

Soobin's whole body jerked.

That was it.

The words echoed in his head like thunder — filthy and sweet, like permission and punishment wrapped into one.

"B-Beom—!" he gasped, voice high and desperate as his orgasm hit like a storm, crashing through every nerve in his body.

His vision went white.

Everything blurred — the lights, the sound, even the feeling of the chair beneath him. All he could focus on was Beomgyu: mouth still moving, tongue still teasing, swallowing every wave of Soobin's cum like he'd won something.

And maybe he had.

Because Soobin was ruined.

He slumped back in the chair, chest heaving, heart hammering against his ribs as aftershocks trembled through him. His wrists ached in the restraints. His cheeks burned.

Beomgyu finally pulled away, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked far too composed. Far too smug.

"That good, dreamer boy?" he asked, softly now— almost sweetly.

Soobin opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

He didn't know what to say. He didn't know if he could speak.

All he knew was the lingering taste of Beomgyu's voice in his ears and the warmth still curling deep in his gut.

The red light dimmed.

And just as his head began to tilt forward, dizzy and overwhelmed, the dream began to pull away— like the last grains of sand slipping through his fingers.

The last thing he saw was Beomgyu's smile.

Still cruel. Still beautiful.

Chapter Text

Nightmare. An absolute nightmare.

That's what Soobin had woken up from, this morning.

Or, at least, that's what he was telling himself right now.

Because no matter how much he wanted to believe that it wasn't, he could not describe yesterday's dream as anything but a nightmare.

Unless... he wanted to admit it was all part of his subconscious mind. Part of something he craved.

Which— absolutely not.

A small pout lay on his face. He crossed his arms on the desk, trying to shrink into himself as his professor droned on at the front of the classroom. Something about ancient poetry or literature structure or... who cared? Soobin's mind wasn't in the lecture hall. It was stuck somewhere between disbelief and dramatic self-sabotage.

He glanced down at his open notebook.

Two words scribbled on the page in his messy handwriting: "He's evil."

Soobin blinked. Had he written that? When? He looked around, half-expecting someone to be staring at him, having read the ridiculous line over his shoulder. But no, the girl beside him was drooling into her arm, and the guy in front of him was drawing what looked like a sword-wielding hamster. Safe.

He let out a slow, discreet sigh.

No, seriously— Beomgyu was evil, he thought. That had to be it.

Because the alternative— the utterly humiliating alternative— was that Soobin had imagined all of that. The red lights. The chair. The— 

He shuddered.

Flinching at the memory, he clutched the pencil in his hand a little too tightly.

Was this really the kind of person he was now? Fantasizing about classmates in dream-world BDSM setups?? No. NO. It wasn't a fantasy. It was a nightmare. A sinister psychological trap. Yes. That made more sense. There was no way he had consciously imagined Beomgyu saying things like that while... doing things like that.

Soobin gripped his pen tighter. "He's evil," he whispered again, a little more convincingly this time.

The truth was— there had always been something off about Beomgyu.

That suspicious angelic smile. That perfect hair. That shiny personality. All a front. A cover-up. Classic villain behavior, if you thought about it hard enough. Which Soobin clearly was.

It was obvious now. Beomgyu had entered his dreams. Infiltrated them. Manipulated them.

And for what purpose?

To ruin him.

That had to be it. Why else would Beomgyu be so smug in a dream he wasn't even supposed to be in unless he knew? Unless he wanted to make Soobin suffer?

And yet... and yet...

Soobin's gaze flicked up, across the room, to where Beomgyu sat.

Leaning back in his chair, lazily tapping his pen against his notebook. Smiling faintly as he whispered something to the guy next to him.

Beomgyu laughed.

And Soobin immediately looked away, ears red.

No. Evil.

He was evil. That's why Soobin couldn't talk to him. Not because he was intimidated or infatuated or anything ridiculous like that. No. It was pure, sensible fear. Anyone would be scared of their personal demon manifesting into the physical world in skinny jeans and lip gloss.

Soobin clenched his jaw. He had to prove it.

He had to know if Beomgyu really did what he thought he did. And the only way to confirm that... was to follow him.

Of course, subtly. Discreetly. Like a shadow. Like a true spy.

He nodded slowly to himself.

Yes. He would tail Beomgyu after class. And what luck— today was Saturday. They only had one lecture in the morning, and then everyone was free. The universe wanted this. The universe wanted Soobin to go full undercover agent mode.

He glanced at the clock again. Only seventeen minutes left. He tapped his pen anxiously against the desk, foot bouncing like mad under the table. Operation "Unmask Beomgyu the Evil Dream Demon" was officially in motion.

And no one— not even those ridiculously well-shaped lips— was going to stop him.

Not this time.

The second the lecture ended, Soobin was on his feet.

He moved faster than he ever had in his academic life. His classmates hadn't even closed their notebooks before he was already halfway to the door—backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes locked on his target.

Beomgyu.

Soobin narrowed his eyes as the boy strolled casually down the hallway, utterly unaware that he was being hunted. Well. Followed. Lightly tailed. For research purposes.

He watched from behind a vending machine, peeking out with the kind of stealth you'd expect from a squirrel with anxiety. Beomgyu walked with that same infuriating bounce in his step, stopping occasionally to greet a friend or say something charming to a passing junior.

Soobin gripped the vending machine harder.

Focus. This is recon. You're not here to notice how good his side profile is. You're here to expose him for being a sleep demon. DEMON!

He watched as Beomgyu left the building and crossed the courtyard. Soobin followed at a distance, ducking behind trees and benches and one very startled cat. Sometimes surprising himself with his own 6 feet height.

"Where's he going?" Soobin muttered to himself, scribbling furiously in a small notepad he had found on the way. "Not towards the dorms... suspicious. Very suspicious."

Beomgyu turned a corner and walked past the café near the bus stop. Soobin darted behind the café signboard, knocking over a stack of paper menus on the way.

"Smooth," he hissed under his breath, quickly picking them up as Beomgyu disappeared around the bend. He sprinted the next few steps, nearly twisting his ankle in the process, but made it just in time to see Beomgyu stop in front of a small alley.

Then... pause.

Soobin ducked behind a lamppost. Which, now that he thought about it, offered absolutely zero cover. He slowly sank down to crouch behind a trash bin instead.

Get it together, Agent Dreamboy.

He peered out again. Beomgyu was looking at something in his phone, lips pressed together. Not smiling. Not laughing. Focused.

A secret meeting with another dream-walker? Maybe a contact? Or a mentor? Oh my god—what if he's here to delete the evidence from Soobin's brain? Can he do that? Is that a thing?

Soobin's breathing quickened.

Suddenly, Beomgyu turned his head slightly.

Soobin ducked back into the trash bin's shadow with a tiny gasp, pressing himself to the cold metal like it would absorb his shame. Had Beomgyu seen him? No. Couldn't be. He was a pro.

When he peeked again, Beomgyu had already turned into the alley.

"Dammit," Soobin muttered, scrambling to his feet. "He's making a move."

He dashed after him, steps quiet, heart loud. The alley was narrow, lined with brick and buzzing pipes and a faint scent of ramen and cigarette smoke.

But when he turned the corner—

Empty.

Beomgyu was nowhere.

Soobin blinked. Once. Twice.

"What the hell?"

And then—

A voice behind him.

"Are you following me?"

Soobin nearly leapt out of his skin.

He whipped around so fast his bag flew off his shoulder and smacked into the wall. Seeing Beomgyu in the flesh in front of him, Soobin panicked. Trying to step back in haste did not work well for him. Just like in his dreams, he stumbled on air, finding himself falling on the ground. 

Unlike his dream, this time it hurt like hell. But he had no time to focus on that right now.

"WHAT—No!" he blurted out, voice an octave too high. "Why would I—who even—you?! No!"

Beomgyu blinked at him, clearly startled by the reaction. He had a tote bag slung over his shoulder and a smoothie cup in hand, his expression caught somewhere between curiosity and mild distress.

"You... sure?" Beomgyu asked slowly, eyes flicking over Soobin's disheveled state. "Because you were definitely behind me for like... a while. Since the vending machine. I thought maybe you dropped something."

Soobin opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Say something. Anything. Lie.

"I—uh—I was visiting a shop!" he declared with way too much enthusiasm.

Beomgyu's eyebrows arched. "A shop?"

"Yes. A shop."

There was a beat.

"In this alley?" Beomgyu asked, glancing down the narrow stretch of concrete lined with shuttered doors and dusty signage. The most eye-catching business among them had a bold, faded banner that read: 'Dr. Jin's Natural Male Enhancement - No Side Effects!'

Soobin followed his gaze. His soul left his body.

Beomgyu looked back at him with an amused smile. "...That one?"

Soobin's brain threw in the towel and walked away.

"No, no, not that one," he said quickly, waving his arms like that would erase the situation. "I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that kind of place. I support all businesses. Love that for Dr. Jin. Big respect. Anyway, no—I was actually... looking for a bookstore. Somewhere."

"In an alley that sells expired muscle supplements and fake IDs?"

Soobin's mouth twitched. "They do books too."

Beomgyu squinted at him. After a long pause, he let out a breath and offered a hand, "You okay?"

There was a strange tone to his voice— genuine concern, soft and slightly unsure. He didn't sound suspicious or annoyed. If anything, he looked... worried. Like he was the one being cornered, not the other way around.

Soobin blinked, thrown off.

Soobin was simply stunned. Soobin swore he was looking at an angel. 

This was nothing like the Beomgyu from his dreams. That one would've smirked, pinned him against the wall, whispered things that made his brain malfunction.

But this Beomgyu? This one looked like he might offer Soobin a tissue and ask if he was lost.

This Beomgyu looked beautiful. Like a porcelain doll. Fragile and soft to touch.

Taking the hand offered to him, Soobin cleared his throat and forced a laugh. "Sorry. I guess I spaced out a bit."

Beomgyu offered a tentative smile, relaxing slightly. "Happens to me all the time. One time I walked into a restricted building because I was thinking about pizza. Had to explain to a guard that I was emotionally compromised by cheese."

Soobin stared at him. "...What?"

"Yeah, they didn't buy it either," Beomgyu grinned.

And like that, the tension in the air cracked— just a little. His smile was bright and so heartbreakingly sincere that Soobin felt his resolve shake.

There's no way he's faking that.

Or is he?

"Anyway," Beomgyu said, shifting the weight of his bag, "uh... if you were trying to talk to me or something, I don't mind. Just don't lurk in alleyways. Makes me feel like I'm about to get stabbed."

"No!" Soobin said too quickly. "I wasn't—I mean—I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Seriously."

Beomgyu nodded, seemingly appeased, but still cautious. "Okay. Just making sure."

There was an awkward pause. A silence filled with Soobin's spiraling thoughts and Beomgyu taking a distracted sip of his smoothie.

"Wanna walk back together?" Beomgyu asked after a moment, hesitantly. "It's a bit weird to just stand here..."

Soobin blinked, startled. "Oh. Uh. No thanks. I actually remembered—I have something to do. Important. Business."

Beomgyu gave him a thumbs-up. "Cool. Good luck with your important business."

Soobin bowed slightly—why did he bow?—and turned around, nearly tripping on a loose brick as he left the alley, mentally punching himself in the face the entire way.

Mission: Inconclusive. Beomgyu remains... frustratingly normal.

But Soobin wasn't giving up yet.

Something was going on. Even if Beomgyu didn't show it now, even if he laughed and smiled like the sweetest boy on earth... Soobin had seen what he was capable of.

In the shadows of his dreams.

And he wasn't about to let that go.

Not until he found the truth.

***

It was supposed to be recon.

Just a harmless little follow-up, really. Soobin had gone home after classes, changed clothes, and now, very casually, was sitting at a tiny café table with an open laptop, pretending to write an essay while covertly watching the glass storefront across the street.

It was the local record shop. Beomgyu had entered twenty minutes ago.

Soobin sipped his iced americano (which he did not like, by the way—it was just the most "spy-looking" drink) and scrolled through the same blank Google doc for the fiftieth time.

"He's been in there forever," Soobin mumbled. "What could he possibly be doing in there for so long? Secret code drop? Hiding bodies in vinyl sleeves?"

He leaned a little closer to the window, narrowing his eyes dramatically.

And that's exactly when he saw Beomgyu walking out of the shop.

Straight toward him.

Directly.

With a bag in hand.

Soobin froze. Panicked. Looked down at his laptop, then up again. Was he coming here?

Yes. Yes, he was crossing the street. Oh god, oh god, he was almost at the door. Soobin's first instinct was to throw himself under the table, but there were people nearby, and he didn't think he could take another scene.

And then, the bell above the café door rang.

Soobin's entire spine straightened like he'd been electrocuted. He stared hard at his screen, pretending to be the most studious, totally normal, not-at-all-suspicious student the world had ever seen.

He could feel him approaching.

And then—

"Soobin?"

Soobin jumped so hard he nearly knocked over his coffee.

"Beomgyu!" he yelped, turning around too fast and almost elbowing a waitress in the face. "H-hi!"

Beomgyu blinked. He looked surprised, but not upset. In fact, he smiled— like he always did— so effortlessly warm that it made Soobin's heart kick against his ribs.

"What are you doing here?" Beomgyu asked, adjusting the bag in his hand. "Don't you live on the other side of town?"

Soobin's brain short-circuited.

Say something. Anything. Lie.

Yeah, like that worked well before...

"Ah... I, uh..." Soobin gestured vaguely toward his laptop. "Just... writing... about... communism."

Beomgyu tilted his head. "In a coffee shop this far away from home?"

"I like the air here," Soobin said. "The air quality."

A beat of silence passed.

Then Beomgyu laughed. His shoulders relaxed as he took a seat across from Soobin without asking. "You mean the air conditioning?"

Soobin tried not to melt and cry at the same time. Stay cool. He's the enemy. He was the dream demon. The dreaminator. The dreamer boy— no, that was him. Whatever. Focus!

Beomgyu pulled a vinyl out of the bag and showed it off. "I just found this album I've been searching for since high school. Isn't that crazy?"

Soobin blinked. "Oh. Um... congrats?"

Beomgyu grinned. "You don't have to sound so excited."

"No, no— I'm thrilled. I love... vinyls."

"You don't even know what album this is."

"Doesn't matter. The passion is what counts."

Beomgyu giggled at that, clearly amused, "You're weird, Soobin." He leaned forward slightly, "I like it."

Soobin nearly choked on air. Coughing loudly into his fist, he patted his chest, secretly yelling at his heart for leaping out.

Danger! He's close. Too close. Abort!

But Beomgyu only rested his chin in his palm, still smiling. "Are you always this full of energy?"

Soobin blinked. Stared. Froze.

"Me? No, no. I was... visiting a dentist."

Beomgyu's brow furrowed. "Dentist?"

"Yeah, the dentist drugged me. Injected me with something that I swear looked like meth."

"That... You have a unique choice of doctors." Beomgyu laughed, "Was his name also perhaps Dr. Jin."

Soobin's complexion paled once again, only managing a short yelp and a "No!"

Now laughing louder Beomgyu asked another question, "So did you find that bookstore."

Soobin's eyes darted toward the door. "Well, not really. But, I should go. Lots of essays to write. So much communism to study."

He scrambled to pack up, nearly forgetting his laptop, and stumbled to his feet.

Beomgyu stood with him. "It's nice seeing you again, though." His words kind, but his lips pursing a little. Soobin almost entertained the idea, that Beomgyu was dissapointed that he was leaving so early.

But he couldn't take any more questions. Not when he knew this man was evil and scheming. 

"Y-you too," Soobin managed, trying not to trip over his own feet as he backed away toward the exit.

Just as he reached the door, Beomgyu called out one last time:

"Don't forget to breathe next time!"

Soobin walked into the doorframe.

Chapter Text

Operation: Tail the Threat

Codename: Dream Demon Hunter

Soobin adjusted his hoodie, sunglasses, and— because he had zero self-control— a baseball cap that did nothing to hide his identity.

He looked like a rejected backup dancer from a spy-themed children's musical.

"Okay," he whispered, crouching half-hidden behind a lamp post. "This is fine. Just a simple stakeout. Nothing illegal. Nothing weird. Just... stalking a classmate to prove he invaded your dream and gave you the best orgasm of your life." He paused. "Wait— no. Don't say it like that."

He slapped his cheeks lightly and peeked out.

Beomgyu was walking up the street, completely unaware. He had earbuds in and was lazily swinging a convenience store bag in one hand. The moonlight was hitting his hair just right and made him look like the kind of boy who'd be cast as the "charming heartthrob" in a coming-of-age film.

Typical. Even his grocery trips are romanticized. Who else, but a demon, can be this beautiful in pajamas!

Soobin scurried to the next hiding spot: yet another vending machine. He pressed random buttons and pretended to be deeply invested in the mechanics of beverage selection while secretly watching Beomgyu cross the street.

He's going somewhere. Probably to set another trap. A new dream layer. Or worse... a dream within a dream. Wait was he in a dream right now? 

Soobin nodded grimly to himself. This needs to stop. Wait for me world, I will slay this demon!

Beomgyu paused at a crosswalk, bouncing slightly on his heels, then suddenly turned back. Soobin ducked behind the vending machine with all the grace of a dying swan.

When he peeked out again, Beomgyu was gone.

"SH—I mean, okay. That's fine. This is fine. All according to plan."

Soobin jogged up the block, craning his neck like a confused tourist. Where did he go? He couldn't have just vanished.

And then he heard it. A familiar laugh— light, sweet, undeniably Beomgyu— floating out from a small park to his left.

There he was, sitting on a swing, sipping banana milk like a literal child, while chatting animatedly on the phone. His legs kicked slightly as he talked, and he had a soft smile on his face, warm and open, nothing like the menace from Soobin's dream.

And yet...

Soobin stood frozen on the sidewalk, half-hidden behind a tree, heart pounding.

He looks so real. So soft. So harmless.

So. Who is he talking to— I mean— why does he haunt me?

He pulled out his phone, ready to take some evidence for later analysis. Maybe he'd catch Beomgyu slipping, pulling out a magical object or disappearing into a hidden portal.

It all happened within seconds

He zoomed in. Beomgyu raised his head. Direct eye contact. Soobin screamed internally. And then. 

Threw himself into the nearest bush.

Branches cracked. Leaves went everywhere. A pigeon flew out, squawking in protest.

Beomgyu paused his phone call and squinted toward the hedge with a furrowed brow.

"...Is that... Soobin?" he muttered.

Soobin held his breath, face smushed into the dirt, praying the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

Beomgyu frowned, then slowly got up from the swing, still watching the bush.

Abort mission. Abort mission. Soobin scrambled backwards, dragging himself army-style across the grass, until he could safely sprint behind a tree and out of view.

Somewhere in the distance, Beomgyu was probably still trying to decide whether he'd hallucinated that whole thing.

Soobin ducked into a corner alley, panting.

Okay. New plan. No more public stakeouts.

Next time: disguise yourself as a street performer. Or a trash can. Something natural.

Still, as chaotic as it had been... he'd learned something today.

Beomgyu wasn't always watching. He could be caught off guard. He had gaps. He could be exposed.

He just had to keep going.

And maybe... maybe stop diving into bushes like a lunatic.

Maybe.

***

For a while, it had been... quiet.

Three whole nights, actually. No sinister red lighting. No inexplicable restraints. No Beomgyu.

Soobin had begun to hope— tentatively, cautiously, desperately— that the dream had been a one-off. A freak accident of subconscious wiring. The result of a weird mix of stress, lack of sleep, and maybe too much cinnamon before bed.

Besides, after running into the real Beomgyu— the laughing, soft-voiced, genuinely sweet record-shop boy who sat across from him at cafés and told dad jokes— Soobin had practically convinced himself the nightmare version had been... a parody. A warped reflection. A metaphor, maybe. For... attraction? Shame? Academic burnout?

(He hadn't figured that last part out yet, but it sounded smart.)

Anyway, he had just started to believe he was in the clear. That his brain had moved on. That the dream version of Beomgyu, with his unfairly beautiful face and terrifyingly hot voice, had packed up and left Soobin's mental premises for good.

So when he went to sleep that night— peaceful, clean sheets, face mask on, a little K-drama playing softly in the background. He was fully expecting a regular, neutral dream.

Like floating in space. Or maybe losing all his teeth in a shopping mall. You know. Normal.

Instead, Soobin opened his eyes to a sky that looked like it had been burnt black.

The ground beneath his feet was soft grass, too green to be real. Trees surrounded him. Tall, too still, like someone had paused time. The air was cold, wet, heavy.

And standing not ten feet away, bathed in the glow of a crimson moon that definitely did not exist in real life—

Was Beomgyu.

Wearing the same unbothered smirk as last time. Dressed in dark clothes that didn't belong to this century. Hands in his pockets. Head tilted, as if he'd been waiting.

Soobin's whole body locked up.

"...No," he whispered.

Beomgyu blinked slowly. Then smiled wider.

"Miss me, Dreamer Boy?"

Soobin let out the most pathetic squeak a grown man could make, stumbled a full step back, and immediately tripped over a rock that might not have even been there a second ago.

"L-Leave me alone!" he shouted, sitting up in the damp grass like a frightened deer. "You're not real! You're just. Just a nightmare!"

Beomgyu strolled forward casually, like they were taking a walk after dinner. "Ouch. After everything we shared?"

"We didn't share anything!" Soobin scrambled to his feet. "You—you violated my subconscious boundaries!"

Beomgyu tilted his head again, pretending to think. "Hmmm. I remember you begging me not to stop."

Soobin covered his ears like a cartoon character. "Nightmare! Total nightmare! This is just a sleep paralysis hallucination—"

"You're standing. And moving. And screaming."

Soobin froze.

Beomgyu was close now. Closer than he had any right to be. He stood just under the edge of a twisted tree branch, bathed in moonlight, watching Soobin with that same knowing look that made his stomach do terrifying backflips.

This wasn't the same red-lit room as last time.

This time, they were in the park.

The same park where Soobin had totally-not-stalked the real Beomgyu just a few days ago.

"And my dear Dreamer Boy," Beomgyu said, his voice low, velvet-smooth, "would you mind keeping your voice down? They might hear us."

Soobin froze.

The moment the words left Beomgyu's mouth, the air changed. And suddenly, Soobin heard them—faint sounds, distant but distinct, carried by the night wind. Wind. The wind that was frozen before, finally started flowing. With it, came the soft sound of leaves rustling on the trees around him.

Then he heard more. A shared laughter from a couple somewhere near the benches. The scuff of sneakers brushing gravel, followed by a soft whistle— maybe someone walking their dog. A low conversation, two security guards chatting half-heartedly near the front gates.

They were ordinary park sounds. Familiar. Background noise he'd heard a thousand times before on late-night walks.

But here—right now—they felt wrong. Blurred, like the edge of a dream trying too hard to mimic reality. As if the people weren't real, but echoes. Or placeholders. Shadows cast by Soobin's subconscious.

Still, they felt real enough to make his skin crawl.

He glanced around. The trees rustled gently. The air smelled faintly of damp soil and cold stone. The night pressed close around him.

"I—" Soobin's voice came out too thin. "Are they—?"

"Why yes," Beomgyu answered, already reaching for him. "We're not alone Dreamer boy."

Before Soobin could ask what the hell that meant, a hand wrapped loosely around his wrist.

"Come on," Beomgyu murmured, tugging gently. "Let's go somewhere a little less... visible."

He didn't wait for permission. He never did.

Soobin stumbled along behind him, feet crunching grass and dirt as Beomgyu led him off the main path, through a thicket of trees and hedges. The noises of the park dulled into a low hum behind them.

They stopped in a tucked-away clearing—a small stone rest area hidden between rows of ivy-covered fences. There was a low bench, the shadows curling around it like a blanket. It was quiet here. Still.

Soobin's heart was beating so fast it hurt.

Beomgyu let go of his wrist.

Then he turned, facing Soobin with a slow, lazy smile.

"You were upset last time," he said, voice almost amused. "All that talk about me crossing your subconscious boundaries..."

Soobin's lips parted in protest, but nothing came out.

"So tonight," Beomgyu continued, stepping closer again, "I thought I'd return the favor."

Soobin blinked, unsure.

Beomgyu leaned in, close enough for Soobin to feel the warmth of his breath.

"I'll let you cross mine." His lips barely brushed Soobin's own, their eyes locked. One full of mischief and another full of surprise. "Touch me however, wherever, you want."

Soobin's breath hitched— shame, fear, desire all crashing into each other like waves.

He wanted to deny it. To yell at his dream-self for being so unhinged. But instead, his hands twitched, uncertain, by his sides.

"I— I don't want— I mean—"

"You don't want to?" Beomgyu asked innocently. "Then why are your hands shaking, Dreamer Boy?"

"I—I'm just cold," Soobin blurted.

Beomgyu laughed, quiet and low. "Sure."

He reached for Soobin's wrists again, guiding them up with slow, deliberate ease— until they were resting on his own chest. Under his shirt. His soft tummy peaking from where the shirt was slightly lifted.

His heartbeat pulsed steady beneath Soobin's trembling palms.

"I'm cold too," Beomgyu said. "Warm me up with your hands, Soobin."

Soobin's mind screamed at him to stop.

But his hands didn't move away. His hands resting on Beomgyu's chest, rigid at first— like he was afraid to move. But Beomgyu just stood there, quiet and waiting, like he had all the time in the world.

"Go on," he murmured. "Didn't you want this?"

Soobin swallowed hard.

Yes. God, yes.

He just didn't know it would feel like this.

His hands moved—tentative at first, then firmer. He dragged his palms downward, slowly, brushing along the dips and lines of Beomgyu's torso. The thin fabric of Beomgyu's shirt did little to hide the way his body curved beneath it— lean and soft. But touching it, skin to skin, Soobin couldn't pinpoint what he was feeling. Warm? Inviting?

It sent a thrill up Soobin's spine. He was doing this. He was the one touching.

Not tied to a chair. Not mocked.

But allowed.

No, invited.

His breath grew heavier.

The size difference between them only made it worse—better. Soobin towered over him without even trying. Every time Beomgyu tilted his chin up to meet his eyes, it made something in Soobin ache. The contrast was enough to short-circuit his thoughts.

His hands reached higher again. Brushing against the soft skin on his chest, inciting a reaction from the boy under him. The little moan he let out, drove Soobin only a slight bit more insane. But it was still a lot, considering he was on the edge of insanity and stability. He could feel it. It wouldn't take much more for him to snap.

"You like that, don't you?" Beomgyu teased, as Soobin's fingers dipped under the hem of his shirt. "The way I fit under you."

Soobin let out a soft sound, something between a gasp and a whimper.

"I mean, I don't blame you," Beomgyu continued, smirking. "Big boys like you always want to know what it's like to ruin something smaller."

"Stop," Soobin mumbled, cheeks flushing. But his hands didn't stop moving.

Beomgyu laughed again, soft and wicked. "I will. But only after you're done being a pervert."

"I—" Soobin tried retorting, but he did not sound even the slightest bit confident, "I'm not a pervert."

The boy let out a snarl. Not a friendly one, but one that made Soobin feel pathetic. "You say that as you touch me in the middle of a park full of people."

Soobin's eyes widened. Suddenly the voices of people around him amplified. He felt suffocated. Finally looking around, he realized he was only one mistake away from being found out.

And he knew. He knew, this was a dream. And yet, the idea of secretly doing something unspeakable in a space they shared with others... made him a little excited. 

He felt his abdomen twist. An electric feeling running down from his chest all the way to his member. Looking at Beomgyu's eyes, full of knowing amusement, and a mocking grin— Soobin finally saw it. 

He really was one.

A pervert.

Because all he could think of at the moment was— the soft boy under him, and how he would like to ruin him in a place so vulnerable. 

How had he come to this?

Chapter Text

The dream must be playing with my head, Soobin thought. 

Surely. It was the influence the boy from his dream brought with him, that had affected the Dream-Soobin. 

Because, of course. Soobin wouldn't do this on any other day. 

The one to blame was the dream and the parasite that had attached itself to his dreams. 

Yes. That was it.

That is what Soobin was thinking at the moment, not that he had a lot of time to think.

Beomgyu made sure to bring him back to reality— or rather to bring him back to dreaming.

"Pathetic," he mocked. Rolling his eyes, "you're hard already? All it took were a few words—?"

Before he could finish though, he was interrupted by a yelp. His own. 

Disregarding any thoughts, Soobin decided he didn't care anymore. This was a dream after all. He might as well enjoy it. So that's what he did.

Pushing the shorter of the two, Soobin got on top of the boy. Eyes, hungry. Like he was stranded and starved in a dessert— finally laying eyes on an oasis.

The hand that was originally under his shirt, now pulled it high up, revealing a sight of his oasis. He looked at the soft pink skin of the nipples, inviting him to have a taste. He looked at the skin on his stomach, devoid of any blemish and soft like butter, inviting to touch. And finally, he looked at Beomgyu's face, his eyes staring back at him with a whole new-found emotion: shock.

Beomgyu was visibly startled by the unexpected turn of events. But he was already pulling himself together, readying himself for another retort. But, once again, he was interrupted. Letting out another yelp, Beomgyu gasped.

"Soo— Soobin, wait—" he tried. But the taller was already upon him, biting down on the sensitive skin on his chest. Biting, sucking, licking, and biting again. Pulling at the soft skin, making Beomgyu moan out loud, making him feel like a slut out in public. 

When Soobin glanced up, he was surprised to see Beomgyu biting down hard on his lips. Trying hard not to let any sound slip out of his mouth. His brows knitted into a frown, with utmost focus, or at least he looked like he was trying— and failing.

It only made Soobin more excited— a pool of blood rushing downward. He wanted more. He wanted to see more. He wanted to touch more. He wanted to do more.

But he also wanted to savor it, so he straightened up a bit. Looking down at the boy under him. Gasping for air, he looked at Soobin with angry eyes. But all Soobin could focus on was the bite mark he left for everyone to see— red and vicious. He definitely wanted more of that.

"Are you crazy?" Beomgyu mocked, trying to take back the momentum, but failed. He watched in horror as the taller went right back into biting some more. But now his teeth trailed on different places, from the tip of his collarbone all the way down to dangerous territory right above where his pants started.

He didn't know when and where his shirt had vanished, the monster above must have ripped it off in the time Beomgyu was busy trying his best not to scream. 

Soobin didn't know how long he'd been marking the boy, but it was enough to leave half his torso red and sensitive. The sight pleased him, but he wanted more. He wanted so much more. So he followed his instinct, extending a hand towards the button on Beomgyu's pants.

"Freak," Soobin's hands, and even his eyes, faltered at the boy's words. "Who do you think you are, to touch me like that?"

A shiver ran down Soobin's spine. His eyes, shivering, slowly met the others. He was met with something so cold in those eyes, it made him freeze in place. His breathing hitched.

Pushing him off him, Beomgyu spoke in a slow and deep tone— a sense of finality and control laced in them— "You touch me when I tell you to. And you stop when I tell you to. Every move you make belongs to me. Your hands, your mouth, even your thoughts. And if I want you quiet, you’ll hold your breath and pray I let you keep it. Because your body? Your breath? Every inch of your obedience? You guessed it, it’s mine and only mine to command. Do You Understand Choi Soobin?"

Soobin was stunned in place. He couldn't move. Not only because of his words, but because his thoughts were a mess. A complete mess.

"I Asked," Beomgyu's voice dropped an octave, "Do. You. Understand?"

Forcing out a nod, Soobin decided he wouldn't have any dignity left if he were to speak at this moment. If he even could speak. Or, if he even had any diginity left.

"Okay," Beomgyu looked down at the other, "Breathe."

So Soobin did. Finally letting out his held breathe, Soobin stared back at Beomgyu like he was waiting for his next orders.

Beomgyu stared at him for a minute too long, minutes where Soobin's mind only spiralled more and more. The heat in his member was getting unbearable by the minute. The feeling of someone overpowering him into submission only adding to the heat.

Smirking, Beomgyu finally decided on a verdict for the sinner. The sinner being Soobin in this situation.

"Kneel," he demanded, and so Soobin followed. Dropping on his knees, he looked up at the boy. Today, he didn't look soft and sweet like in the cafe. Instead he looked sharp and unfeeling. But for some mysterious reason, Soobin found himself wanting just that.

"Since I returned a favor from last time," the mocking grin returned on Beomgyu's face, "shouldn't you do the same, Dreamer Boy?"

Soobin's mind was not on his side right now. It wasn't from the beginning of this dream, in fact. But at those words, it worked spectacularly. Reminding him exactly what Beongyu was referring to. Scenes from last dream, where beomgyu was under him, sucking on him, resurfaced in his mind. Driving him a little bit more crazier than he already felt.

His gaze dropped to stare right in front of him. He found himself kneeling between Beomgyu's thighs. Face to face with his crotch, it was perfect.

He wanted to touch him, he did. But he waited, patiently. 

Because that's what Beomgyu would want.

And just as he expected, Beomgyu reached down to undo his own jeans. Torturously slow. Soobin's eyes traced every moment of Beomgyu's hands. From the slow unzipping, to when he reached inside the band of his boxers, to when he pulled out his hard cock in his hands.

Beomgyu's member, now right in front of Soobin's face, was much bigger than Soobin had imagined. And he had imagined enough, yet it was completely out of his expectations. He was supposed to be the petite boy, with every feature of his being sparkled with at least a tiny bit of cutesy. But what stood in front of him— how was he supposed take that in his mouth?

"I—" Soobin panicked looking back up to meet his eyes, "I can't—"

But he wasn't allowed to complete. Holding his jaw in place, Beomgyu looked down at him, eyes sharp. "When did I allow you to Speak?

Soobin gulped. Eyes fixed on the other's cold unfeeling ones. 

Why was he turned on by this???

Beomgyu took his time. Moving the hand on his jaw a little higher, he pressed down on Soobin's tongue with his thumb. Pulling at his jaw, he commanded, "Open your mouth." And, so, Soobin did. 

Bringing the cock closer to his face, almost touching, he gave another command, "Lick." Dazed and lost, Soobin followed. Unhurriedly and messily licking the length, still maintaining eye contanct with the other. "The more you lick, the better for you, babe."

Soobin heard those words. But they didn't exactly register. His mind was a mess, a little foggy. He was so hard at this point, he thought he'd pass out. So following instinct, he reached down to touch himself. Not explicitly, just a little squeeze through the fabric of his own jeans. 

But that was a mistake, he only realized a little late. 

"Choi. Soobin," Beomgyu's voice sounded from above him, "Did I allow you to touch yourself?"

Soobin chocked. He found himself unable to continue anything, dazed and overstimulated from all the sensations.

"You keep disobeying, don't you think?" the voice called, "In that case, even I won't be kind anymore."

Soobin only had a split second to feel the chills that climbed his back at those words. In the next moment his head was jerked, held tightly by his hair. A sharp dulling pain stinged at his roots, but it was nothing compared to what came next.

He was not prepared, not in the slighest, when the entirety of Beomgyu's cock was rammed into his open mouth. Once, twice, thrice. He lost count. It was so intense he couldn't feel or think of anything.

Beomgyu was fucking his face like he deserved it. Like he was a slut, who deserved all that pain to remember his place. How could he have disobeyed Beomgyu? How dare he disobey him?

But it was only getting harder and harder. He wanted to touch himself. He wanted to touch himself bad. He could feel himself losing the connection to reality— or connection to his dream. Whatever it was. Slowly slipping away from this world. He was so close. He felt like he was about to cum anytime now. Untouched. Was this how pathetic he really had gotten?

"You take my cock so well, Dreamer boy," Beomgyu was now looking down at him with half lidded eyes, his own climax nearing. But Soobin couldn't see any of that. Everything was blurry. Only his voice sounding and then echoing in his mind. 

It was impossible. His hands once again trying to reach his own jeans, only to be pulled back up.

"You're so pitiful, really," Beomgyu laughed, his voice laced with mocking concern. "Look at yourself. Can't even go a few minutes without touching yourself. Is this why you couldn't stop dreaming of me? Huh? Tell me Soobin, is this why you dreamt of me, because you are an insatiable slut?"

Pausing for a few seconds, Beomgyu watched Soobin tremble in his hands, around his cock. And involuntarily nodding, as if on instinct.

Beomgyu burst into laughter, "So are we admitting that you're a slut for me?"

Without waiting for a response, Beomgyu increased his pace. Listening to the melodic sound of Soobin's startled gasp, Beomgyu finally came into his mouth. Allowing himself to release all his cum in his face.

Soobin sat, sprawled on the ground. He looked like a complete mess, a mess Beomgyu had personally engineered. His limbs felt like jelly, and so did the rest of his body. So he just sat there, staring at the beautiful man above him— not to menion hard as fuck. 

He wanted to touch himself, but he wasn't allowed to. So he waited. And waited some more. But all the man did was stare back at him, as if he was looking at trash. But, Soobin was patient. Soobin could wait. No— actually he couldn't. But he still chose to wait. 

And finally, finally the man moved.

Reaching down.

Slightly kneeling to face him. 

One of his hand carresing his face, tenderly.

He smiled, a smile sweet like nectar.

And Soobin thought, a thought so fleeting. 

Maybe it wasn't so bad to wait after all.

Leaning in closer to his face, the man opened his mouth to speak.

"Do you know how Pathetic you look?," came the demonic voice of the man he once called beautiful.

Chapter Text

Soobin was frowning. Not just his usual slightly-confused, daydream-struck frown— but the kind of deep, soul-searching grimace that looked like he was either trying to solve a tragic philosophical dilemma or had just realized he forgot to file taxes five years in a row.

And worse... he was frowning while drinking his favorite boba.

Or more accurately—violently biting the straw as if it were responsible for the very explicit, very public, very dreamt events of last night.

"You liked it. Just admit it."

His brain whispered. Quietly. Too reasonably. Soobin scowled harder.

"No I didn't."

"You were the one letting him do— All. That. To you. You clearly wanted it."

"Shut up."

"He let you touch him anywhere. So you did... You literally dreamed that."

"It's not like I asked him to! Plus whatever happened after was NOT—"

"Wait, why am I arguing with myself?!"

Soobin let out a long sigh, slowly chewing the tip of the straw like it owed him something. His drink was already half-melted, the boba sadly floating around like bloated little witnesses to his inner turmoil.

He wasn't even sure what part was bothering him more:

The fact that he liked the dream.

The fact that he hated that he liked it.

Or the terrifying realization that all of this, every dream, every whispered "Dreamer boy", every sinful moan in a public park under a dream-moon... was probably coming from his own subconscious.

"I'm going insane," he muttered into his cup.

"Or just super horny," came a voice beside him.

Soobin choked, nearly aspirating a tapioca pearl.

Yeonjun plopped down across the cafeteria table like he owned the place, grinning as he stole a fry off Soobin's untouched tray.

"You've been sitting here glaring at that poor cup like it stole your man."

"I—what—no! It's not like that!" Soobin flailed, nearly knocking over the drink in question.

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow, chewing thoughtfully. "So you admit there is a man?"

"No!" Soobin squeaked. "Wait—yes—but not like that— I mean— I didn't even say— ugh," he buried his face in his hands, "can you not?!"

Yeonjun leaned back, utterly entertained.

"You're being weird," he said, unhelpfully. "I mean, you're always weird, but this is another level. I was gonna ask if you were constipated or heartbroken, but this? This is even better."

Soobin groaned. "I'm just tired, okay?"

"Of boba?" Yeonjun gestured dramatically at the mangled straw. "That poor drink didn't deserve the violence."

Soobin finally looked up, attempting a casual sip— but his face betrayed him. His entire soul screamed in pain.

Yeonjun narrowed his eyes. "It's about that guy again, isn't it?"

Soobin flinched. "What guy?"

"Oh come on. The one you totally weren't stalking last weekend? What was his name again... Bomi? Gyu? That Bomigyu guy?"

"It's Beomgyu. And I wasn't stalking him!" Soobin whisper-yelled. "I was doing... research!"

"Yeah," Yeonjun nodded solemnly, "research with your eyes... I saw you crouching in a bush, Soob. In broad daylight."

"I... shut up!"

Yeonjun laughed loudly, nearly knocking over his own tray. "Man, I missed you. You're losing it."

Soobin let out a long sigh again, poking the ice in his drink. "Yeah... I think I am."

Soobin stirred the watery remnants of his drink, looking around as if the boba itself might be bugged.

Yeonjun leaned on his elbow, still smirking. "Alright, spill. You've got your I'm-being-haunted-by-a-TikTok-boy face on again."

Soobin hesitated. Then sighed. Then hesitated again. He lowered his voice.

"Okay. Promise you won't laugh."

Yeonjun put a solemn hand over his heart. "I would never."

Soobin gave him a side-eye. "Promise like, really. Like life-and-death kind of promise."

Yeonjun straightened up, hand still over chest. "Cross my heart. Hope to die. Swallow a boba if I lie."

"...Okay," Soobin whispered, leaning in. "I think he's evil."

"...Who?"

"So... Beomgyu." The name came out like a curse word. "I think he's some sort of twisted... dream monster."

Yeonjun blinked. "I'm gonna need more context than that, bestie."

Soobin looked around again, then cupped his hand over his mouth like he was passing on forbidden government intel.

"Listen. Every night—okay, not every night—but a lot of nights... I keep having these dreams. About him. But they're weird."

Yeonjun nodded slowly. "Weird how?"

"Like... super vivid. And he's not the same person as the real-life Beomgyu. He's all— dark and smug. And, like, he knows stuff about me that even I don't think I know."

"Uh-huh."

"And he keeps calling me 'Dreamer Boy,'" Soobin muttered, visibly cringing at the nickname.

"Wow," Yeonjun said thoughtfully. "That's... oddly poetic."

"No! No, it's sinister!" Soobin jabbed his straw like he was trying to pop a ghost. "He shows up out of nowhere and talks like he's in a horror film. Except he's also kinda flirty and weirdly smug and— ugh— I don't even know what genre this is anymore! It's like psychological horror but sponsored by a thirst trap!"

Yeonjun made a noise that sounded like a snort trying to hide inside a cough.

"And get this," Soobin continued, unbothered now, "I think he's doing it on purpose. Like... invading my dreams. To mess with me. I don't know how, maybe he's a cursed spirit or a... sexy demon or— Maybe he's in some weird cult and I'm his new victim— What if I get sold on the black market, Yeonjun? Or— Maybe— LOOK, THE POINT IS, I THINK HE'S DOING THIS TO RUIN MY LIFE."

"Fascinating," Yeonjun nodded, stroking his chin like a professor. "And what evidence do we have for this?"

"The vibes!" Soobin hissed. Clicking his fingers together and flailing his arms, he continued, "The vibes are immaculate in the worst way! And the dreams are getting way too specific! It's like my brain is being hacked!"

Yeonjun leaned in, lowering his voice. "Have you considered... you might need therapy? Your too-down-bad-for-pookie symptoms are a little concerning, babe."

Soobin looked personally offended. "This is not about being down bad. This is about psychological terrorism!"

Yeonjun nodded again. "Right. Of course. Psychological terrorism. In the shape of a hot boy with pretty eyes."

Soobin groaned, leaning forward and bonking his head gently against the table. "I'm serious. I'm so serious. What do I even do?! I can't call the cops on a guy in my dreams!"

Yeonjun took a dramatic sip from his soda, then set it down slowly, eyes still trained on Soobin like he was solving a mystery.

He took a breath. "Okay. So. You're telling me... a boy you've met once or twice, who was suspiciously nice and cute in real life, is now possibly... a dream-hacking demon... whose main goal is to emotionally and erotically torment you every other night?"

Soobin stared at him. "...Yes."

Yeonjun nodded solemnly.

Then grinned. "You need help."

Soobin groaned. "I knew you'd say that."

"No, like—real help. Like the padded room kind."

Soobin threw a napkin at him.

Yeonjun ducked, still grinning. "Hey, I listened to your insane anime subplot! I deserve an award."

"It's not an anime subplot!"

"Okay, okay," Yeonjun held up his hands, still laughing. "But if you start dreaming of him holding a sword and calling you his 'chosen omega,' I'm checking you into the nearest hospital."

Soobin stuffed a fry into his mouth aggressively. "This is why I shouldn't tell you things."

"And yet you always do," Yeonjun smirked.

"Yeah, well, this time I regret it."

Yeonjun slung an arm over Soobin's shoulders as he stood up. "Don't worry, Dreamer Boy. I'll protect you from the sexy dream demon."

"I hate you."

"You love me."

Soobin scowled, sipping what was left of his lukewarm boba.

The straw squeaked.

***

Soobin sat hunched at the edge of his bed, the room lit only by the soft glow of his laptop screen. His legs were tucked beneath him, hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over his hands like some kind of prayer shawl. It was well past midnight, the sky outside black and quiet — the perfect hour for spiraling.

A half-drunk bottle of banana milk sat by his pillow, long since warm and forgotten.

He stared at the blinking cursor on Reddit, having already rewritten the post title five times. It started as "Recurring Dream About a crush— Am I down bad or haunted??" then "Why do I keep dreaming of the cute boy from my class as a ruthless and heartless demon that wants to make me suffer??" and finally landed on the far less embarrassing.

He sighed and started typing, pausing often to groan or mumble "God, this sounds crazy" to himself.

Title: "Has anyone ever felt... watched in their dreams??"

u/soobinator
Hi. Sorry if this isn't the right place. I'm not really a dream person. Or like, a spiritual person.

But I've been having this same dream lately. Same person in it, every time. Someone I know in real life. (We're not even close, so it's not like that.)

At first I thought it was just stress or whatever, but it's gotten weird. He says things to me that I feel like he shouldn't know. He looks at me like I'm the one who's dreaming wrong. I think he knows it's a dream. And he's... enjoying it??

He doesn't hurt me or anything, at least physically, but every time I wake up I feel like I was just hit by a truck. Emotionally. Spiritually. It's like I ran a psychological marathon.

I know how this sounds. I'm not hallucinating, I'm not on drugs, I'm just... genuinely freaked out.

Is it possible for someone to invade your dreams without your permission? And if so, how do I tell them to get the hell out politely.

Please don't be mean.

Soobin reread the post and winced.

"It sounds like I'm in love with him," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "I'm literally the villain in a horror movie who doesn't realize they're the problem." Still, he hit Post.

And waited.

The first comment rolled in within minutes.

u/gojosatoru<3:
bro said "he doesn't hurt me" like it's a good Yelp review 💀

Soobin groaned.

u/ilovextx:
This sounds like a Wattpad story gone rogue.

u/ragebaiter:
lmao "He looks at me like I'm the one dreaming wrong" YOU EVER THINK MAYBE YOU ARE??

u/boysoversleep:
bro's being haunted by a guy who flirts like a serial killer and we're all just here like 👀 tell us more twin

u/ripgojo:
Sounds like my ex tbh. Especially the "emotionally hit by a truck" part.

u/txtnommer69:
i dreamt my dog turned into a tax auditor last night so idk maybe eat less cheese before bed

u/tyunmeow:
Have you considered that maybe you are the dream and he's just trying to log out?

Soobin scrolled down, trying not to take it personally. Fine. Fine. Be clowns. I'm the one slowly losing my mind and y'all are just giggling in a circle like this is some open mic night.

He was just about to close the tab in defeat when he saw it.

A single comment.

Buried between the jokes and upvoted chaos, it sat there — no likes, no flair, no reply option. The username had already been deleted. There was no profile to click, no trace of who had left it. But the words themselves crawled under Soobin's skin like ice water.

u/[deleted]:
Oh my... I've heard of this. Think theyre called "Dream Walkers."
I have only two things to say: try to stay safe... or invest in life insurance.

Soobin stared at the screen, his heart thudding softly in his ears.

He read it again. Then again.

The cursor blinked like it was daring him to type something — but the reply option wasn't even there. The whole thing felt... off. Like a note slipped under his door by someone who had already vanished.

"...Life insurance?!" Soobin croaked. His eye twitching. The sarcastic smile he had on before, freezing completely.

A beat passed. Then he slammed his laptop shut and threw himself back into bed, blanket yanked over his head like it could protect him from metaphysical entities.

He lay there for a long time, Okay. Cool. Not creepy at all.

Burrowing his head in the pillow he yelled, "What do you mean LIFE INSURANCE!?!?"

He did not sleep that night.

Chapter Text

“Come on, Soobinnie.” 

Yeonjun whined, yanking on the sleeve of Soobin’s hoodie like an impatient child at a theme park. “It’s literally twenty steps from our dorm, and they’re giving out snacks shaped like planets. Planet-shaped snacks, Soobin. Think of the craftsmanship.”

“I am,” Soobin grumbled, being unceremoniously towed across campus like a reluctant shopping cart. “I’m thinking of the fact that someone had to look at a meatball and say, ‘Yes. This is definitely Mars.’”

“Okay, rude,” Yeonjun pouted. “Mars is a red velvet donut hole. Duh.”

Soobin stopped walking, digging his heels into the ground. 

“I don’t even like astronomy.”

Yeonjun spun around and gave him the most exaggerated gasp known to mankind. “You take that back. You’re a Pisces moon— you cried during that one space documentary about Saturn’s rings collapsing.”

“I cried once,” Soobin hissed, already regretting letting that fact slip three years ago. “And it was because they said Saturn was losing its rings, okay? It was sad.”

“You know what else is sad? Your social life, if you don’t come with me right now.”

Before Soobin could argue further, Yeonjun had already grabbed him again and started marching toward the student building like a man on a mission.

The entrance to the astronomy event was decorated with cheap string lights and cardboard cutouts of constellations. The inside was dark, filled with the buzz of small talk and an overwhelming number of people who took the phrase “celestial body” a bit too literally. Some were seated and watching a projection of the night sky on the ceiling, others were clustered around displays of constellations and telescopes. 

Soobin hovered at the entrance like a terrified cat.

Yeonjun glanced back and gave him a look. “Don’t even think about bolting.”

Soobin crossed his arms. “No promises.”

Soobin was there for exactly four minutes and twenty-two seconds.

Then he turned to Yeonjun and whispered, “I’d rather be in an actual black hole than listen to one more guy say ‘Did you know Jupiter has 92 moons?’ like it’s a pickup line.”

“Wait, don’t ditch me,” Yeonjun whispered back, already holding a plastic cup of suspicious punch. “They’re about to start the trivia round—first prize is a telescope.”

“You win it and point it at my grave.”

Without another word, Soobin slipped out through the emergency side door, half-hoping someone would stop him and throw him back inside. But no one did.

The air outside was cooler, quieter. The hallway lights buzzed dimly overhead as he wandered aimlessly before remembering the building had rooftop access. He pushed open the metal door, the handle slightly rusted, and climbed the narrow staircase up.

He just needed to breathe for a second. Maybe even have a silent breakdown without witnesses. Was that too much to ask?

When he finally emerged on the rooftop, the city greeted him with glittering lights below and a sky only partially hidden by cloud cover. The sight that met him was breathtaking. Really. His university was build on a small rising of mountains, away from the city crowd. So the lights of the busy roads and congested buildings looked miniature, almost making him feel a little detatched from the world. It was beautiful.

Soobin walked to the edge of the roof, leaning his hands on the safety railing. He took in a deep breathe. Letting the wind caress his face, taking away his worries little by little. 

The last week had been... quite overwhelming. To say the least.

He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. But he decided to just sigh. And thank goodness for that.

Because, in the next moment, he heard something shift behind him.

“Oh,” a voice said. “I thought I heard the door.”

Soobin flinched so hard he nearly fell backward. Beomgyu was standing a few feet away, leaned lazily against the door, one hand in the pocket of his oversized hoodie, the other holding a convenience store drink pouch with a straw sticking out like an IV drip for the emotionally dead.

Soobin thanked the railing. He was glad he didn't fall in front of Beomgyu. Again. That would have been embarrassing.

But that didn't stop him from panicking. 

Beomgyu was here. He was here. Right in front of him.

Beomgyu’s head tilted when he saw who it was. “You always look like you're about to sprint away when I show up. Is it me? Or are you just this skittish in general?”

And Beomgyu was talking to him, shit.

Soobin froze, caught mid step, mid soul-leaving-his-body. “What— no. I was just… I thought this was the exit. Like a fire escape. And I was worried. About fire. And escaping.”

“Right,” Beomgyu nodded slowly, his usual amused smile playing on his soft and pink lips. “How do you plan on escaping from the rooftop.”

Soobin looked away, scowling at the distant skyline. Scratching his head in embarrassment he confessed, “I didn’t think anyone would be up here.”

Beomgyu sipped from his pouch. “Yeah, it’s a little quieter than the part where someone’s giving a lecture on the mating habits of stars.”

Soobin’s lips twitched despite himself.

"Mind giving me some company?" Beomgyu asked with the sweetest smile. So sweet, like the sun peeking out on a cloudy day, Soobin thought he was dreaming. But, no, Beomgyu wouldn't be this kind to him in his dreams.

And, how could Soobin say no to that. He couldn't. He simply couldn't. 

Shyly, he nodded. His hands finding their way to each other, fidgetting at the thought of spending time with the boy of hs dreams. Before they could get to their task of anxiously shuffling, one of his hands was pulled and yanked.

"This way," Beomgyu gestured towards the side of the door. But instead of walking out the door, they walked around it. On the other side, laid a small staircase, leading them even higher. The top of the little platform was small when compared to the roof itself. Only enough to fit a few ten to twenty people, if they decided to cram. 

But it was perfect for just the two of them. They had just enough space to sit comfortably even with the scattered grocery bags Beomgyu had with him. Pulling out a drink similar to his, he handed it to Soobin with a cheeky smile, "Here, hope you like the orange flavor."

In fact he didn't. Soobin was always a fan of more sweet things than sour. But he could only nod with enthusiasm, because it came from Beomgyu.

They sat like that for a while. Quiet. Not awkward, not heavy—just two people under an open sky, sharing a silence that didn’t need to be filled.

The breeze had softened, gentle against their skin. Somewhere far below, muffled music leaked out from the gymnasium. The hum of fluorescent lights above them buzzed faintly, but it all blurred into the background.

Beomgyu leaned back on his hands, tilting his head toward the stars.

“So,” he said suddenly. “See that one?” He pointed vaguely to a patch of darkness. “That’s the legendary Chicken Wing constellation. Said to appear only to those who skipped dinner.”

Soobin turned slowly toward him. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Beomgyu replied solemnly. “And that one,”—he gestured again, more dramatically this time—“is the Great Refrigerator. It stores the dreams of the hungry.”

Soobin snorted before he could stop himself, and then full-on laughed. A rare, real one that echoed slightly off the walls. He leaned his shoulder against the railing to steady himself. “You’re so stupid.”

“I prefer the term ‘celestial visionary,’” Beomgyu replied, smugly pleased.

Soobin shook his head, lips twitching. For once, the gnawing anxiety wasn’t crawling at the back of his skull. Beomgyu’s presence didn’t feel threatening, or dangerous, or surreal. It felt warm. Familiar. Like something Soobin had known before the dreams.

“You’re different,” he said before he could stop himself.

Beomgyu glanced sideways. “Different?”

Soobin immediately regretted speaking. “I mean—not different different. Just… not what I expected.”

Beomgyu’s expression was unreadable for a second. Then he smiled—soft and unbothered. “I get that a lot.”

They fell into silence again. But it was the good kind this time. The kind that wraps around you like a soft blanket instead of choking your lungs.

"Do you sometimes wish you could be a star?" Beomgyu said eventually, eyes turning to face Soobin. His gaze falling back to the was expanse of the sky. The glittering stary sky shining brightly in his eyes. “I do. The stars have no idea what life is. That’s why they just keep shining.”

Soobin blinked, thrown off for a moment by the gentleness of it. The thought hung in the air like a feather, light and drifting. He didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

Instead, he just watched Beomgyu— silhouetted under a sky scattered with fake constellations—and let himself feel whatever it was this was.

He didn’t run. Not this time.

Ah. Maybe, I do like astronomy after all.

***

Soobin felt healed. 

He thanked Yeonjun. And he thanked the gods.

Just a few moments spent with Beomgyu, the Beomgyu of the real world, made him feel so utterly giddy. Burrying his head in his pillow, he let out a muffled squealed. His legs moving in the air in excitement.

Realising what he was doing, he looked up and slapped his face lightly.

"Get a hold of yourself, Choi Soobin." He yelled, but couldn't stop the smile that found its way on his face.

Before he could spiral again, he decided to check his buzzing phone as a distraction. 

Replying to bewildered Yeonjun with even more hearts than he had already sent in the past few hours, he giggled. He was about to put his phone down, when he saw an intresting notification. 

In his Reddit recommendations, he saw a post with the title "Every time I dream, I’m chased by a sexy man with six arms and a saxophone.”

Rolling on his stomach, Soobin laughed. What even.

He kept scrolling, not with crippling anxiety this time. But with pure amusement at what random people had been dreaming. Just silent scrolling. The curiosity got the better of him and with his tired eyes he started scanning keywords like dream, intruder, lucid visitation, uninvited guest, dream walker, weird sex nightmare with a hot guy who’s mean to you but you might like it?

Okay, that last one didn’t yield much.

Still, he pressed on. He read hundreds of posts. Most were ridiculous.

“My dreams are being controlled by aliens, AMA.”

“I keep seeing this girl in white in my dreams and now she lives in my kitchen cabinets.”

“Last night I dreamed of a sentient yogurt who said I’d meet ‘the one’ soon. Should I be worried?”

"Do I need an exorcism if my dreams are now in HD and have opening credits?"

Soobin rubbed his temples. “Why is everyone on this site actually insane?”

But all of a sudden, his laughter faded. An old post caught his attention. The title was forgettable — something like “Anyone else know someone with weird dreams?” — but the body of the post was what made Soobin freeze.

u/donotdmpls:

My friend used to talk about someone who visited him in his dreams. Said it started moths ago.

At first, it creeped him out, but over time, he got used to it. Said they started talking. Said the guy felt more real than most real people. I always thought he was just dreaming of a past crush or something.

But then last year, he stopped waking up.

Coma. No explanation. Doctors have no clue. His brain activity is still too high, if anything.

It's like he’s stuck in a dream.

I visit him sometimes. He smiles in his sleep.

I don’t know what that means.

He always said the dream guy told him, “This isn’t your world anymore.”

Soobin sat there, face pale and lips parted.

He blinked.

Then said, “...Nope. Nope. Nope. Noope.”

He slammed the laptop shut again. Hugged it to his chest.

“…Okay,” he muttered to himself, nodding too fast. “That could be anyone. I mean, lots of people smile in comas. Smiling is normal. That doesn't mean he got dream-napped or—” He gagged on the word. “—dream-wed?!”

A beat passed. He slowly opened his laptop again. Stared at the post like it might change.

It didn’t.

“…What do you mean 'not his world anymore,' you stupid coma boy?! What does that even mean?!”

His phone lit up with the time.

4:02 a.m.

Soobin chucked his phone across the room and curled deeper into his blanket, fully wide awake, muttering, “This is fine. Everything is fine. I’m just gonna have a nice, normal dream tonight. Maybe about puppies. Or taxes.”

Spoiler: it was neither.

Chapter Text

Soobin hadn't slept in three days.

Three whole days of laying curled up on his bed. Even at this moment very moment, Soobin was found wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, eyes bloodshot and half-glazed over as he stared blankly at his ceiling. A room once warm and tidy was now dimly lit, a graveyard of half-empty mugs of chamomile tea and unopened sleep supplements scattered on his desk like offerings to a sleep god that had long abandoned him.

I had also been three days of Yeonjun trying to get the man to sleep.

His phone alarm buzzed for the third time that hour— the one labeled "Just close your eyes bro 😭🙏"— but he didn't move. He just sighed and whispered to himself, "No. He'd be waiting."

The door creaked open.

Yeonjun stepped in, holding a bag of convenience store snacks and a bottle of vitamin water. He took one look at Soobin and sighed in horror. "Dude. You look like you've been through five breakups, one haunting, and a near-death experience."

Soobin cracked a slow blink. "Only one of those is technically true."

Yeonjun set the bag down, walked over, and squatted beside the bed. "Soob, come on. This has to stop. You haven't slept in days. Your under-eye bags are getting so big they might start charging rent."

"I can't sleep."

"Yes, you can. You just won't."

"I won't because if I do, I might never wake up again."

Yeonjun blinked.

"...Okay." He got up and grabbed the chair from Soobin's desk, spinning it dramatically and sitting on it backwards, arms crossed on the top. "I'll bite. Why exactly do you think you'll die if you fall asleep?"

Soobin sat up slowly, like a man with a tragic backstory about to monologue before the final battle. He looked Yeonjun dead in the eye and began, voice hushed like he was about to reveal a government secret.

"I went back to the forums."

"Oh god."

"I read everything, Yeonjun. Everything. Posts from people with weird dreams. Recurring figures. People who talked about someone invading their dreams. Like this one guy? Said he dreamed of a sexy six-armed saxophone demon every Tuesday. Every. Single. Tuesday."

"...That sounds kind of incredible, actually."

"Focus! Yeonjun, focus! And then there was this one post," Soobin said, leaning closer, "from someone who said their friend used to be visited by a dream guest. But now the friend is in a coma. An indefinite. Coma."

Yeonjun blinked. "Okay. That's definitely... unsettling."

Soobin nodded solemnly. "And then someone else commented 'They're called Dream Walkers. Try to stay safe. Or get life insurance.' LIFE INSURANCE, Yeonjun."

He flung himself back into the pillows. "Do you know how long it takes to get approved for a policy?! What if I get dream-murdered before then?! What if he comes back and calls me Dreamer Boy again and then just—kills me with his thighs or something?!"

Yeonjun sat there, mouth open, blinking like his brain had momentarily lost signal.

"...You realize this sounds completely insane, right?"

Soobin nodded again, dead serious. "Insane? Yes. But also statistically possible."

Yeonjun stood up and walked over to the window, then pulled the curtain back to let in some daylight. "Okay. Great talk. Now please, for the love of all that is holy, drink this vitamin water and try to be a functioning human being. Or at least pretend you've touched grass in the past week."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

Yeonjun groaned and dragged the blanket off him. "Okay, then at least shower. You smell like my dad's uncle's wife's father's son's sister's husband's nephew, and that is not a compliment."

Soobin flopped dramatically onto the floor. "Fine. But if I get sucked into a dream portal mid-shampoo, you better avenge me."

"No promises."

By some miracle— or rather, the threat of Yeonjun live-streaming him to all their mutuals looking like a sleep-deprived swamp goblin— Soobin had made it into the shower.

And by another miracle, he had emerged twenty minutes later... clean. Hair still damp, cheeks flushed from the steam, and dressed in a fresh hoodie that didn't smell like desperation and chamomile.

He slumped down onto his bed, hair dripping onto the sheets, but before he could dive back under the covers and spiral into another insomnia-fueled Reddit rabbit hole, Yeonjun was suddenly shoving a tray in his face.

"Eat," Yeonjun ordered, holding a spoonful of rice in front of him. "You haven't had real food in, like, 48 hours. And no, bubble tea doesn't count as a meal."

Soobin squinted suspiciously. "What is this?"

"Home-cooked love and nutritional balance," Yeonjun said sweetly. "Now open up."

Too tired to argue, and honestly a little touched, Soobin opened his mouth like a grumpy toddler being spoon-fed. The food was warm, soft, comforting— too comforting. Like a hug from the inside.

He blinked slowly, chewing. "...You call this food?"

"Shut it, and gulp boy. I don't have the patience to hear you complain."

Suppressing a smile, he took another bite. And another.

About ten minutes and a full tray later, Soobin was slouched against his pillows, staring at the ceiling again— but this time, it was fuzzy. Not mentally fuzzy. Like, visually fuzzy.

His head lolled to the side, eyes blinking out of sync. "Hey... Yeonjun..."

"Mmm?"

"What... what was in that food..."

"Rice. Vegetables. Chicken. A little soy sauce."

"Why does it taste... like betrayal..."

Yeonjun looked far too casual as he began cleaning up the tray. "Oh, I might've crushed up half a sleeping pill in it. Just a teeny one."

Soobin's body froze mid-slouch, his mouth half open in horror. "YOU DRUGGED ME?!"

Yeonjun calmly plucked the spoon out of his hand. "Don't be dramatic. I gently medicated you."

"You absolute menace!" Soobin shouted— or tried to shout, but it came out more like a pitiful yawn. "I haven't submitted my life insurance application yet! Do you want me to die?!"

Yeonjun sat down at the edge of the bed, brushing Soobin's damp bangs back. "Babe, if anyone's gonna kill you, it's gonna be me, from secondhand stress. Now shush and sleep."

"I'm gonna haunt you," Soobin muttered weakly, eyes fluttering shut despite his best efforts. "I'll possess your blender. Your milk will always be warm. You'll never know peace again—"

"Sure, sure."

And with that, Soobin drifted off.

His breathing slowed, tension finally releasing from his shoulders. For the first time in days, he looked... peaceful.

Yeonjun stared at him for a second, exhaled, then whispered to the ceiling:

"...If you're in his dreams, weird dream boy, please don't kill him. He's annoying, but he's my little pookie."

***

The scent of sandalwood drifted through the air, sweet and smoky, thickening the already heavy silence that cloaked the room. Paper lanterns glowed dimly overhead, casting long shadows on polished wooden floors and latticed windows. Outside, cicadas droned lazily in the hot summer night.

But Soobin saw none of that.

Instead, what he felt was the cold ground biting into his knees. There was a slight sting on his wrists, which were unexpectedly tied together at his back by a thick rope. A blindfold left him sightless. What kind of dream was this now? He wanted to curse.

But he couldn’t. Soobin tried, but failed to speak anything legible. It took him a few seconds to realize he had a cloth strapped to his mouth, and a ball of it acting as a gag. The feeling was so foreign, yet it felt like he had been sitting with it on for hours on end—so long that he hadn’t even realized something was preventing him from speaking until he tried.

I should have applied for the damn life insuarance, damn it Yeonjun.

Not that there was much he could do—so Soobin decided to pay more attention to his surroundings. And he heard it before he felt it.

In the silence that surrounded him, he could hear the sound of breathing. And when he shifted slightly, he felt it. There was someone sitting to both his sides, kneeling just like him—or so he guessed—also unable to speak.

It wasn’t just the three of them, either. After paying more attention, he could tell there were at least ten people around him. None of them making any kind of sound. Not even moving or reacting to Soobin’s squirming.

Where the hell was he?

Soobin’s back was damp as he shivered beneath the rough white robes he wore—a plain, slightly tattered hanbok of unbleached cotton, the kind given to the lowest of servants. The sleeves were too short, and the cloth clung to his back and shoulders, making him feel naked despite being clothed. Around him, no one moved.

He knelt for what felt like hours. Waiting. Waiting for something to happen. Anything.

And finally—

At the far end of what Soobin assumed was a hall, he heard a door open. Followed by the faint rustle of clothes, and light footsteps. Steps that headed his way.

Soobin gulped.

He had prayed for something— anything— to change. But now, he wished his dream would have ended instead. He didn't know why, but he felt a really strong emotion suddenly form in his stomach. 

Fear.

Soobin was terrified. Even in the biting cold winds, Soobin found himself sweat under his light clothes. Beads forming on his forehead. His hands fidgetting with impatience. His guts turning on him. He could practically smell himself, full of horror and fright.

At that moment something sharp slashed past his eyes. At least that's what he thought happened.

Suddely, his blindfold fell on the ground— cut in half— and his eyes were assaulted by the sudden presence of light. Soobin squinted and tried to focus and when he did—

Oh no.

No, no, no—

Beomgyu.

Except this wasn't the Beomgyu Soobin had seen at university. And it wasn't even the smug, silky-voiced Beomgyu of his earlier dreams.

This one stood in regal silence, surrounded by noblemen and guards. He was dressed in layers of dark embroidered silk— deep indigo and crimson trimmed with gold. His gat, a wide-brimmed black hat worn by nobles, sat tilted ever-so-slightly on his head. His long black hair was tied back neatly, not a strand out of place. The hanbok he wore hugged his upper body perfectly, the golden dragon symbols catching the candlelight in a way that made him glow. He looked like a painting come to life. Tall, graceful, dangerous.

And he had a sword.

A real one. Unsheathed. Polished to a blinding silver.

Worst of all— pointing straight at Soobin.

The blade trailed in his hand, a deliberate tilt to its tip.

Soobin's heart was pounding. Not from fear— okay, partly from fear— but also because, against every fiber of common sense he had left, his first thought was:

Why is he so hot.
Why is he so hot holding a weapon.
Why is he so hot while possibly about to kill me.
I hate myself.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

Soobin lowered his gaze quickly, but not before catching the glint of Beomgyu's amused eyes. The tip of the sword rose until it hovered just under his chin.

"Lift your head," Beomgyu said softly. Soft—yet like a command no one could disobey.

Soobin did— because dream logic wouldn't let him say no, apparently— and found Beomgyu looking down at him like a king inspecting a pet. His lips curled into a satisfied grin.

"This one," Beomgyu said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "will be mine."

The sword shifted slightly, resting against Soobin's shoulder now, still cold against his skin.

"I hereby declare him... my chosen omega."

Soobin blinked.

Then blinked again.

Oh for the love of—

I should make Yeonjun pay for my insuarance, That vile-mouthed, good-for-nothing son of a —!

Chapter Text

Yeonjun, he thought bitterly. If I die in my sleep, I am possessing your body and throwing your credit card into the Han River.

Still stunned, Soobin's brain scrambled to process what had just happened. Somewhere in his subconscious, the rational part of him was screaming. Screaming about how Yeonjun jinxed this exact scenario. Screaming about how this was clearly a side effect of too much historical drama binge-watching he was coerced into by the other. Screaming about how he was now kneeling in front of Dream Beomgyu like some blushing protagonist in a period soap opera—

"Say something," Beomgyu murmured, leaning closer so only Soobin could hear. His voice was lower now, almost sultry. "Shouldn't you thank your alpha?"

Okay. Brain officially fried.
Dead. Over. Done.

Soobin's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

"Uh—," he managed to squeak out.

Which made Beomgyu laugh.

The room was silent, thick with heat and incense, the only sound the slow, deliberate scuff of fine boots over polished wood.

Soobin felt the weight of the stares on him. Dozens of bowed heads around him— other servants in muted tones— but he was the one standing now, trembling under the pointed blade aimed straight at his chest.

His throat was dry.

Beomgyu stood at the center, dressed in layers of dark silk and gold. His jeogori wrapped tightly at the waist, fastened with a deep crimson sash, sleeves flowing like water with every graceful move. The embroidery shimmered with the faintest thread of silver dragons, curling over the fabric like guardians. The high collar accentuated the line of his neck, and his long dark hair was half tied with a golden clasp, the rest cascading over his shoulders.

He looked like royalty. He looked like danger.

He looked... stupidly hot.

Soobin nearly slapped himself.

Focus.

He wasn't even supposed to be in this room. One second he was curled in bed plotting insurance fraud, and the next— bam— he was shoved into some Joseon-era fever dream. And now he was about to get assigned as someone's omega? In front of an entire crowd?? With Beomgyu holding a damn sword?

"I blame Yeonjun for this," Soobin thought miserably. "That bastard literally summoned this like it was Beetlejuice. Who even says 'chosen omega' out loud??"

"I'll be taking this one," Beomgyu said coolly, his voice like low thunder, echoing off the wooden beams above.

Soobin blinked. "I—I think there's been a mistake," he stammered, not moving an inch.

Beomgyu arched one perfect brow. "Mistake?" he repeated, stepping closer. The sword didn't move. "My dear... you've already been chosen."

The word dear set something strange crawling up Soobin's spine. It wasn't like the dream-Beomgyu from before— no red lighting or sultry whispers. This Beomgyu was quiet authority. His tone had command, not seduction, but that somehow made it worse.

"You will belong to me now," Beomgyu continued, circling him. "And no one touches what's mine."

The blade finally lowered— just enough to press gently against Soobin's side, grazing the outer layer of his thin linen hanbok. He could feel the cold of the metal even through the fabric, but it was nothing compared to the burn of Beomgyu's gaze.

"God, what is wrong with me," Soobin's brain screamed, even as his knees nearly buckled.

"I don't belong to anyone," Soobin said weakly, trying not to focus on how he looked— barefoot, hair tied back in a rough knot, the fabric of his clothing thin and pale and definitely not made for standing in front of someone who looked like a walking fantasy novel cover.

Beomgyu didn't respond at first. He just tilted his head, eyes scanning Soobin with a quiet intensity that made every inch of him feel seen. Like he wasn't wearing enough clothes. Like Beomgyu had already undressed him, slowly, in his mind.

"No," Beomgyu said finally. "You belong to me."

Soobin let out a quiet whimper.

From somewhere deep inside his brain, a practical voice tried to rise. This is just a dream. You are asleep. This is all fake, and you're not actually turned on by someone calling you 'mine' in historical garb with long hair and a dangerous glint in their eye—

But that voice was buried fast.

Soobin swallowed thickly.

Beomgyu turned slightly, nodding to the guards. "Take the others out," he ordered. "I'll need time with this one. Alone."

The doors closed behind them with a heavy thud.

Now it was just the two of them. Beomgyu. And his chosen.

Soobin looked up.

And the dream, as always, was just beginning.

The silence stretched between them.

Soobin remained frozen in place, every nerve in his body standing at attention. His heart beat loud in his ears— so loud, in fact, he was sure Beomgyu could hear it. Maybe he could. This was a dream, after all. Who knew what the rules were anymore?

Beomgyu stepped forward again. Close. So close.

Soobin backed up instinctively— only to find the wall behind him. Soobin was a slightly taller than the other, but somehow he found himself bashfully lowering his head— unable to straighten up infront of the man. 

His breath caught as Beomgyu's hand came up, not with the sword, but with his palm, resting lightly on the wall beside Soobin's head. The sword was sheathed now, forgotten at his side, because he didn't need it to make Soobin feel powerless.

He was already doing just fine with that lazy, unreadable smirk on his lips.

"Why are you trembling, Dreamer boy?"

The nickname cut through him like lightning. Not from mockery, but from memory— from the realer-than-real echo of Beomgyu's voice saying those exact same words in the park. The confidence. The power.

"Y-you... You're not real," Soobin stammered, barely able to hold eye contact.

Beomgyu tilted his head slowly, fingers tracing down the side of Soobin's face with an intimacy that made his entire body tense. "Not real?" he whispered. "Then why do you keep dreaming of me?"

"I don't!"

"Liar."

Soobin opened his mouth to argue— but the words caught in his throat the second Beomgyu's other hand brushed over his waist, fingers pressing into the thin linen fabric as if to test his limits.

And Soobin, curse his traitorous body, didn't move away.

But, something was especially wrong with his body today. He felt even more vulnerable, even more alarmed... but also— even more aroused, than any other dream he had. 

He could feel it. Almost, touch it. Almost. Most of all, though— he could smell it. He felt the room was suddenly surrounded by a sweet smell, something a mix of soil wood and grass. It was strangely comforting. Reminding him of days spent in the tranquil environment of his grandmas farm. 

His breath stuttered. "I... I'm not yours."

"No?" Beomgyu leaned in, lips brushing just beside his ear, breath warm. "Then why are you wearing my colors?"

Soobin blinked, confused— until he looked down.

The pale garment he wore— white with faint red stitching, tied with a loose crimson sash — it did look familiar. It matched the red on Beomgyu's sash. It matched his seal.

"Wha—?! This isn't—!"

Beomgyu clicked his tongue and leaned back just enough to meet Soobin's eyes. "You want to be mine," he said, low. "You dream of me like this for a reason."

Soobin's hands curled into fists at his sides, face burning.

"You like that I'm stronger," Beomgyu continued, his touch firmer now, moving from waist to chest, palm pressing flat over Soobin's pounding heart. "You like being smaller next to me. You like being told what to do. You like how I look with my hair long and my hands on you. And you especially like—"

"Shut up," Soobin snapped, mortified, but his voice cracked halfway through.

Beomgyu's smile widened, slow and dangerous.

"You're trembling," he repeated, softer now, but with a possessiveness that made Soobin's stomach twist. "You're scared I'll ruin you, Dreamer boy."

Soobin swallowed hard.

"And the funniest part is," Beomgyu added, closing the final space between them until their bodies touched, his chest brushing against Soobin's with every breath, "I already have."

Soobin's knees gave out.

Or they would have, if Beomgyu didn't grab him — both hands on his hips, holding him upright, keeping him pinned to the wall with alarming ease.

Their lips were inches apart.

The room was suffocatingly warm now. Too much silk, too much incense, too much proximity. And still, Soobin didn't move. Couldn't. Every muscle screamed at him to shove Beomgyu away, to wake up, to scream, to run.

But instead, he whispered, "What do you want from me?"

And Beomgyu, eyes gleaming with something unreadable— something dangerous and reverent and almost devotional— whispered back:

"Everything."

Soobin's breath hitched.

Everything.

That word sank into him like a brand, searing through every inch of his body. It echoed in his ribs. Settled somewhere deep and primal— in a place Soobin didn't even know existed. Because it didn't. Soobin swore it didn't. 

Because how would he explain the sudden wet sensation he felt in his pants, but in all the wrong places.

"You're not serious," he whispered, ignoring his current dilemma. He tried to scoff. Tried to sound unaffected. "This is just some messed up dream... some roleplay my brain stitched together after Yeonjun ran his cursed mouth—"

Beomgyu leaned in, lips grazing his neck with excruciating slowness.

"But your dreams," he murmured, "always tell the truth, don't they?"

Soobin shuddered.

He hated how right that felt.

Because the warmth of Beomgyu's breath against his skin made something deep inside him stir— something base, something dangerous. A trembling awareness. A fear that was laced with want. Like instinct clawing up through his spine.

And it got worse— so much worse— when Beomgyu's fingers slipped under his sash.

"You wear my colors," Beomgyu whispered. "You breathe in my scent."

Soobin hadn't paid attention to it until then— the faint, sweet, spiced scent that clung to Beomgyu like summer incense. And now that he was aware of it, he couldn't breathe anything else.

It made his head swim. His pulse throb.

"You said I ruined you, Dreamer boy." Beomgyu chuckled. "You haven't seen anything yet."

An entirely foreign feeling settling in Soobin's lower abdomen.

The room was hot now. Stifling. The scent, the closeness, the tension in the air like a coiled spring about to snap. Soobin could feel it— that something pulling at him like gravity. His body was betraying him faster than his mind could argue.

Beomgyu stepped back just enough to turn him around.

Soobin should have protested. He really should've.

But his legs were shaking, and his body leaned forward before he could stop it— palms flat against the wall, breath ragged, his mind screaming and begging and warning him this was insane, but his body rooted in place. And Beomgyu's presence behind him burned like fire on his back.

"Do you feel it?" Beomgyu whispered near his ear, lips barely touching. "That ache in your bones? That want you keep pretending you don't understand?"

Soobin swallowed hard, heat flooding his body. His knees buckled again— from the sheer pressure of the moment, the way Beomgyu's words made his stomach twist, made something deep and raw claw its way to the surface.

"I'm not... I'm not an omega," Soobin managed.

A beat passed.

"Are you sure?" Beomgyu leaned in, voice velvet and venom. "Why don't we find out?"

The silence afterward was deafening.

Then Beomgyu's hands were on his waist again, and Soobin gasped. Not from pain— but from the power behind the grip. From the dizzying surge of helpless need that hit him like a wave. He didn't even know what he needed. Only that Beomgyu had it. All of it.

And Beomgyu knew it too.

Soobin gulped.

Find what out!?

Just when he thought the silence would drown him, the other spoke. 

Slipping a hand under the soft linen of Soobin's cloths, Beomgyu spoke, "Why don't you tell me yourself, baby? What it is you are, if not my omega?"

Even if the silence didn't, Soobin now wished he did indeed drown under something. Anything.

He prayed for the ground to split open and give him refuge against this dangerous— absolutely dangerous man. He prayed twofold, when he felt a hand grip at the waistband of his pants.

A light tug was followed by the thin linen for pants falling on the ground. 

And that's when Soobin saw it. Felt it.

As if standing in front of Beomgyu, butt naked wasn't embarrassing enough— he finally saw what about himself felt so off for a while. Right under his cock, there was something new. Something foreign. Something demented.

Soobin stared in horror. At his own thighs— that were now wet, slick with a liquid of unknown origin.

Soobin's knees finally gave in. Falling on the floor. Eyes still trained down in horror. 

Is that a pussy!?