#realgalore

𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 ⋮ ⌗ ┆ You’ve spent eight years dreaming about the same boy.

Eight years watching him slip away before you can reach him.

When you finally meet him in real life, he’s everything you never expected—and everything you’ve been afraid of.

Now, with every passing day, you’re forced to love someone while knowing there’s a future where he doesn’t stay long enough to love you back. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

𝐂𝐖 ˚. ᵎᵎ - angst. lots and lots of angst. grief, loss, missed chances, unresolved feelings, and emotional pain.

𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ˎˊ˗ hey readers this is my first time ever writing something like this ..so this is beyond new for me , but please enjoy. reblogs , likes & follows are highly appreciated ! ⋮

The first time you dreamed about him, you were eleven years old.

He stood in the middle of a train station Not doing anything. Just standing there. Dark hair falling into his eyes. Hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. Waiting for something. Or someone.

You couldn’t see his face clearly. Only the feeling. A strange ache in your chest. A terrible sense that something was wrong. Then you’d wake up. Every time. The dream never changed. Not really. The locations did. The boy didn’t.

For years, he followed you. A crowded street. An empty basketball court. A bus stop. A beach at sunset. A snowy sidewalk. Always him. Always alone. And always ending before you could reach him.

By the time you turned nineteen, you stopped telling people about the dreams.

Nobody wanted to hear about the mysterious dream boy you’d been seeing since childhood.

Honestly, you didn’t want to hear about him either. You just wanted him gone.

You wanted one night of sleep without wondering why your brain kept creating the same stranger over and over again.

Then came your first day of university. And everything changed. Because he wasn’t a stranger anymore.

You were halfway through your lecture when someone walked in late.

The professor barely looked up. “Find a seat.” The boy nodded. And your entire body went cold.

No.

No.

No.

It couldn’t be.

He moved down the aisle. Three rows ahead. Sat down. Turned slightly. And suddenly you could see him clearly.

The same face.

The same eyes.

The same boy.

The boy from your dreams.

For a second, you couldn’t breathe. your notebook slipped from your hands. The sound echoed through the classroom. Several people looked over. Including him.

His eyes met yours. Just for a moment. Then he smiled politely. And looked away. Like he’d never seen you before.

Because he hadn’t.

But you’d seen him.

For eight years.

۫ ׅ

His name was Keonho. You learned that from attendance. The professor called it. Keonho raised his hand. And suddenly the name became real too. Not dream boy.

Not stranger.

Keonho.

A real person. A real student. A real boy sitting twenty feet away from you. You spent the entire lecture staring at the back of his head.

Trying to convince yourself you were hallucinating Trying to convince yourself you were insane. trying to convince yourself this wasn’t happening.

None of it worked.

Because when class ended, he stood up. And he looked exactly the same.

۫ ׅ

That night, the dream returned. You were standing in the middle of a city street. Cars passing. People moving. And there he was.

Keonho.

Standing across from you. Closer than he’d ever been before. For the first time, you could see his face perfectly.

His smile.

His eyes.

Everything.

“Keonho.” The name slipped from your lips. The dream version of him looked surprised. Like he could actually hear you. You started running.. trying to reach him.

Trying to finally cross the distance that had separated you for years.

But no matter how fast you moved, you couldn’t get closer.

Something was wrong. The feeling returned. That awful feeling. The one that always came before you woke up.

“Wait!”

You shouted.

“Please wait!”

Keonho opened his mouth. Like he wanted to say something.

Then— You woke up. Heart pounding. Breathing hard. The room dark around you. The clock read 3:17 AM.

And for the first time in eight years, you cried. Because he wasn’t a dream anymore. He was real.

And somehow that made everything worse. —

۫ ׅ

Over the next few weeks, you tried avoiding him. It didn’t work. The universe seemed determined to put Keonho directly in your path.

You saw him at the library, the cafeteria , the student center, the coffee shop near campus.

Everywhere.

And every time, he looked completely normal. Not cursed. Not haunted. Not doomed. Just… Keonho.

The boy who always sat by the window , the boy who laughed quietly, the boy who offered his charger to strangers when their phones died.

The boy who held doors open without thinking , the boy who somehow made everyone around him comfortable. You hated it. Because every nice thing you learned about him made it harder.

Harder to stay away. Harder to forget. Harder to ignore the dreams.

Then one afternoon, he sat beside you.. Just sat down. Like it was the most normal thing in the world , you nearly dropped your drink.

“Hi.”

His smile was small. Friendly. Easy.

“You’re in my history class, right?”

You stared. He waited. You forgot how to speak.

“…Yeah.”

“Cool.”

A pause. Then he pointed to your notebook.

“You draw during lectures.”

You blinked.

“What?”

“I sit behind you.”

Your stomach dropped.

“You’ve noticed?”

Keonho laughed softly.

“You make it sound creepy.”

Maybe it was. Because you wanted to scream.

Instead you smiled.

And somehow that conversation turned into another. And another. And another.

Until suddenly, without realizing it, Keonho became part of your life.

And every night the dreams got a little clearer.