#309: in my universe, only you exist

[sweetestjongin]

Title: in my universe, only you exist
Pairing(s): Kai/Chen
Rating: PG-13
Length: 11k
Summary: Jongin sleeps and wakes up in different dream worlds each time, but the one constant in them is Jongdae.

Author's Note: Dear prompter, your prompt fascinated me from the get-go and refused to leave me alone. I guess it was a fate meant to be. I genuinely had a ton of fun writing this, so fingers crossed it's to your liking!




As a first impression, people often assumed The Tangerine Cat was a popular store selling pet paraphernalia.

Located in the relatively quieter parts of Sinchon, the establishment stood out with its simple banner of an orange tabby cat playing with a ball of red yarn. Block letters in black spelled out the name of the shop beside the illustration. Painted on the glass doors were the operation hours and contact details. From opening to closing time, the trickle of customers never stopped, all of them leaving with paper bags in various sizes and smiles on their faces.

Jongin couldn’t blame them. He was a regular himself, and his mood always lightened during his visits. The subtle scents of vanilla and cinnamon upon entry surrounded him like a soft, warm blanket. Tired souls browsed the ornate wire display racks for the piece of heaven that could comfort them after a hard day. Others flitted from one willow basket to another in search of happiness. Majority of them found their reprieve in The Tangerine Cat’s signature green tea cream puffs, but the chocolate bread roll was a must for Jongin since it held a special place in his heart.

“Good evening, welcome to The Tangerine Cat! Hey, Jongin, you’re early today,” the man at the counter greeted in a boisterous voice, mouth curling into a feline-like smile.

“Hi, Jongdae-hyung,” Jongin greeted back, eyes lingering on the smile. Often he wondered if Jongdae inspired the shop banner’s cat since they smiled alike. He’d asked before, but Jongdae denied it. “I couldn’t concentrate at work anymore, so I decided to end early. Busy day, as usual?”

Jongdae gave a light shrug, though he wore a proud look on his face. “I’m always thankful for a busy day.” His eyes strayed to Jongin’s tray. “I never pegged you as a strawberry puff pastry type of guy.”

“I like strawberries. The puff pastry called out to me the most when I saw the new menu items,” Jongin said.

Jongdae let out an exaggerated gasp. “Has the day finally come when the chocolate bread roll has met its match?” he teased while bagging the food.

Jongin grinned and shook his head. “I might like strawberries, but the chocolate bread roll is irreplaceable.”

Jongdae laughed. “I don’t always use strawberries when I bake, so I could do with some feedback for the pastry.”

“I have yet to taste it, but I know it will be great.”

Jongdae clucked his tongue in fake disbelief. “Your praise is bad for my ego. What if it starts getting to my head?” He tossed in a pack of almond cookies then sealed the bag with tape. “Can’t have my favorite customer starving, now, can I? It’s hard to sleep on an empty stomach.”

A rush of warmth surged through Jongin at the gesture, one he’d been acquainted with many times before. “Thanks, hyung. If you’re so worried about me starving, you could always buy me chicken.”

This time, Jongdae didn’t hold back the volume of his laughter, briefly snatching some customers’ attention. “Cheeky brat; don’t push your luck,” he chastised, though it didn’t sound threatening.

Jongin chuckled and waved goodbye. He was a little sad he couldn’t talk to Jongdae longer today, but he would have other opportunities later. He dropped by KFC for dinner and headed home, looking forward to the pastries.

The first bite into the strawberry puff pastry was absolute bliss. The sweetness wasn’t overbearing, and the pastry was light and flaky in the way he liked best. Jongin was no expert food critic, so he only classified his meals into two categories: delicious and insipid. However, he could tell Jongdae poured plenty of effort into baking this, like his other creations, and he relished every bite until the end.

He saved the bread roll for last, savoring every bite and licking his fingers clean from the chocolate sauce stains.

He brushed the crumbs from the front of his shirt after and stretched himself out on the living room couch. The television was on, though he wasn’t too invested in the variety show he’d parked at. The big stations were airing their ten o’clock dramas, but he wasn’t interested in finding out which one contained the most makjang elements.

Jongin knew he should get up and prepare for bed, but he was so comfortable in his spot he didn’t want to move anymore.

The sound effects and playful banter from the hosts had his eyes drooping close. Jongin told himself he’d go to the bathroom after five minutes, smiling as his mind replayed the memory of his bakeshop visit and Jongdae’s bright laughter.









In this world, his tiny apartment transformed into an underwater cove, and his legs were sealed in a coral pink fin.

He didn’t have webbed fingers or gills on each side of his neck, and his upper body remained in its human form, like in the fairy tale picture books he’d grown up with. Jongin wasn’t sure how or why he became a merman, but dreams always defied logic and turned impossible situations into a sort of tangible reality if they were vivid enough.

Dreams probably also relied on a particular system of how it should work; for in this world, it was a universally-established fact that merfolk possessed the most beautiful singing voices no child of man could rival. They used these voices to bring joy to anyone who listened to their songs, lure unsuspecting victims into their trap, or attract potential life partners.

Jongin, however, seemed to be the exception. Not even his attractive face could conceal the fact his voice had not developed into one he could use to find his destined person. His family and friends had all undergone the same phase of puberty he had, but his voice—no matter how husky and pleasant by its own right—had stopped maturing as the years sailed by.

Jongin was saddened by this, for he loved singing and practiced from morning’s rise to evening’s bloom; but those who heard him either laughed behind his back or showed forced enthusiasm with unhidden pity in their eyes. Thus, he channeled his efforts into the betterment of his technique, hiding away in a secluded tide pool he’d found a long time ago during his wanderings so no one could hear him until he was ready.

Then Jongdae came along not to listen to him sing but snatched Jongin’s tide pool spot without knowing.

Jongin didn’t expect anyone, human or merfolk, to stumble upon the tide pool, but as he watched Jongdae take off his shoes and dip his feet into the water, he felt like his safe haven and secret place had been intruded upon. He swam toward an unsuspecting Jongdae with the intention of politely requesting him to leave.

His fingers were a hairsbreadth away from the rocks when the first line of a popular ballad known across the two races left Jongdae’s mouth.

Another line, and another, and by the fourth line, Jongin was held captive by Jongdae’s voice.

Jongin stared, transfixed, as he immersed himself in Jongdae’s singing. Jongdae sang with a voice so beautiful it touched and shook him to the very core of his soul. It was unlike any other Jongin had heard from human and merfolk alike. Was he, perhaps, a human child with merfolk blood or vice versa?

“Hello.”

Jongin startled, splashing water on Jongdae’s face by accident. Scared of what he’d done, he began swimming away but was stopped by Jongdae calling out to him.

“Please, don’t go.” Jongdae had one arm outstretched in his direction, the other used to wipe his face with his tunic sleeve.

Hesitant, curious, Jongin listened and returned.

Face now dry, Jongdae’s lips curled on the edges and formed into a smile, curiosity etched on his face. “I’ve never seen you before. Are you new here?”

Jongin answered with a slow shake his head. “This is my spot.” He doubted Jongdae heard him when the roar of the waves was louder than his voice.

“Oh! I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to take it from you,” Jongdae said, sincere in his apology. “I can go somewhere else.”

Jongin’s arm shot out from the water, clutching onto Jongdae’s pants and effectively stopping him from moving away.

“We can share.”

Jongdae blinked. Smiled and nodded.

Friendship with Jongdae came easy. The constant meetings by the tide pool attested to it. Jongin found none of the pity or malice he was used to seeing in others when he brought up his predicament. Jongdae swore he would help Jongin with his singing and stayed true to his word. On every meeting, Jongdae brought with him new suggestions and techniques he could try and taught him songs he thought suited his voice.

Progress proved slow like a turtle’s gait, but Jongdae’s belief in him rebuilt the confidence Jongin thought he had lost.

Some nights Jongdae indulged his whims and sang to him under the moon that had Jongin’s heart swelling with affection. Jongdae’s powerful and poignant voice gracing his ears was more than what he could ask for, though Jongin couldn’t contain his curiosity from asking why he kept singing songs delighting in the blossoming of love.

Jongdae barked out a short, amused laugh and pressed his palms on his cheeks. “You silly, silly merboy. Whom do you think are these songs for if not you?”

Jongin scrunched up his nose and ignored the way his heart thundered in his chest, but it gave him the courage to finally kiss Jongdae on the cheek like he’d always wanted to do.

With the kisses came the cuddling, a favorite activity of Jongin’s. Singing lessons were still a priority, but Jongin discovered Jongdae couldn’t turn him down once he put his pout to use. He never thought listening to Jongdae’s heartbeat as they lay close together on the sand could comfort him in ways his friends couldn’t, the steady rhythm never failing in calming him down.

“I heard news of a neighboring village holding a singing competition during the summer festival,” Jongdae spoke in a quiet voice Jongin wasn’t accustomed to. “They kept it a secret because they didn’t want me to join.”

Jongin lifted his head from where it lay on Jongdae’s chest so he could look at his face. “Why?”

Jongdae met his gaze with a smile so sad Jongin wanted to wipe it away. “Oh, you know; the usual.”

A little after meeting Jongdae, Jongin heard stories of a human boy whose voice could capture the hearts of his listeners from the first line; a voice so enchanting no one dared compete against him for he emerged victorious in all the competitions he took part in. They never mentioned a name, but his identity was obvious from their description. It took a group of fishermen passing by the tide pool talking about Jongdae with awe and fear for Jongin to confirm what he’d suspected in a long time.

And he agreed with them; even dared say Jongdae was a formidable match against the best golden-voiced merfolk below.

“You can always venture out on your own,” Jongin said, smoothing the hair away from Jongdae’s forehead.

“I know,” Jongdae said, sitting upright and brushing away the sand from his clothes. “The dressmaker told me today of another singing competition in a town far from here. I might have better chances joining that since no one knows me there. I want to be heard by as many people as possible, so I have to start somewhere.”

Winning singing competitions in towns raised the chances of joining bigger ones in more populous places. If one’s name started gaining recognition, they would either land a permanent singing job in the capital or, if luck smiled on them, work as a performer in the royal court.

“I won’t give up on improving my singing, just like how you never tire of chasing your dreams,” Jongin said, with determination. “Once my voice finally works the way I want it to, once I can sing as beautiful as you do, then…”

Jongin snuck a surreptitious glance at his tail. It was a widespread fact that once a merperson could sing and pass a series of tests, they would be gifted a magic shell that could change their tail into a pair of legs. He never thought about mingling with humans if he did get the shell, more interested in improving his singing, but having met Jongdae had changed his mind and inspired him to work harder in achieving his goal.

Jongdae’s smile rivaled the brightness of the sun itself as he gazed at him with loving eyes. “We’ll see the world together.”

It sounded more like a vow than a passing statement. Jongin’s heart skipped a beat.

“When you get your shell, we’ll see what’s out there beyond this town, beyond the sea. We’ll share our passion for singing to everyone we meet. You’ll become better in singing and make people listen, and they’ll love you when they do.”

Newfound hope planted itself and bloomed within Jongin. Thrumming with happiness, he leaned forward for a chaste kiss.

“Let’s continue doing our best.”









Jongin woke up with a start—like always.

He ran a hand down his face several times, waiting for the fog of grogginess to clear up. He felt around for his phone and checked the time. 7:15 A.M. entered his bleary vision. His ears picked up the dull voice of the news anchor reporting about inflated stock prices. He pulled himself up and flinched at the hundred tiny aches on his back.

It wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep on the couch. Neither was the dreaming. Jongin didn’t place great weight on it, at first. Dreaming of your crush wasn’t weird. Dreaming of situations where you were romantically involved with your crush wasn’t weird, either.

Dreaming of Jongdae and consistently becoming lovers in any dream world he entered every time he passed out on the couch were the most unusual factors in this otherwise harmless phenomenon.

Jongin seldom dreamed of anything if he slept in his bed; even then, they never reached this caliber of fantastical if he was lucky enough to remember details. The more outrageous dreams happened only if the couch was involved, and he’d yet to find out why.

The level of strange raised several notches at the discovery of his friends not dreaming of anything when they invaded the couch during gaming nights.

“I only remember having a good night’s sleep,” Taemin had told him when Jongin had brought it up. “No, that’s a lie. I also remember hearing Moonkyu snoring.”

Moonkyu had mimed slapping him on the arm for the comment. “For a couch you’d bought from a garage sale, it’s unexpectedly comfortable. Is that why you keep kicking us off when we try to take over it? Want it all to yourself? But you should stop sleeping on it too much—it’s bad for your already terrible posture.”

Jongin wished he could quit the couch, except not sleeping on it meant a dreamless sleep. He chose not to mention the couch’s strange quirk, or who starred in his dreams alongside him. They would never let him live it down if they found out. He already suffered enough from their obnoxious singing of Weathercast’s Like You Like You every time he mentioned he’d drop by The Tangerine Cat (with maximum emphasis on the line: “Lulu lala all the way to Sinchon”).

Aside from the rocky start of his morning, Jongin conducted his contemporary dance classes throughout the day without a hitch, save for one or two students who struggled with certain dance steps. After dismissing his last class, he bothered Taemin and Moonkyu during their breaks and also showed them the latest section he’d added to the choreography he’d been working on.

Two weeks prior, a famous entertainment company had contacted Jongin and requested he choreograph for one of their idol groups. They would be slated for a comeback soon, and their concept matched his dancing style the best. The demo had been sent after the paperwork was ironed out. Taemin and Moonkyu would help by giving feedback, despite contemporary dance not being their area of expertise. Jongin had covered a minute’s worth of choreography, but it remained very much incomplete still.

Jongin added more to it day by day. Today, he created a routine lasting until the second bridge in the company of the wall-length mirrors and the fluorescent lights. Copious sweat glued his shirt to his skin and trickled down his chest and back, bangs matted to his forehead from the absence of a snapback, but he ignored these minor distractions and danced to the demo from the beginning for the umpteenth time. He scrutinized his form in the mirror with every leap and turn, fixed every drop of his arm and the timing of his executions.

By the time he finished, his stomach was grumbling, and the digital wall clock read 9:30 P.M. Sweaty, tired, but satisfied with his progress, Jongin left the studio with a grin on his face and a decision to reward himself.

His feet brought him to The Tangerine Cat by default.

The shop was closed already, though the lights inside didn’t surprise him. From where he stood by the window, Jongin saw Jongdae sitting by the counter writing on a notebook, fingers of his free hand dancing across the keypad of a calculator.

Just like their first meeting, many years ago, when Jongin’s career as a choreographer hadn’t taken off as expected and barely made ends meet. It had been especially terrible on that unforgettable October day, when he’d used up the last of his savings and combined it with his meager pay to cover rent and other necessary expenses. The spare change he had been left with couldn’t even buy him ramyun or the cheapest bread sold in convenience stores to tide him over for the night. He had refused asking help from friends since they had their own financial problems. He had pondered calling any of his family members but resisted the temptation. When he’d told them he wouldn’t worry them, he had meant it.

Shocked at the abrupt nosedive of his luck and at a loss on how he would survive the week, Jongin had taken to wandering as he mulled over possible solutions that could get him through the week.

His wandering had ended at the doorstep of The Tangerine Cat, although it wasn’t as grand or popular as it was today—just a small shop starting out then. It had been past closing time when he had chanced upon it. Jongin had willed his feet to move since he couldn’t afford anything, anyway.

He had reached as far as the window before he’d taken a glimpse inside and saw Jongdae for the first time. The racks and shelves had been empty, save for some willow baskets containing leftover chocolate bread rolls. Ogling at them had worsened his hunger pangs, so Jongin had clutched at his stomach to calm them and looked away with plenty of unwillingness.

A tap on his shoulder had made him turn his head, only to find Jongdae standing beside him and offering him a paper bag.

“Take it.” Jongdae had made him curl his fingers around the bag.

“I don’t have money for this,” Jongin had said, ducking his head and ignoring the humiliation burning his face. Even so, his hand had clutched tight onto the bag; clutched tight onto it like a lifeline.

“I’m not asking for payment. It’s for free,” Jongdae had insisted, kindly, corners of his mouth draped with a soft smile. “You can pay me back by not giving up.”

Jongin’s head had snapped up in surprise at his words.

Jongdae’s smile had grown, but it hadn’t canceled out the seriousness behind his words. “I don’t know your life story, but you seem to be going through trying times right now. Gain strength, okay? It will pass.”

Any other person and Jongin would’ve had scoffed at their preaching and shut down their optimism. Strangely, he had found himself uplifted and consoled; had found himself returning to The Tangerine Cat several times after the encounter.

Jongin had been hesitant in accepting food without paying for it—who did things for free nowadays?—but Jongdae had only clucked his tongue and assured a few pieces of bread wouldn’t cost him his entire livelihood. Jongdae had also been generous in tossing extra cookie packs to help last him another day.

Jongin had never eaten so much bread in his life after becoming a shop regular, but the chocolate bread rolls and Jongdae’s constant encouragement had served as his refuge in those dark times. His situation had taken time before it improved, and he had been able to bounce back when he was presented the golden opportunity of choreographing for the most popular boy group in the country.

A year later, Jongdae had presented the shop’s most popular product, and it hadn’t stopped thriving since.

In the same span of time, he and Jongdae had become good friends the more they learned about each other. Jongin’s feelings had gradually started moving away from platonic territory after they’d celebrated his birthday together, and Jongdae had smiled a certain way that had his pulse racing.

“Jongin!”

Jongdae’s cheerful voice snapped Jongin out of his reverie. He smiled and approached him halfway.

“What are you doing out here? Why didn’t you go inside?” Jongdae looked around for possible clues to explain Jongin’s loitering. Comprehension dawned on his face as he looked at the window, then back at Jongin. “This was how we first met. You looked like a sad, stray puppy who wanted to be adopted while staring at the bread.”

“I remember, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t look like what you just described me as,” Jongin said, helpless against the undeniable heat seeping into his cheeks. It worsened when Jongdae laughed.

“Are you hungry? I have leftover peach pie I can warm up.”

“Do I get hot chocolate, too?” Jongin asked, batting his eyes in a teasing manner.

“If you don’t mind the instant kind,” Jongdae said, smile impish.

Jongin wouldn’t have minded anything as long as he could spend more time with Jongdae. So he nodded and fell into step with him as they walked into the shop, talking about their respective days as he basked in the warmth of Jongdae’s presence.









In this world, he ran wild and free without the restriction of shoes.

Or that was true on some days. He was forced to wear them on most. Jongin despised the way shoes pinched and suffocated his feet and never wore them unless absolutely necessary. His parents gave him grief for it every time they saw him roaming the castle premises barefoot. What would their subjects say and think of the crown prince’s unbecoming behavior?

And yet they cared for his wellbeing, nonetheless. Carpets covered every inch of the castle floors and corridors, cleaned and changed every day. Servants worked round the clock checking castle grounds for stray pebbles and potential threats to the crown prince’s feet. Commoners worked together to ensure their surroundings remained spotless at all times, since the crown prince had a penchant for venturing outside the castle walls unannounced.

Like today, when Jongin rewarded himself with a visit to the marketplace after grueling hours of nonstop lessons. He traveled from one shop to another in the less traversed parts of the capital. Two guards escorted him, much to his chagrin but understood the necessity. Trailing behind was a small crowd that kept a respectful distance away from them.

He stopped in front of a tiny shop. Noticed the wooden boot hanging above the door. Jongin took cautious steps inside, surprised at the racks of shoes lining the walls and the number of busy men doing a variety of work. One worker caught his attention: he was whistling a cheerful tune while measuring the foot of a young madam sitting on a chair. He measured the other foot and inquired about the desired heel height and material she wished for her shoes.

“Who is he?” Jongin asked one of the commoners he waved over.

“He is Jongdae the shoemaker, Your Highness.”

Like he heard his name, Jongdae whipped his head around and grinned. He gave a polite bow and asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence in my humble shop, Your Highness?”

Jongdae showed him around the shop, explaining the roles of each worker and answering his questions related to the shoemaking process. His genial way of address and warm but equal treatment of him made Jongin feel like they’d been friends for years and not meeting for the first time.

It probably explained his subsequent visits to the shop. The longer he immersed himself in Jongdae’s company, the more his yearning for it intensified, especially on lonely, sleepless nights when he lay wide awake in a bed far too large for his liking.

“You must think me peculiar coming here daily without purchasing shoes or commissioning your services,” Jongin told him, after a month’s worth of visits. He sat to the side of Jongdae’s work station on a wooden stool with a thin cushion. Next to him was a table with a tray of tea and biscuits set on top of it.

“I would find it more peculiar if you did, Your Highness,” Jongdae said with a laugh. He inserted laces through the holes of a pair of newly-made boots. “Your abhorrence for footwear is a widespread fact.”

Jongin had the decency to blush at his words. “Have you never questioned my constant presence in your shop, then?”

“I have my curiosities,” Jongdae said, slowly. “But I made an oath to myself to welcome everyone who comes into my shop without question and provide them with everything they need, whether it is new shoes or the company of a friend—if His Highness considers me one, that is.”

Winter announced its arrival by blanketing the earth with inches of niveous snow and encasing the kingdom in its frigid arms. Jongin spent his days staring out of his window, watching snowflakes descend from the sky in a slow dance but failed in curing his boredom. He couldn’t visit Jongdae in this harsh weather; his parents forbade him from stepping outside if he wouldn’t wear boots. He wondered if Jongdae was warm enough in his tiny shop; frowned at the thought of him cold and shivering in his threadbare clothing.

Jongin’s spare time was now invaded by more lessons and tedious meetings with the royal seamstress. His birthday wasn’t in a month, but it didn’t stop his mother from making early preparations. Jongin went along with her choices if it meant shortening the fitting session, but he announced his intention of not wearing shoes before his mother could propose the idea.

“Do not be unreasonable, crown prince,” the queen scolded. “Attending the ball without shoes is unacceptable. You will use a pair especially made for the occasion, and that is final.”

Jongin was about to protest, but the queen stopped him with an abrupt raise of her hand.

“Heavens, why did I not think of this before?” The queen’s eyes lit up with mischievous glee.

On the week before the grand ball, news spread far and wide that whoever could gift the crown prince a pair of shoes he would wear and not remove until the strike of midnight would be handsomely rewarded.

Plenty were intrigued, some challenged. Surely there was at least one pair of shoes the crown prince could stand wearing?

Too tight, too loose, too tacky, too unbearable—nothing lasted on Jongin’s feet for more than twenty seconds on the day of the ball. The longest was a full minute before his feet started hurting while making rounds in the ballroom greeting guests.

An hour to midnight, and Jongin was confident he would remain shoeless for the rest of the celebration.

Until Jongdae showed up, clad not in fancy garb but in his tattered tunic and pants, shoe polish smudged on his cheeks and a humble offering of a pair of shoes with a bashful smile.

“My apologies for showing up terribly underdressed, Your Highness,” Jongdae said with a deep, remorseful bow. “I rushed to finish this, so I had no time to clean myself up. I hope I will neither be turned away or have it rejected.”

“It most certainly will not,” Jongin said right away, motioning for a servant to take the shoes and give it to him. He had no idea if they would fit, or if he would stand wearing them; such trifle details were honestly secondary to his happiness in Jongdae showing up.

One foot in, and Jongin felt a comfort like no other.

Two feet and Jongin could only feel the same freedom from being barefoot as he wiggled his toes. He waited for any pain, anything that would make him kick them off, but nothing came.

Jongin greeted the guests and talked to them, traveled around the ballroom, danced with some interested individuals and danced longer with Jongdae; but the shoes provided ample space to accommodate his feet, molding themselves just right he forgot he was even wearing them in the first place.

Midnight struck, and Jongin never complained or removed the shoes.

Midnight struck, and Jongdae had secured himself a place as the royal shoemaker, and a place in Jongin’s heart, as well.

Jongin still preferred not wearing shoes, but he would now wear a pair if requested. His only condition was that the shoes had to be made by Jongdae.

“Your life would be easier if you were not as stubborn with footwear, Your Highness,” Jongdae said, cutting leather by following the drawn patterns.

Jongin scrunched his nose and reached for his teacup. He never failed to visit Jongdae in his new atelier at least once a day, sometimes twice if he cleared his lessons and duties early. “I’ve told you a thousand times to call me by my name when we’re alone.”

Jongdae shrugged and laughed. “Where’s the fun in teasing you if I followed your every command?”

Jongin huffed and sipped his tea.

A servant showed up, informing Jongin he was to meet the king at the training grounds for a game of archery. Jongin groaned and complained about not wanting to go. The training grounds were quite a walk from the atelier, not to mention he and archery shared a painfully one-sided relationship on his part.

“Don’t let me chase you out with a broom,” Jongdae joked, even as he rounded his work table to run a hand through Jongin’s hair. “Archery is a fun sport, Jongin. You cannot excel in it if you insist on refusing to play rather than striving for improvement.”

“I am aware.” Jongin leaned into his touch, resting the side of his head on Jongdae’s stomach. With plenty of reluctance, he stood up and smoothed the wrinkles from his clothes. “I will return as soon as I am able.”

“My atelier’s doors are closed unless you’ve hit the target three times.”

Jongin chuckled and stole a kiss, reveling in Jongdae’s scandalized face before moving away to avoid his pinching fingers.

“I shall strive to hit it five times just to be sure, then.”









Jongin found no joy in shopping.

He couldn’t see the point of walking around the mall for hours on end looking for the so-called perfect attire when clothes all looked the same to him. He didn’t have the patience to browse through endless aisles or discuss what shade of blue complemented a pair of black jeans better. He would rather spend his downtime sleeping, staying indoors, catching up with friends, or hitting the studio and coming up with new choreographies.

However, certain circumstances forced him out of the comfort of his apartment and into the stores.

Jongin scrutinized the pair of sneakers at hand from every angle. He tested their flexibility by bending them in half. He wore them and wiggled his toes, waiting for any discomfort to rise. He checked the mirror to see how the shoes looked on his him before walking around the store. To the side, a saleslady watched him, waiting patiently for further instructions.

If only Jongin wasn’t in dire need of new sneakers, he would be on his couch right now enjoying the remaining episodes of Psycho-Pass. He much preferred online shopping, even with his technological incompetence, but staring at the product from your laptop screen didn’t provide the advantage of trying out the shoes before purchase. And Jongin was very particular about his sneakers since he used them for dancing and used one pair at a time; therefore, he would make sure he got his money’s worth in every aspect.

Currently, Jongin was trying on the second pair he’d seen from the display stand. Cushiony soft memory foam, ample wiggle room for his toes, no pain or pinching the longer he walked in them. A better fit, too, than the first, but pricier by several hundred won. Jongin puckered his lips in thought.

“Excuse me, miss, do you have this model in blue?”

Jongin turned and grinned at the newcomer. “Hey, Jongdae-hyung.”

Jongdae was taken by surprise but broke out into a grin. “Buying shoes for yourself? Someone else?” he asked, after the saleslady left.

“I’m looking to replace my old pair. They’re about to give in soon.”

“I’m here to look for walking shoes,” Jongdae told him in return. “I’m not the most active person and prefer lazing at home, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Jongin chuckled. “I wouldn’t have gone out if not for the shoes, either.”

“Awesome. Homebodies unite.”

In the end, Jongin bought the second pair, favoring it more for its conveniences and overall design.

“I recognize this model,” Jongdae said, when he saw the sneakers. “They have custom laces sold for it separately. I saw it in a magazine before.”

“None of those shoelaces are in stock right now,” the saleslady told them, an apologetic look on her face.

“Aw, too bad,” Jongdae said. Exiting the store together, he asked, “What’s your favorite color?”

“Anything goes,” Jongin replied. “I’m not particular about colors, but I must say I’m attracted to red, even if it’s not a favorite.”

The next time Jongin dropped by The Tangerine Cat, Jongdae handed him a pair of red laces.

“I’m not the most fashionable, but I think the red will look good with the white of your sneakers,” Jongdae said in uncharacteristic shyness. “Those laces were the last in stock in the Apgujeong flagship store. Pretty good timing, if you ask me.”

Excitement bubbled in his chest as Jongin took the laces in his hands. “These are really for me?” He let out a whoop. “Thanks, hyung!”

Jongdae beamed. “You mentioned having to film a dance video for a recently-completed choreography. Consider it a good luck charm of sorts?”

Jongin replaced the white laces with the red ones the night before the filming. On the day itself, he inhaled a lungful of air for courage but barely remembered anything after the music played. Filming took three tries before he was satisfied with the outcome, and then sent the video for screening to the company’s in-house choreographers.

A month later, the idol group held their comeback, and their title track shot up the charts. The dance became a hot, trending topic. Jongin’s name generated buzz in the coming weeks, his YouTube channel garnering a deluge of hits and subscribers. His work e-mail inbox saw an increase in love calls from other entertainment companies.

Jongin never switched the red laces again.









In this world, he poured countless hours into books and lessons in preparation for his future.

Jongin wrote the last set of characters on the paper and set his brush aside. He read through his essay over again in case he missed a stroke and made sure his sentences formed cohesive thoughts. Satisfied, he breathed out a sigh and decided he would take a break. He had lost track of time the moment he set foot inside the study room, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was late into the night.

He rubbed a soothing hand across his lower back to ease its aching from sitting for long periods of time. He massaged his nape next, then his shoulder. Studying for hours on end wasn’t new to him, especially when it helped him pass the preliminary entrance examinations for Sungkyunkwan. He still had time before the second and final entrance examinations, but he chose to continue studying in order to maintain momentum. He couldn’t risk disappointing his father and bringing shame to their entire clan—not after his bold declaration of desiring to follow his footsteps in being a government official.

The door of his study slid open. Padded footsteps glided across the floor. His mother appeared, followed by two servants carrying a soban each with their heads bowed.

Jongin smiled, looking at the tea and midnight snacks his mother had prepared for him. “You did not have to stay up so late to prepare them, Mother. I do not wish for you to sacrifice your sleep.”

“And you think a mother will allow her son to do the same thing?” his mother asked in jest, though an undercurrent of seriousness ran through her words. “Countless nights you’ve stayed up late studying. Seeing you working hard delights me, but you cannot take away the concern a mother has for her child.” She took his hand between her own and squeezed. “These are small things I do for you out of love; so, allow me.”

Jongin ate the snacks under his mother’s watch and engaged in light conversation. His mother never brought up anything related to academics and instead entertained him with funny anecdotes that had happened through the day. Laughing and chatting freely like this with his mother reminded Jongin of how little he spent time with her, often preoccupied in pursuing his education and meeting his father’s expectations.

After some persuasion, Jongin promised he would finish one last book before preparing for bed and bade his mother good night. He watched them leave, listening to their footsteps fade away until complete silence reigned over once again.

“I thought the madam would stay until she persuaded you to sleep.”

Jongin couldn’t suppress the smile on his face, even if he tried.

In the middle of the room, wisps of scentless smoke materialized out of thin air and took on the solid form of a young man. His eyes twinkled with mischief and locked-up secrets; his lips quirked in a similar fashion. His long, dark hair swayed with his every moment, robes rustling as he decreased the space between himself and Jongin.

No sooner had he sat down did Jongin dive straight into his arms, inhaling the ambrosial scent he’d been longing for since he woke up alone at the break of dawn.

A cluck of the tongue in mock reproach, followed by an arm curving around Jongin’s shoulders. “Letting your guard down is dangerous, little one. What would you have done if some other entity showed up?”

“You would have rescued me, or I would have protected myself.” Jongin closed his eyes and pressed himself closer to Jongdae. He’d done nothing but study the entire day; he could afford the luxury of a well-deserved reprieve now that Jongdae was here.

Jongin opened a chest nearby and brought out a circular container from it. Jongdae’s eyes sparkled at the assortment of hangwa coming into full view once the lid was removed. Jongin had stashed them away during his afternoon tea time, meaning to eat them together with Jongdae on his midnight visit.

He plucked an apricot-colored jelly shaped like a flower and fed it to Jongdae.

“The gwapyeon tastes delectable more than usual, don’t you think?” Jongin picked another one, this time for himself.

With an audible poof, three fluffy fox tails appeared behind Jongdae as he chewed, together with a pair of twitching ears atop his head in the same white color. He looked up, as if he could see his ears this way, then touched it with his hands and grinned.

Jongin grinned back.

“Eating delicious food always has this effect on me,” Jongdae said, groping his ears. It didn’t come off as a grievance; rather, he sounded amused. “I know not what you humans mix in your sweets, but they enchant my senses so.”

“You are, perhaps, the only gumiho in existence who indulges in human confectionery,” Jongin remarked, feeding Jongdae a yellow dasik next.

“Better I indulge in them than prey on human liver, don’t you agree?”

“I have no doubt you will not stray from your promise.”

When they’d met as children in this world, Jongin had no idea the new friend he found wounded in the woods and befriended thereafter would be the rumored gumiho the village people had seen lurking in the cemetery digging up graves. Discovering Jongdae’s true form should’ve been more than enough reason for Jongin to stay away lest he killed him for his liver, but he gambled by choosing to believe Jongdae’s words of promising never to hurt him in any way, as well as other humans.

A powerful gumiho could retain their human form for as long as they wanted, but Jongdae’s ears and tails popping up at inopportune times almost cost him his secret on several occasions. Jongin later learned, after plenty of trials and observations, that it happened when triggered by strong emotions. His theory was further proven the first time they held hands: Jongin’s flaming cheeks and racing heartbeat were no match for the eager, furious wagging of Jongdae’s nine tails.

Although Jongdae could fool the naked human eye with his façade, his gumiho nature remained strong—unfortunately overpowering, at times. Talks of a vicious animal preying on livestock liver began spreading, a cause of concern for farmers. Jongin would hear snippets of the gossip from the estate servants or classmates in the academy, most of them expressing disgust and fear and wishing for the animal to be caught right away.

It angered and saddened him. He knew Jongdae was nothing like they claimed. Jongdae might be born to crave for liver, but he exerted effort in curbing it since spending more time in the human world.

Jongdae, too, expressed his discontent on being and unwilling slave to his gumiho instincts. And so he wished to be human if it meant the hunger would stop.

It required fulfilling the condition of abstaining from human liver for a thousand days. Jongdae had lasted five hundred days, so far, exercising extraordinary restraint by channeling his hunger toward human food. Confectionery was a definite favorite, proven by the appearance of his fox tails and ears every time he ate it.

“Why do you think I try so hard?” Jongdae asked with an arched brow, lifted corners of his mouth emphasizing the fox-like quality of his smile. “Why do you think I haven’t touched liver, human or animal, even if I’m surrounded by them daily? Why do you think I put up with this immense hunger when I can dig out your liver anytime I want?”

“You won’t,” Jongin said, with absolute certainty. “You won’t give in to your primal urges because you want to be human with me—for me, but for yourself, most importantly.”

Jongdae’s smile grew, filled with a fondness Jongin had witnessed many times but never tired of. His fox ears twitched. Six tails joined the first three.

Jongin smiled, too, knowing Jongdae was pleased with his answer.









Jongin stared and sighed at the gaping emptiness on the shelf. Either he had been seconds too late in arriving, or the convenience store hadn’t restocked on it yet.

The manager, who had recognized him after many return visits, laughed his jolly laugh and patted his shoulder consolingly. “Don’t look so down, kid! I don’t know when they’ll deliver the next batch, but I’ll set aside a pack just for you.”

Defeated, Jongin thanked the manager and headed home. He should’ve expected the explosion in popularity would make it close to impossible to find it anywhere, but he was willing to endure the setbacks if it meant obtaining a bag of honey butter chips for Jongdae.

Since its introduction, the honey butter chips became the latest snack trend that took the country by storm. The snack sold out within seconds citywide. A frustrated Jongdae had whined to him about his failed endeavors in finding it. As someone who liked snacking, Jongdae naturally wanted to taste the chips to see if it was worth the hype.

Jongin hadn’t mentioned it to Jongdae, but whatever free time he had was spent searching for the honey butter chips. He wanted to surprise Jongdae, though it was proving difficult as the days passed by.

Some omnipresent and omniscient force out there must’ve taken pity on him. Three weeks into searching, Jongin found the honey butter chips in the most unlikely of places: Taemin’s locker in the dance studio.

Jongin practically leapt and yelped in surprise at the sight of it, asking right away where Taemin bought them.

Taemin merely blinked at him, at first. “My brother’s girlfriend gave us a box of it at home. Something about being friends with the manufacturer’s daughter, from what I remember?”

“I’ve been looking for this everywhere! Why didn’t you say a word?” Jongin asked, half happy, half hysterical as he held Taemin by the shoulders and shook him. He was already thinking of ways to ask Taemin for a pack—or several.

Taemin laughed, unfazed “Maybe I wanted to see you suffer?”

Jongin hurried over to The Tangerine Cat as soon as he wrapped up his last class, bursting through its doors and startling everyone inside.

“Are you okay?” Jongdae asked, signaling a part-timer to cover for him. He looked at Jongin with furrowed brows and concerned eyes.

The creases on Jongdae’s forehead smoothened out when Jongin hastily unzipped his backpack and produced a pack of honey butter chips from it.

Jongdae’s loud cry of joy grabbed people’s attention a second time. “Impossible! Where did you find one?” His grin seemed cemented in place, staring at the pack in his hands like some sort of precious treasure. Then he groaned. “Ah, now I’m torn between eating it and keeping it for much, much later.”

“Don’t worry, hyung, I’ve got you covered.”

And Jongin handed him the rest of the honey butter chips stashed in his bag.

Jongdae threw his arms around Jongin for a tight hug, both in uncontained excitement and gratitude. Jongin stiffened at the surprise gesture but reveled in the feeling of Jongdae’s warmth and proximity.

When they parted, Jongin fought the desire to pull Jongdae back for a longer hug.

Jongdae didn’t even wait a minute longer to open a bag and taste the honey butter chips he longed for. The first bite had him humming in approval, eyes twinkling in the same vein. He fed Jongin a piece, and though it was also his first time, he swore it tasted better than anticipated.

Perhaps eating it with Jongdae made it so.

“For once, the popularity of these chips is justified,” Jongdae remarked and paired it with an approving smile.

The way Jongdae’s upper lip curled up had Jongin blurting out, “Hyung, you look like a fox.”

“First, you call me a cat; now, I’m a fox?” Jongdae teased, nudging him lightly with an elbow. “My smile alone can land me the role of gumiho if offered: twitchy ears, nine tails and all.”

Jongin immediately remembered his recent dream. “You’d be the kindest gumiho there is.”

Jongdae tilted his head, studying Jongin for a few seconds. “One who abstains from eating human liver so he could be together with his lover?”

Jongin’s eyes enlarged. Did Jongdae just summarize his recent dream with startling accuracy?

“Isn’t that one of the more popular variations to the gumiho myth?” Jongdae continued, not questioning Jongin’s reaction. “Pretty sure I’ve watched a drama use that angle.”

“Was the drama about a scholar preparing for the Sungkyunkuwan entrance exams and friends with a gumiho?”

Jongdae laughed good-naturedly. “Did you just mix up two different dramas? I meant the drama with a college student who accidentally frees a sealed gumiho from a painting after drawing her missing tails.”

Jongin said nothing more afterward. A hundred thoughts raced through his mind, but the unexplainable glint in Jongdae’s eyes during the entire conversation disconcerted him.









In this world, he’d never seen a live chicken with his own eyes.

Jongin knew what a chicken looked like, thanks to his picture books planting the images in his head. He knew the color of their plumage were varied and shared among breeds; that roosters crowed at sunrise to rouse farmers from their sleep, and hens laid eggs that hatched after an approximate three weeks.

He was never denied requests of wanting to see the animals he’d read about. No matter if it was a lion, a hippopotamus, or a giraffe, as long he asked it from his parents, they would make arrangements to bring him to see the animals or vice versa.

The one thing he and his parents could never agree on was his request of seeing a chicken: a steady source of their arguments since Jongin started growing up and wasn’t convinced by the same excuses they used to give him anymore.

“I do not understand. My sole wish is to see a real, breathing chicken. It is not an impossible demand,” Jongin complained, uprooting the grass beneath his hands. “I would understand their refusal if I asked for a dragon, but chickens aren’t mythical creatures.”

Beside him, Jongdae chuckled. “Complaining about the matter is futile, my prince. No one will dare go against the royal decree of banning live chickens from the kingdom. They value their lives too much to risk it.”

Jongin huffed in frustration but said nothing to refute the truth.

He remembered the servants’ horrified faces when he ordered them to bring him a live chicken before. They dropped to their knees and bowed low before Jongin, begging him to spare them for their refusal in following his order and overlook their audacity in doing so. The incident proved to Jongin how limited his power actually was against a royal decree he thought impractical.

“They are only looking out for your wellbeing. You cannot fault them for it,” Jongdae spoke up, as if he knew what he was thinking about. “No one in this kingdom wants the prophecy to come true.”

Jongin huffed a second time. He knocked down the pile of shredded grass and maneuvered himself so he was lying on his back with his head on Jongdae’s lap.

“The kingdom’s strict compliance to the decree will make sure of that. I, for one, could care less.”

He couldn’t remember the day itself, but like his mother told him time and again, the kingdom’s oracle had seen Jongin’s demise the night before his christening. In a vision sent by the gods, the oracle told his parents a chicken would cause the passing of the prince. Fearing for their only son’s life, the decree had been put into effect and never lifted.

As a countermeasure, the royal sorcerer had cast a spell on a then-year old Jongin: in the event the prophecy would be fulfilled, the prince would fall into a deep sleep, instead, and be awoken by the power of true love.

Jongin thought the story absurd. Still did.

“Twenty springs have passed; I remain alive and well. I am more concerned about the marriage meetings my parents have been imposing on me.”

Jongdae produced a small book from his bag and opened it to the bookmarked page. “You are only delaying the inevitable.”

Jongin frowned. “Let us not talk about sad things. Read to me the next chapter of the dragon tamer’s adventures.”

Here, under the shade of the plum blossom tree in a secret garden, Jongin found and sought solace in Jongdae’s company and shut out the rest of the world. For a few hours, he could lose himself in Jongdae’s voice as he read to him tales about heroic deeds and thrilling journeys; could pretend he and Jongdae weren’t a prince and the royal archivist’s son, the gap between their social rankings nonexistent.

No one knew of their relationship, which was fine with them. Sometimes it hurt when Jongdae acted painfully cordial toward him in the open, but Jongin endured for the sake of not inviting unwanted attention. Jongin would tell his parents about Jongdae, eventually, but they would have to be satisfied with clandestine meetings for now as he bought his time.

At the peak of spring, Jongin headed for the garden but was distracted by the insistent rustling coming from the bushes lining the cobblestone path. He approached with caution. Stopped half a meter away upon hearing the faint sound of what seemed like clucking.

Something white emerged from the bushes with a squawk.

Jongin jumped back. Gaped.

A chicken with solid white plumage was staring at him.

Jongin scanned his surroundings but saw no one else. “Who smuggled a chicken inside the castle?” he wondered aloud.

The chicken blinked its beady eyes at him but didn’t budge.

Confused but excited, Jongin walked up to the chicken, careful not to scare it away. So many years of resigning himself to the fact he would never see a chicken in his life, yet Lady Fortune smiled at him and granted his wish. He crouched to get a better, closer look.

The chicken remained undaunted.

“Hello, my friend,” Jongin said. “Where did you come from? How did you get here without anyone seeing you? Whom should I return you to?” He reached out a tentative hand, testing if he could pet it like a dog or a cat.

The chicken pecked his forefinger.

Pain flared on the affected area in an instant.

The beak didn’t break the skin, but Jongin clutched his finger close to his chest in an effort to soothe the throbbing.

Exhaustion washed over him, eyes drooping and limbs sapped of energy. Jongin lost control over his body as it crumpled to the ground like a rag doll. His mind retained its consciousness; ears open and alert to every new sound. He just couldn’t move as he pleased, no matter how much he willed it to happen.

A gust of wind, followed by mad cackling—an eerie, brittle sound. Terrified screams from the gardener who found him lifeless in the middle of the garden. Footsteps from guards who heeded the call for help, voices discussing where to take him. Seconds stretched like hours before Jongin felt himself lowered to a mattress. Whiffs of magnolia tickled his senses, the scent ascertaining he was on his bed.

More footsteps. The audible gasp of his mother before she burst into tears. The enraged voice of his father giving orders to search the kingdom’s every nook and cranny until the culprit was brought to court.

Jongin couldn’t tell how much time had passed in his immobile state. His mother never left his side, tirelessly looking for ways to wake him up. Sympathy and suggestions poured in from their people. Several methods were used—shouting his name, shaking him awake, splashing his face with ice-cold water, summoned every musician in the land to play songs throughout the night—but to no avail.

News of Jongin’s situation spread far and wide, but nobody could offer an effective solution.

A full year passed, but Jongin continued sleeping the days away. His subconscious remained awake; his hearing sharper than it had ever been when he was awake. His parents served as his eyes and ears to the happenings in court as they talked about their days to him. Jongin took pleasure in their stories, though helplessness was quick to replace it at the discernible sadness in their voices.

The helplessness deepened when it was Jongdae who spoke.

Jongdae visited him every day. Told him the highlights of his archiving duties in each day, some funny, others funnier. At times, Jongdae tossed in extra details, like juicy gossip he’d heard from the maids, the new stable boy caring for Jongin’s prized stallion, which guard married who. If he ran out of words, Jongdae sang ballads. He stayed by Jongin’s side until the clock struck ten, and the guards on duty would tell him to leave.

Jongdae always concluded his visits with the same plea before pressing a reverent kiss to the back of his hand:

“Sleeping prince, won’t you open your eyes and come back to me?”

Jongin screamed his answer at the top of his lungs, but the sound remained trapped behind unmoving lips.

Jongdae’s absence in the following days worried Jongin, but he received an apology on the tenth night. Preparations for the blue moon festival required everyone’s participation: the reason Jongdae had been away. Tonight would see the fruits of their labor as they paid homage to the gods and celebrated the good harvest. Jongdae snuck away amid the festivities, preferring to spend the rest of the night by Jongin’s side.

“Since I will be here for some time, why don’t I read to you the remaining chapters of the dragon tamer’s adventures?”

Jongin noted the tinge of wistfulness in Jongdae’s words but could do nothing.

The placement of a chair by his bedside. The flipping of pages.

Jongdae cleared his throat and started reading.

Jongin listened. Wondered about the tingling sensation forming on the tips of his fingers and toes and traveled up his veins in a slow climb as the minutes ticked by.

The novel was reaching its ultimate peak, but the door burst open, effectively cutting off Jongdae.

“What is the royal archivist doing in the prince’s quarters without permission?” the gruff, booming voice of a guard demanded.

The chair screeched. Jongdae stammered in his attempt to explain his presence, but the guards stomped to his direction and dragged him away. Jongin heard Jongdae struggling against the guards’ hold.

“You deserve a night in the dungeon for committing the gravest offense. His Highnesses shall hear of this as soon as possible,” a second guard with a nasally voice said.

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong!” Jongdae argued.

“Tell that to the king and queen on your trial!”

Jongin yelled at the guards to listen to Jongdae. Yelled at them to—

“Unhand him at once!”

Silence encompassed the entire room.

The book dropped from Jongdae’s hand with a muted thud on the carpet.

The guards’ jaws hung open.

Jongin sat up in bed with painstaking effort, squinting against the light of the lamps. Having adjusted to the brightness, his eyes found Jongdae in a heartbeat, showing him a smile the best he could.

Jongdae stared wide-eyed and stupefied—then launched himself at him in a matter of strides, laughing and shedding tears at the same time in each other’s arms.









Jongin scanned the spines with a careful eye until he reached the end of the bookshelf. He repeated the action on the opposite side and on the next. Higashino Keigo’s newest novel had sold out, but the rare finding of Bernard Werber’s L’Empire des Anges more than compensated for his disappointment. He had owned a copy before, but clumsiness had forced them to part ways.

(Or: Jongin carried the book around on a rainy day in a half-awake state, and he was a nanosecond too late in salvaging it from falling into a puddle.)

Smiling to himself and holding the book protectively against his chest, Jongin strode to the counter but stopped upon hearing a familiar voice. He strained to hear clearer amid the background noise. Followed the sound.

In a room tucked away in the corner of the bookstore were children aged four to six seated on plastic chairs, listening with rapt attention to an adult reading a story to them.

An adult who turned out to be Jongdae.

Jongin’s feet led him inside and to the back of the room where the parents sat in rows of plastic benches. He secured a space beside a mother in her early thirties, whom he exchanged brief smiles with.

Jongdae showed excellent skill in captivating the audience with his animated way of storytelling. He switched pitches of voice depending on character, extracting laughter from the children when he impersonated the funny sidekick and loud cheers at the hero’s acts of bravery in the face of adversary. He handled questions with grace from little souls who couldn’t contain their curiosity a second longer, pulling chuckles even from the parents.

Thunderous applause erupted when the story drew to a close. The crowd dispersed after a fruitful and lively Q&A session with a reward of cookies for every correct answer. The manager entertained the parents’ inquiries regarding the books used during the session. Some kids approached Jongdae and told him they wished to see him again next time.

Only after the last family left did Jongdae finally noticed Jongin, who waved from the side and helped him tidy up.

“Do you regularly volunteer for reading sessions?” Jongin asked, putting away the last of the chairs. He used to volunteer, too, back when he was a fresh graduate and applying for jobs. Though it didn’t pay and schedules were erratic, he remembered enjoying his time reading new books and putting smiles on children’s faces.

“I didn’t expect myself to,” Jongdae admitted. “I love baking, but I needed a change of pace. By coincidence, I saw the bookstore notice looking for reading session volunteers and thought, ‘Why not?’” He stretched his arms above his head and rolled his shoulders. “It’s nice not having to hole myself up in the kitchen every once in a while.”

Jongin purchased his novel after the manager called Jongdae to discuss the schedule of the next session. On their reunion, he told Jongdae, “Your voice has a nice quality to it, hyung. I enjoyed listening to you.”

Jongdae chortled. “Do you like my voice that much, my sleeping prince?”

Jongin nearly lost his grip on his book, staring at Jongdae in open-mouthed shock.

“So is that a no? Huh,” Jongdae continued talking, unfazed by Jongin’s reaction. “I always had a feeling you liked my singing voice better in the dream world where you’re a merman.”

“Now wait just a second.”

Jongin grabbed Jongdae by the wrist and pulled him to the side so they weren’t blocking the way. He opened and closed his mouth and waved a hand in the air to aid him in explaining, but the words remained lodged at the base of his throat.

Jongdae seemed to understand what he wanted to convey and took his flailing hand in his. The contact rendered Jongin motionless in the next seconds, warmth expanding in his chest and spreading through his body.

“It’s so weird, you know? I keep dreaming of you in worlds beyond the realm of reality, and we’re always a couple in them. I couldn’t explain why, but I had a suspicion you knew something when I brought up the gumiho thing.” Jongdae grinned. “Looks like I was right all along.”

“Do you… not like those dreams?” Jongin asked, shy and nervous all of a sudden.

Jongdae shook his head. “They’re some of the best dreams I’ve had,” he said, mouth curving upward.

Jongin glanced at their still-linked hands. His nerves had calmed, but now his heart pounded against his chest for a new reason. Licking his lips, he conjured whatever courage lurked within and stared into Jongdae’s eyes.

“What do you say about turning those dreams into reality?”









Jongin threw himself onto his couch, sighing aloud in bliss at the softness against his aching back muscles. Attending dance workshops wasn’t new for him, but conducting them was a first. Collaborating with Taemin and Moonkyu allowed equal division of labor and multiplied the fun in watching the participants’ growth over the days, but exhaustion always snuck up on him once the rush of excitement faded and left him with the irresistible lure of dozing off.

A shake on his shoulder after a period of time dragged his consciousness back to the surface, together with a soothing voice telling him, “Don’t sleep on the couch, sleeping prince.”

Jongin smiled, even with his eyes closed.

He opened them again in a moment. Perfect timing: the savory scent of his favorite fried chicken invaded his nose.

Jongdae was setting plates on the dining table when Jongin finally showed up in the kitchen. “Ah, the sleeping prince awakens!”

“I would’ve woken up faster if you kissed me, just saying.”

“Or I could’ve started eating without you.”

“Don’t be mean to someone who just woke up.”

Jongdae burst out laughing. Jongin let out a discontented sound and was only placated when Jongdae kissed him on the cheek and served the meatiest drumstick in the box on his plate as a peace offering.

“You were sound asleep on the couch when I arrived. I didn’t have the heart to wake you,” Jongdae said. “Did you dream of anything?”

Jongin munched on his drumstick and shook his head.

He stopped dreaming since he and Jongdae began dating three months ago. Jongin didn’t worry too much about one dreamless night on the couch after the first date. Then it happened again, and again, until he’d lost count of the nights he slept on the couch and woke up remembering he hadn’t dreamed of the worlds he used to be a part of.

He missed those worlds and their unique features, but waking up and sleeping beside Jongdae in his bed served as a priceless exchange.

Jongdae nodded in understanding. “I’ve stopped dreaming of those worlds we used to meet in. Too bad; I liked them a lot.”

Jongin cleaned his drumstick and tossed it aside. With a lopsided grin, he looked at Jongdae and said, “Why dream when reality is a thousand times better now?”

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