I'll Be Your Alice in Wonderland

Ryan’s dreams were always so realistic. Sometimes, he hated going to sleep, just because he knew he had to wake up eventually, and have the crashing realization that none of it was true; that none of it had actually happened.

Tonight, he tossed and turned lightly in his bed, trying to fall asleep, but thinking of the fact that tomorrow, he would have to face his friends. They’d asked him to come to dinner, for the first time in weeks. His mind kept flying back to the last time they’d seen each other, when Brendon had walked in on him puking.

“What are you doing?” He could remember the scared, disgusted look on his best friend’s face, and he sighed, closing his eyes. They wanted him to stop. He didn’t want to. And that was that.

Finally, with the help of his iPod, he closed his eyes, and drifted off. He smiled, as dreams began.

…He wrinkled his nose, hand shielding his eyes from the sunlight. “Miserable sunlight,” He mumbled, sighing. He looked around the place, trying to figure out where he was. It wasn’t that bright, or cheery, just a small house, with a door open. Who leaves their door open? he thought, rolling his eyes, and stepping up onto the porch.

He climbed the steps to the door, and stuck his head in just barely. “Hello?” He called softly, almost fearfully. No answer. What did he expect, anyways? He stepped inside, figuring no harm was done, and looked around.

You could see the living room from where he was standing, along with a dining room and kitchen, both small, but decorated lovely, just simple and attractive enough to have guests over. Not to bright colors, and not too dark, no tacky decorations, just enough light. “Hello,” He whispered out, taking another step, closer to the living room.

No answer, again. Finally, he stepped into the living room and looked around. It looked…lived in. He blinked a few times, before realizing that it was his house. A brief what the fuck? flew through his mind, before he crossed the living room and hallway into the kitchen. Same as his house.

Except this kitchen had a person with it. He stood by the coffee maker, tapping his fingers impatiently. “Bren…”

The boy looked up, not surprised at all, and grinned. “Ry,” He nodded. “Want coffee? It’s nearly done.” Ryan choked on his breath, mind racing, still trying to figure out what was going on.

After a few moments silence, Brendon snapped his fingers in front of Ryan’s face, and Ryan stared at him again. “I thought things were…weird, between us?” Ryan sent his question into the air, studying his friend’s face carefully for his reaction. Brendon smiled a little.

“It’s your dream, Ry, things are whatever you want them to be between us.”

Dream.

Things were always too good to be true, he thought, frowning, and sinking down into the kitchen chair. The light went off on the coffee maker, and Brendon turned back around, pouring them both a cup, before sitting down again, handing Ryan a mug of the steaming liquid.

“So, a dream?” He clarified. Brendon rolled his eyes, and took a drink of the coffee.

“I’m not explaining this,” He told him flatly. “It’s way to complicated for anyone to understand.”

“Try me,” He declared, turning his nose up, just a bit Brendon. Brendon sighed.

“Dreams are…dreams are your feelings, and imagination, thought up whilst you’re sleeping. They’re everything you want, but can’t seem to have, almost,” He told him. “Or sometimes, they’re your fears, and worries, mixed in with what you want. The point is, when you’re dreaming, if your brain is active, you can focus on changing anything in the dream that you want. To good or bad. Get it? So, if you don’t want us to be angry with one another, you can focus on making it happen.”

Ryan nodded; “It’s almost realistic,” He whispered.

“Almost?” Brendon asked.

“You still hate me in the real world.”

“I’d never hate you,” Brendon shook his head. “Never ever. You’re my best friend, one of the only things that matter to me. Maybe I’m disappointed with you – frustrated, even, because I know I can’t make you better, with ease. But never hate.”

Ryan smiled. “You don’t hate me?” Brendon shook his head, giving a childish grin.

“Never.” Ryan grinned. Because maybe, maybe dreams were what would get him by.