For the past month now, I've been having vivid dreams. It's a strange man, facing towards the great, glowing sun setting. The area is breath-taking every time, and I never tire of it: the grass beneath my bare feet is soft, dry; not a cloud seen in the evening air; trees in the far distance are great oaks, slouched, but tall and proud. As the man turns to me with a sorrowful smile, flowers of all sorts bloom in the area surrounding us: chrysanthemums, lilies, roses, tulips, pansies. The man wears a pristine white button-up shirt, a black over coat covering his sleeves and sides. His slacks differ between a dark brown or plain black – I can never tell. His hair is short cut and black, his small front bangs dangle over his forehead tauntingly.
I always feel like stroking hair. I want to feel his smooth, dark locks between the pads of my fingers; I want to embrace him and implant his scent in my mind for eternity. I desperately want to feel his hands tug at the fabric upon my back and force me closer. He looks tired, the man does. Soft bags underline his dark eyes, it stands out from his rather pale skin. Quite short he is, too. Though, myself being five foot seven, of course he would look a bit shorter – maybe five four? In my dreams, I never focus on the negatives. He extends his hand out to me, and I feel my lips stretch into a grin. My feet slide across the short distance between us and my darker hand meets his. As we stand side by side, facing the world, my thumb caresses the back of his hand tenderly and I feel him chuckle.
In my dream, I can't hear. I seem to prefer it that way, so I can appreciate the smells and sights. The view switches to a scene, showing both of our faces. We seem to watch each other as if we were lovers; the aura between us is light, tender, warm. He mouths something with a smile, which I can not hear, but I laugh and grin. A warm blush brushes over the apples of his cheeks and he glances away, his smile morphed into a tight pout. With my other hand, I smile tenderly and tilt his chin up lightly.
I see myself mouth, 'I love you' and I lean in slowly to seal the promise.
My eyes open as soon as my eyes close. I wake up, take a minute, and grit my teeth in frustration. Why, I yell, do I always have to have this damn dream every night? I classify it as torture; the man doesn't actually exist, and it was someone who I'd only be able to see for a limited time as I was unconscious. The man was inexplicably handsome, I noticed rather easily. It was all of a sudden that I'd begun having these odd, short visions. Coincidentally, it first happened the night I had come out to my close friends and family. I still found women attractive, but not in an arousing way or to the point where I felt the urge to take them as my own. But that man . . .
I shook my head and pushed away my fantasies for now. It was already eight, and I still needed a warm shower and breakfast before heading to work.
My name is Eren, Eren Jaeger, son of Carla and Grisha Jaeger – two successful business owners. When I was young, my mother would tuck me into my bed and prattle on about how her and my father met. I would never be able to forget the tale now, since she had bragged about it a thousand times. Your father and I, she would always start, met when we were young: I was in my graduating year of high school and your father had just graduated the year previous. To be honest, I always kind of had my eye on him. It was one of those silly crushes where I would write his name plus my name in a big red heart in one of my textbooks. . . She would go on about how she would talk to their shared friends and periodically ask for his phone number. My mother told me that they thought it was a little off to hear her asking them asking for their friend's number, but they never thought much of it.
Only three months later, they became close lovers and were married at twenty and twenty-one. They conceived me, their eldest child, just a year after they married, then had my younger sister Mikasa two years later.
When my father scored a job as a secretary in a very successful industry, he managed to get in a word to the 'big man' about his wife and how desperately she needed a job to be able to support their children. Now, they've both risen in levels of business, and both share the still successful industry they first started work at. Although Mikasa and I flew from the nest a few years ago, our mother still calls us once and a while and sends us texts about a family get-together. My sister decided to move in with her long-term girlfriend, Annie, a month after I moved into a flat with my room-mate, Armin. Mikasa had come out to my parents long before I did. We were all aware of her sexuality when she was only fifteen, and she seemed absolutely sure of it even when we seemed sceptical. I guessed just to prove her point, she got a girlfriend and fell in love and moved away to Arizona.
I, on the other hand, live in a simple little flat in Britain. My landlord, Reiner Braun, had barged in to my apartment one day with a short, blonde man standing behind him and rather rudely announced that I had a new room-mate and that we were to 'have fun'. God knows what he truthfully meant, but needless to say, Armin and I got along well. We would take turns cooking dinner, and when it was my night, I would catch him grimace just a little at the smell or sight and I would sigh and ask what I did wrong again; we would go out grocery shopping together, and when we got our pay checks for the week, we'd buy take-out and rent shitty movies for the weekend. Armin, even though I've only known him for less than a year, is one of the closest people to me in my life.
The highway to work was packed, as usual. I phoned into work, explaining to my boss that I would be late because of serious traffic. He understood, and said he expected at least some workers late. We left it at that, and I drummed on the steering wheel, leaning back into my seat. I sneered suddenly and groaned, foreign music coming to my ears. I never liked the British music on the radio, since I was Canadian with German blood (it wasn't much of an excuse, but I used it as one anyhow). Why I moved to Britain I wasn't exactly sure, I just felt that I needed some kind of a new start in life. The typically dreary weather and every day traffic lulled me into a trance and calmed me; I became used to the soft patter of raindrops against the windows in my flat and upon the roof – it was usually the only thing to bring me sleep.
As my foot lightly pressed on the gas, I remembered the strange man from my strange dreams. Reaching for my coffee, I realized that he had, in a sense, became a part of life. If he suddenly disappeared permanently, I wouldn't know what I would do with myself. I was sure I'd fell in love with his appearance, his scent. . . but he wasn't real. I had to face that fact, but I couldn't quite understand what was exactly happening yet, it seemed to be happening all to quickly: coming out to my friends and family and that exact same night, a mysterious, attractive man appears in my dreams and it causes me to fall in love with him? I chuckled at myself, finally accepting that I was slowly becoming insane. Traffic cleared after a boring wait and work was only a minute away. In early preparation, I worked my lips from a wide grin, to a frown, and back to a grin; my boss told me we would never get any income if I greeted customers with a gloomy expression.
Work went slowly, as usual. My legs became sore half-way through my shift and when I went to fetch a room key for one of the guests, I tripped over my own half-numb feet and stumbled. The customer gave me concerned looks, but I only brushed it off, smiled, handed them their key, and told them to have a great stay. Working for the front desk of a hotel wasn't the worst job in all of history, but it wasn't the greatest either. I was just relieved to get income every week.
After my every shift ended at nine o'clock in the evening, I would check out and let one of the new guys take over for the night shift. Before driving straight home and collapsing onto my cot in exhaustion, I would always stop by my favourite twenty-four hour coffee house for a little bite to eat and a nice cup of black coffee I had gotten used to after a few years.
"Ah, Eren! There you are! I was starting to think you weren't going to show tonight!" One of the servers, Sasha her name was, exclaimed when I swung open the glass door and was welcomed by tacky furniture and blindingly horrid tile. I laughed and ran my hand through my hair, explaining that tonight was a busy night at the hotel. She nodded along, and kindly escorted me to my usual seat, a booth at the back, beside and in front of the main glass windows. I sighed heavily, allowing my eyes to shut for the time being, and loosened my tie. Leaning back in my seat, Sasha caught my eye and winked. "Like your usual, hon?"
"Yes, please."
My hands relaxed in my lap and my head lolled back slightly. The soft, classic Rock 'n Roll played through the speakers placed in each of the corners of the café, and the perfect dim lighting lulled me into a silent trance. I watched the dark outside world continue on with its regular business; cars occasionally sped by in a flash of headlights, or I would see a couple taking a walk together on the side of the road. I supposed this was one of the reasons why I chose to live in Britain. I heard it was a gloomy place, but work was typically good and the place was calming. A dull smile reached the corners of my lips and my eyes rested closed.
Sasha had awoken me with a louder than usual placing of my dish and cup. A sudden intake of breath and a few quick blinks and I was ready to go.
"Eren, honey, after this, are you sure you're good on your own to drive home? I don't want you to fall asleep behind the wheel and see your corpse on the morning news." She inquired, leant over the counter slightly on the palms of her hands. I reached for my still steaming cup of coffee and smiled reassuringly at the woman.
"I can assure you, that won't happen, Sasha. I swear, you're more concerned for my well-being than my mother is!"
"My, now you're cracking jokes! Nice one, funny guy, but I'm just trying to look out for you. You've been looking more and more stressed and tired-looking every time you come here." After my first long sip, my smile had long faded. Had I really looked that bad?
"I. . . I'm sorry. It's just," I sighed, setting my cup down. "I've been more than exhausted lately. There's a lot going on." Sasha tilted her head at me and frowned, taking her own seat across from me. She leant her chin upon her hands and nodded towards my evening meal that I was eager to start.
"How about you eat up and tell me what's bothering you. People say that it's better to share what's on your mind rather than keep it all bottled up, like what you're doing." Shovelling the first fork-full of scrambled eggs into my mouth, I considered it. I knew it wasn't healthy to keep things to myself, but I wasn't sure if Sasha would understand my troubles.
"If I tell you," I pointed my loosely held fork at her. "you're going to promise me not to think of me any differently or laugh at me, all right?" I arched an eyebrow in affirmation, which she gave me with an eager nod. I sighed, starting off with my sexuality. I explained how I realized I wasn't interested in women like I was with men, even when I was a boy. With a wary glance, I caught Sasha's eye and all she did was smile, like my mother did when I had told her.
"You thought I would make fun of you for that, Eren? Apparently you don't know me well enough! You've been a usual here since you moved here, and don't think I haven't caught your little secret glances at some male butts. I see you blush when an attractive man sits in a booth opposite to yours, but happened to notice you don't stare at the short dresses us café girls wear." I blinked at her in astonishment, not having realized that it had become that obvious. Half of the time, I didn't even realize what I was doing or staring at, but Sasha eventually caught on to my little façade. As I crammed another bite into my mouth, I pouted like a child, keeping my gaze down. All she did was laugh and tell me that it was all right, that she understood. I nodded, smiling warmly at her positive attitude.
I continued on, explaining to her in a slow and less complicated way about my sudden vivid dreams I've been getting since I came out. Her eyebrows furrowed and she leaned in, listening attentively. I filled her in on everything I could possibly remember about the man I continuously see in my dreams; I didn't forget to exclude how attractive I found him, how short he was, his luscious scent, his soft hands. . .
"And you see him in your dreams, you say? You've never seen him on the streets or when you were working or even when you're in here?"
I shook my head. "No, I'm sure of it. And it's only recently that I've seen him, too. He couldn't be someone I knew as a child, I would have recognized him for sure. . . Maybe he's. . .? No, it can't, I would have remembered his face." I muttered on, slowly finishing off my meal and cooling drink. In an oddly smug way, Sasha asked me politely to go over what he looked like again in detail. Hesitating for a moment, I obliged her request. Through her mischievous expression, I saw thought bubbling in her mind; I could notice she wanted to talk.
"What is it now? You look more excited than a trembling dog." I ask, narrowing my eyes slightly and taking the last swig of my coffee.
"Well, I was just thinking. . . how familiar he sounds." I choked on my drink, thankfully still swallowing it.
"Y – You've seen him too, then?! Why didn't you tell me earlier?" At my baffled inquiry, all she did was laugh.
"No, no, not in my dreams. I mean, I think I've seen him around the coffee house. He comes in here in the late afternoon with a briefcase. Let me just clarify that I only think it's him. I don't know for sure, so don't get your panties in a bunch about it."
Nonetheless, over Sasha's guess, a wave of relief and tense excitement washed over me. The man I've seen in my dreams is real, but. . . he's real. If I ever meet him, how the Hell am I going to explain that I know him because I've been seeing him in my dreams? I hoped from the bottom of my heart that what Sasha was telling me was what she actually saw. Well, she started to suggest, maybe you can take a break tomorrow and come here for lunch to try and see him? Who knows, I might not be lying. And with a wink, she whisked away my empty plate and cup and disappeared into the kitchen.
Sitting there silent for a moment, I ran my hands through my hair and felt my heart begin to race. I want to see him, I told myself, but how would I be able to face him? I can't just go up to a complete stranger and tell him I love him because I've been seeing him in my dreams. No doubt he would get a restraining order against me, or – or worse! Shit, Eren, today's been a long day. It's time to go home and sleep your worries away. Well, I smirked at my own stupidity, your worries will only become worse when you sleep, won't they?
I gathered any belongings I had brought in and stood from my booth. I bid Sasha a rather loud farewell, in which she returned it, and exited the building. Stepping outside, I hadn't realized how cold or how late it had actually gotten. I inwardly cursed at myself, taking quick strides towards my car. Unlocking the door and and taking my seat, two bright lights had made a sudden turn and came into the coffee house parking lot.
"It's bloody late, idiot, they won't serve you any more." I cursed at whoever was inside of the vehicle and felt triumphant because I had been the last to be served for the evening. I win, jackass. Starting up the engine, the person who parked directly beside me turned their headlights off and took a few moments to exit the vehicle. Just beginning to reverse, something odd caught my gaze.
Holding it off until I was fully reversed and ready to go, I lifted my gaze to the rear-view mirror and my breath caught in my throat. I immediately pulled my car into park and lifted my foot from the gas. I hoisted myself up slightly and stared intently at the reflection I believed I was seeing. My stomach began to churn nervously and I could feel my arms and legs start trembling.
It. . . It was him.
The man from my dreams. It was him.