Oneiric Tryst

2. Orchestra

Faint orchestra music played in the distance. The grass Hongjoong waded through reached as high as his waist and brushed over his palms at every step. A constant wind brushed through it as if it were an ocean, creating the illusion that it moved up and down like waves.

Hongjoong wandered aimlessly. Above him stretched a cloudy sky, hiding everything but a few sparse rays of moonlight that surrounded the shrouds like gleaming fire. So far, he had walked into two spider webs that had stuck to his face like glue. He took it as a good sign that the grass under his fingertips wasn't sharp as blades. At the same time, it was worrisome.

Hongjoong was here to extinguish the sorrows of a nightmare. And so far, he had spotted nothing even remotely nightmare related. The night was already an indication that his designated guy may be afraid of the dark. Only a few nightmares happened in bright daylight, or places filled with masses of humans. Despite the odds, that's where people felt the most protected and comfortable.

When the chilly wind picked up to whip at Hongjoong's neatly styled hair and to jingle on the metal of his many piercings, the man grumbled. He pulled his leather jacket tighter around his frame.

He had dressed up, as he always did for work. Hongjoong regarded it as a necessity to feel comfortable and pretty in his skin when he invaded other people's minds like a burglar. The things he saw here exposed the very soul of a person. And in the rare cases someone detected Hongjoong's presence and viewed it as peculiar, he liked to be in top shape.

Jongho had snorted at the long speech Hongjoong had given him about the topic. San had suggested dressing up as a bush or a rock for special occasions.

Out here, on a vast field as far as Hongjoong's eye could reach, he painfully stood out. Not for the red of his mostly sheer shirt, though. Rather, his height. And that was a rare thing. Luckily, Hongjoong wasn't as small as a blade of grass.

Hongjoong shoved his hands into his pockets as he looked around. Nothing but the empty void of this dream greeted him. The music came out of nowhere and told a sad song about lost battles and long-forgotten heroes. A choir hummed a ghostly melody in the back of the French horn's main cry for clamour and help at the same time.

When he had entered this dream, Hongjoong hadn't known what to bring. Usually, he carried either weapons or other useful equipment to rid the dreamer of whatever disturbing beast haunting them. But since Hongjoong had detected no hints of the usual culprits, he had come equipped only with the standard pistole in the same shiny gold as his piercings in the holster at his hip. He would have to figure out everything else by himself.

Once more, Hongjoong swiped his eyes over the scene. When he finally detected a person in the distance, he ducked instantly. Tall grass surrounded him in a perfect hiding spot as he fixated on the man.

He stood far from him. Not much of his features was illuminated. Based on the looks of it, he wore a soft beige sweater and regular jeans. Dark hair fell onto his forehead as he lowered his head.

Idly, he stared at his hands.

With as little noise as possible, Hongjoong sneaked closer. The grass rustled around him, but he was careful to move deliberately as not to alert the man of his presence.

When he rose his head, Hongjoong faltered. The man turned his head to stare over his left shoulder at something Hongjoong couldn't see from his current spot.

At his next step in the weird strained crouch he shuffled in, Hongjoong tripped over a human hand.

Through the thick grasses, he couldn't see the person attached to it, and he didn't have to. Either a faceless nobody or a loved person of the dreamer.