99¢ dreams › lee minho
↳ in which minho doesn’t believe in magic, but that doesn’t stop you from trying ↳ fluff
At the center of town, a woman no younger than ninety ran the 99￠ Dreams shop, employing no one but herself. I heard she opened the store as a twenty-year-old woman when the town was still young. Rumor had it she could show anyone a glimpse of their future for a meager 99￠, but they were not permitted to ask for a second, and once the dream occurred, it would happen the exact same way in real life. A person would blink the same way. The leaves would tremble the same way. The price to pay for the inevitable came at such a low cost, and I had been intrigued as many years as my memory recalled.
Minho, as he stated himself, did not have the patience for fads. “It’s a scam,” he tsked with each mention of the store en route to our preferred café. “Aren’t you going to grow out of your fascination someday?”
“No.” I lifted my chin in defiance. “People come from all over the world, and they swear by her. There have been plenty of news pieces written about it.”
“People come from all over the world because it’s a scam, but a cheap one. Anyone can afford ninety-nine cents, and some fools out there are bound to have realistic dreams based on pure odds and luck. There’s no science behind what she does. Just naїve customers.”
“Of course it’s not scientific. It’s magic!” I made exaggerated hand gestures, earning a laugh as Minho slung an arm over my shoulders.
“If you’re so convinced, why don’t you buy one for yourself?” he pondered. “Afraid of the let-down? Admitting I’m right?”
“Never,” I said. “I wanted to wait until I thought something spectacular might happen soon. They say the dreams come true within three months, and if no major life events are set to happen in that time, you have a normal dream of a normal day. I’ve done my research.”
“Always a good idea to research nonsense, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” I ignored his tone. “That, and nothing in life is written in stone, except these dreams. What if something terrible happens, and then I spend the next few months spiraling towards it with no brakes?”
“In that case, it’s a good thing none of it’s real,” he said.
“It is real,” I protested, whacking his chest, but it was padded by a thick-knit sweater. “I read an article about a man who dreamt his wife died, and six weeks later, she was killed in a car crash.”
“My condolences, but like I said: sometimes things will happen by pure coincidence. That’s how the woman makes money–she lures you in with a cheap, ninety-nine cent gimmick, and then she asks you to spend real money on old books and essential oils and antiques she probably pulled out of her basement. How do you think she affords to stay in business?”
“Because her magical powers have drawn in customers worldwide, and a dollar racks up over time. Why do you have such a vendetta against a sweet old woman?”
“I don’t have a vendetta.” He rolled his eyes. “I just stopped believing in magic when I was, like, twelve. It worries me that you’re so many years behind.”
“Life loses so much luster when you stop believing in magic.” I sighed wearily for all those who lost their imaginations so young. “That’s why I don’t ever plan to.”
“How do you plan to keep that belief intact when you pay for a dream and nothing special happens?”
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and although foot traffic was light, Minho looked at me like I was holding up an entire city of people. “Why don’t we settle it now, then? We both pay for a dream, and from there we’ll know who’s right. We just passed it, too, so let’s go.”
He protested as I pulled him by the sleeve. “Come on. I just wanted to grab a coffee. This is going to be a waste of–”
“Waste of what?” I interrupted. “Money? It’s less than a dollar. Energy? You don’t have to do anything except fall asleep, and you already do that every night. We’ll drink coffee after.”
“You’re insufferable,” he said, but we had the same argument on a hundred occasions since we were teenagers. Our bickering had to reach an end eventually.
“You’ll thank me one day,” I said, dragging him all the way until we stepped underneath the neon red “99￠ Dreams” sign. Through the clear glass doors, we saw no one but the owner, sitting behind a wooden counter with a newspaper in hand.
The shop smelled of potent oils–eucalyptus and bergamot and lemon–and I blinked the stinging sensation from my eyes. “Excuse me,” I said to the woman, and she glanced up, her face lined with deep-set wrinkles but her eyes still alert and vibrant. “We each wanted a dream. Please.”
Minho stood just over my shoulder, pulling a dollar bill from his pocket, and the owner’s eyes landed on him. “Are you both believers?” she asked as if the doubt wafted off of him.
“I am. He’s…not,” I bit my inner cheek, holding my breath in anticipation of her reply.
“I see,” she said. “I’ll warn you, boy, that the pills won’t work if you won’t believe. That’s their one condition.”
He glanced at me, and I knew what he was thinking. Scam. Phony. Gimmick. I heard it all before. “It’s only ninety-nine cents,” he told her. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“You’re right. Not believing in magic is already the worst that could happen,” she answered, snatching the dollars from each of our hands, and in turn she gave us each a penny. I smirked behind one of my hands. “Give me a moment.”
She exited into a closet-sized room just behind her, shutting the door. My attention fell on the newspaper she left. “Look at that.” I elbowed Minho’s ribs. “It has tomorrow’s date.”
“Probably a printing error. Not everything has a magical connotation,” he scoffed.
“Not everything, but that paper? Definitely magic,” I said, but before I read any of the headlines, the owner stepped back out of her small room. She moved deftly for such an old woman, and for a moment I considered the prospect of immortality.
“How long have the two of you been a couple?” She folded her newspaper and tucked it into a drawer.
A blush crept up my neck, and Minho chuckled nervously beside me, stepping to the side to put some distance between us. “We aren’t, uh…” he stumbled over his words. “We aren’t dating. Best friends, but that’s all.”
She looked to me for confirmation, and I nodded. “My apologies. You bicker like a lot of couples that come through here, but back to business.” She held out her hands, and we each extended a palm. In Minho’s hand, she dropped a cloudy-white capsule tinged with blue. In mine, she dropped a vibrant red one, similar to the neon of the sign in front of the store. “Take these tonight with a glass of water before bed. Sweet dreams.”
“Thank you,” we said in unison, Minho merely offering thanks out of necessity.
I rolled the pill between my fingertips as we left, but he shoved his into the pocket of his shorts. Out of sight, out of mind. “For your sake, I’m withholding my comments until tomorrow. Coffee?”
I spent my entire day wondering what night would bring. I barely held a coherent conversation over coffee, and although his expression gave away his annoyance, Minho stayed true to his word. We didn’t speak of the pills, but once I returned home, I willed myself to sleep earlier than I would on another given night. The holidays were coming up within the next couple of months. My family scheduled a road trip in January to escape the cold. Would they be in my dream? And what of Minho? The owner warned him, but maybe there was a glimmer of child left in him that never stopped believing in possibility. I hoped his creamy bluish-white pill showed him a more colorful future. As for me, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind. I fell asleep with red behind my eyelids
I woke to snow on the ground outside the window, but the walls were not the same white I had woken up to for years. They were navy, and as I pondered who in my life had navy-painted walls, a heavy arm fell over my waist, pulling me back.
“Why’re you so far? It’s cold,” he muttered. Minho. I’d recognize that voice in a heartbeat, and although I had no memory of falling asleep next to him, I knew it happened. Yes. We stayed in his apartment more often than mine. The white of my walls was too bright for him when he woke, and it gave him headaches. Why did I know that?
“You kicked me in your sleep. Again,” I grumbled in retaliation. Again? I tried to recall a first time. That hadn’t yet happened, but at the same time it had.
“Mind if I make it up to you?” he asked, lifting his head.
Naturally, I craned my neck back, my fingers finding the short hairs at his nape. I didn’t even have to think about kissing him good morning. By then, we must’ve kissed a hundred times, but each instance escaped me. When had we first kissed? Where?
“You know how else you could make it up to me?”
He pressed his forehead to mine, the corners of his mouth twisting in mischief. “Hm?”
“By not kicking me in my sleep.” I shoved him away from me, and he fell back against his pillow laughing. I pushed away from him, but he tugged me back into his side with little effort. I curled into him, having learned a while ago–I didn’t know when–how we molded together with ease.
“You talk in your sleep,” he countered. “It’s only fair that I kick you now and again.”
This, I was certain, I never heard before. “Talking in my sleep?” I mused. “What do I say?”
“You just keep going on and on about how handsome I am,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t fault you for that, but it’d be nice if you did it more often while you’re awake.”
“You’re the most handsome,” I said just to pander to him, “but you’re also a terrible liar.”
“That’s true. I’ll make that up to you, too.” He leaned in to kiss me again, and I considered turning my head away from him just to pick on him, but when his lips tasted like peppermint so early in the morning, I couldn’t refuse.
We spent the next couple hours in bed, as we often did on weekends. Half the time we kissed and half the time we told ourselves it was time to get out of bed and be productive citizens of the world. Then we decided kissing was productive enough, and we were excellent at the task, so why try anything else?
“As much as I’d love to stay here all day, my stomach would prefer that I didn’t,” I finally caved. “What do you think about heading into town and getting breakfast for lunch?”
He stretched his arms above his head, face scrunching in the process as a couple of his bones popped. “My favorite,” he hummed.
“Breakfast for lunch?”
“No, heading into town with you,” he corrected me. “But breakfast for lunch works, too.”
“Then let’s go,” I said, all except pushing him off of the bed. I had only a couple of sweaters to choose from, and I slid into jeans I knew I wore the day prior, but the other details of the outfit escaped me. Minho said today was colder than yesterday, insisting that I borrow one of his scarves and a heavier coat. The sleeves extended past my fingertips, but I wore it anyway.
Our favorite café happened to serve breakfast all day long, and I craved their whipped-cream and cherry topped pancakes. We passed the 99￠ Dream store as usual, its presence in our lives having faded somewhat over time. I didn’t feel the need to mention it to him, a point having been proven a while ago. There was no longer a need for questioning.
Still, I stated, “I’m going to run that store someday.”
Minho lowered his head to laugh, slipping his hand into mine. “I know you are.”
I couldn’t remember when I decided that, but it made sense to me. The woman wouldn’t be able to keep up with the shop forever, and who better to fill in her shoes? I hadn’t yet discussed the possibility with her, but in my mind clouded in fantasy, she already agreed.
“Think of all the dreams people haven’t yet had,” I said, peering over my shoulder at the store one last time. Inside, I imagined the owner watching us. Maybe she had her eyes on us for years, anticipating the day my curious head and curiouser heart couldn’t bear waiting any longer.
“Think of all the coffee I haven’t yet drank,” Minho remarked. I curled closer into his side to escape the still-falling snowflakes. We tended to use the other for warmth, but that had already been true for many years.
Minho and I agreed to meet in the morning at the fountain in Town Square. I found him sat upon the ledge, leaning back to dip his fingertips into the frigid water. Within a month or so, it would freeze over. In my dream, it already was.
My footsteps drew his attention, and he smiled at me. “Best friends, but that’s all,” he stuttered the day before. He really was a terrible liar.
“So?” I inquired, sitting next to him. “Did you uncover a leftover part of your childhood wonder and have a groundbreaking vision of where you’ll be in the next three months?”
“Close,” he said, and my chest swelled with anticipation, leaning in to hear his story. What if we had the same dream, only from different points of view? “I slept like a baby.”
My shoulders slumped. “Nothing, then?”
He shook his head. “They’re sugar pills. Nothing was ever going to happen. If you’re still convinced, what was your dream?”
I paused, my ears and cheeks turning pink. If he said anything, I’d blame it on the cold, but in reality I kept thinking of his arm around my waist and wondering if his lips tasted like peppermint. “Nothing,” I said aloud. “I slept well, too, but I didn’t dream of anything.”
He looked almost disappointed, like he knew there had never been any hope for him, but he wanted my fantasies to stay intact. “Really?”
I nodded. Someday, I’d tell him the truth. Maybe the day after my dream came true, but he didn’t need to know the future yet. Besides, he would get to live it with me.
“So…no more believing in magic?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
“Of course I still believe in magic,” I scoffed. Despite how much he chastised me for believing, he visibly relaxed, cocking his head to one side. “Just because one thing doesn’t work doesn’t discredit magic as a whole. Besides, I can predict the future.”
“You can…predict the future?” Minho hardly expected such a turnaround. Moments ago, he thought he had won. “What’s going to happen then?”
“I’m going to run the store one day,” I said. This was the day I first decided it.
“You’re going to scam people into paying you for sugar pills?”
“I’m going to keep the spirit of magic alive. There are worse crimes to commit.”
He clamped his mouth shut, puzzling over my logic. It’d make sense to him eventually, once he realized I did dream and the pills did work, if only one was childish enough to believe it. Or maybe he’d think me crazy our whole lives, but that was his problem more so than mine.
“Alright, let’s say you do take over the store. That’s a few years away, I’m sure, so I have to keep questioning your future-telling abilities until then.”
“Who says that’s the only thing I can predict?” I asked, and his attention doubled once more. “I know something that’s going to happen in about ten seconds.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to kiss you first.”
His eyes widened and his mouth struggled to form an intelligent reply, but after about four seconds of making a fool of himself, his expression resettled. “Prove it.”
I did, and a blocked off part of my dream became clear. We kissed for the first time on a Sunday morning in Town Square by the fountain. I didn’t yet know where or when or how the rest would happen, but this was the beginning of my spiraling towards the inevitable with no brakes, and I couldn’t wait.
“Still don’t believe in magic?”
He smiled. “I’m starting to. Tell me what I’m thinking.”
“You want to get coffee and pay for my whipped-cream and cherry topped pancakes?”
“What do you know,” he said, taking my hand in his. “You can read minds, too.”
a/n: this,,,is one of my fave things i’ve written :)
