Stace's POV
For as long as I can remember, I always keep a dream diary. I keep mine on my bedside table.
As I reach out to my bedside lamp to read last night's dream, I notice that the edges of my dream diary are becoming more squiggly… No, this can't happen.
I remember the first time I encounter this. It's years ago—when I'm about to catch a glimpse of the faceless man's lips. I reach out to his face, but he grabs my hand and kisses my forehead instead. Recalling it now makes my body feel how I felt in that dream. It's as if I can almost feel his lips on my forehead while he caresses my wrist.
I sit up and pull the string to turn on my lamp. The warm light makes me squint as I try my best to grab my pen and diary.
I wake up feeling bothered by the faceless man in my dream. I feel like any time now, I'm going to meet him in real life and ask him how he makes me fall deeper asleep in my dreams. Sounds weird, no? Lucid dreaming is the only thing I look forward to at night; my body feels enamored by its power to control the mind while, technically, being half-alive.
They say anyone can learn how to do it. Lucky me, I don't have to.
It's always part of my waking routine to read last night's entry. There was a time when all my dreams are connected, and it feels like I'm binge-watching a series while asleep. Does that make sense?
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Last night's entry:
06.10.2022 Thursday
Faceless Man tells me not to keep looking for him. I feel like he doesn't want me to know more about him. Could he be some sort of entity that no one should mess with?
Anyway, my dream starts like this:
I walk alone along General Malvar Ave. in Cubao when I suddenly feel the urge to have a beer. My dress is soaked but my shoes aren't. Weirdly enough, every step I take makes a squishing sound. So I take them off. I kneel down to untie my shoelaces… I glance up and—it's morning already? How come?
I can't really recall much because when I wake up, I'm out of breath. But I remember that right after I remove my shoes, I notice someone standing in front of me.
"I know you," I tell him.
"Maybe you do," he answers.
FACELESS! MAN!
I think I should name him? But my aunt tells me not to give them nicknames. Never.
"What's your name?" I ask. I notice the city noise is muffled.
"Why do you want to know? Aren't you scared of me?" he asks. I know he's looking at me. His featureless face never scares me. I just shake my head and smile.
I want to ask why he keeps appearing in my dreams for years now, but based on my experience, you don't mention dreaming to the people you meet in dreams. Unless you want to wake up feeling bothered for weeks, don't do it.
I think he notices I'm barefoot and soaking wet. He takes off his coat and wraps it around me. I don't know if I'm just hopelessly romantic or seriously touch-deprived, but I felt giddy when he did that. What's happening with you, Stacey Wren?
Next thing I know, we're walking around Cubao. Deep in my mind—even while dreaming—I feel like this could be the place where I'll meet him in real life. Yes, I believe that someday, we will meet. That he'll recognize me from my dreams.
Suddenly, it turns into nighttime? At this point, I don't want to wake up. It's embarrassing to admit, but I miss him when I'm awake. Maybe he's the reason I'm excited to sleep early—so I can "be with him" for longer.
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I can't help but smile while reading that entry. It's been days since I last dreamt of him, and seeing him again earlier makes me feel warm inside. I've read that entry more than a dozen times, and I could recite it by heart if I had to.
As I hold my pen, I feel a presence beside me. It's him! Am I still dreaming? I know I'm not. I turn on my lamp, and it feels real in my hand.
"Where have you been?" I face him, doing my best to catch even the faintest glimpse of what he looks like.
He just shrugs and gently grabs my diary and pen. He scribbles something on it. I genuinely hope his penmanship is as nice as his voice.
"That's my name," he tells me like a proud 5-year-old showing his drawing to his mom. I feel his fingers play with my hair as I move closer to him. I love how tall he is—it makes me feel safer.
I reach out to take a peek, letting a bit of our skin touch… but I get distracted by a loud noise blaring from outside. It is—
RIIIIING!
RIIIIING!
RIIIIING!
"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter to myself. Not when he finally reveals his name to me. Not when he says it to me—well, he wrote it. But still the same thought. I want to kick myself for setting an alarm this early. But I could still be dreaming, right?
I pinch my cheeks and feel nothing. My toes are icy from the AC, so I can't rub them against my sheets; I won't feel anything. All I know is—I am close to knowing him.
When I realize I'm actually awake, my heart starts to yearn more for him. His touch feels real. His warmth, his scent. I know he is there, and I'm just losing track of time and date. He is real in that dream. He is real.
I close my eyes and feel streaks of hot tears stream down the sides of my face. I face my bedside table and stare at the city lights. How come… if… if I'm actually awake, how come I still get to see this view this early?
With this realization, I smile to myself, knowing that I can still ask him personally to read his name for me. I take a deep breath and get out of bed. That's it!
I fight every urge to look at the clock on my bedside table. I can see its white light from my peripheral vision. I make my bed excitedly.
I'm about to exit my room when I feel strong arms wrap around me from behind. I know in my heart it's him. He places his chin on my right shoulder and pulls me closer. I place both my arms on top of his and gently lean my head against his shoulder.
Call me crazy, but if I could be stuck here forever, dreaming, I would.
"You have to wake up, Stace," he tells me.
"Why?" I ask him.
"This isn't healthy for you anymore," he answers.
My heart pounds, and I hope he can hear it too. A lump forms at the back of my throat, and I struggle to process everything. I close my eyes and hold his arms tighter. I feel my tears start to form.
Gosh, I've never cried in a dream before.
I feel my cheeks get wet because of… his tears? Faceless Man can cry?
"Wake up for me," he says, his voice cracking through the weight of his own tears, as he kisses my temple.
"Please… do it for me, Stace," he continues.
I opened my eyes with tears running down my face.