Happy Holidays, FF-readers! I hope, after reading Mark Schwahn's interview and living in this economic hell-hole, you guys aren't resorting to alcohol to cheer up this holiday season.

Now that I am finished with SATs, college applications, etc., I expect to update regularly—although there still remains many distractions in life. But I am actually extremely excited to write this story, especially with Barack Obama's victory. I hope things will change; and I believe through perseverance, we Brucas fans will trump evil, will annihilate Pucas. (I'm reluctant to trust Mr. Schwahn, but I'm still sitting, waiting, wishing.)

Summary: We all have dreams, but what also matters is with whom we share that dream. When all your dreams come true, who do you want standing next to you? (Dude, is that even a summary? Sorry, I want you to read it, but I would consider that the theme!!) I know, I know…the love-triangle sucks. But what about a love parallelogram…with throwbacks to the scenes we love? (Because I can't come up with anything original? Yeah, something like that.)
Main Characters: Brooke, Lucas, Julian, and the yucky woman.
Guest appearance (later on): Daoud because I love that guy.

A Dream Is a Wish My Heart Makes.

Lucas Scott stood outside a familiar door but one he hasn't walked through since he helped his fiancée move. There, he stood with his finger glazing over the doorbell. Hesitant to enter. He turns around, but thunder strikes. He takes a step back, and the door swings open.

"Brooke," he acknowledges the body standing two inches away from his.

"Lucas, what are you doing here?" She stares at the puzzled, lost boy drenching on her porch.

He stares back at her, and his face grows harder—expressionless. He just stares as she shivers in her trench coat, dark blue jeans, and black boots. He, on the other hand, is wearing nothing but a sweater, a pair of jeans, and sneakers, yet somehow he is rather numb in feeling the hail ambush his bear skin.

She opens the door to walk in, but he doesn't follow. "Lucas," she says, dragging him into her house, "What's going on? Hold on. Let me get you a towel." She walks up the stairs.

Lucas' hands dig deep inside his pocket, gripping onto something. Squinting his eyes, he lets out a deep sigh. "Brooke, I'm sorry." But he doesn't continue.

She returns those same squints. "Tell me what's going on, Lucas."

"I…Peyton…"

"You and Peyton, what?"

Lucas, wincing in his thoughts, mutters a few more words, "Peyton…she's—"

Brooke looks at him. "Did you two get in a fight?"

He studies her concerned face, and guilt rides him harder. He runs up the stair, and she meets him half way. He wraps his arms around her in the tightest hug, wiping his tears away on her shoulders.

Her mouth drops, and she hugs him back tightly, brushing his wet and cold hair. "You guys will forgive each other. Don't worry. You guys are this epic couple."

He shakes his head. "Brooke, I walked out on her."

"Just go home. I'm sure it's fine."

"After she told me she was pregnant."

The power goes off. The house freezes. The two bodies wrapped as one, standing inches from the wall, grow tense.

(Because she is his forever.)

She stops holding him. She lets go. "I—I'm going to find a flashlight." And she runs into her room. A tight tug yanks at her weak heart.

Ten minutes later, she walks out of her room—with mascara reapplied. Lucas, no longer standing in the staircase, sits with his head resting on his knees.

Her heart breaks even more to see Lucas this way. She tosses her Powerpuff Girls' flashlight into the room before approaching Lucas. She kneels beside him. "Hey."

He lifts his head up to look at her. His eyes, puffy.

"Congratulations, Lucas. It's wonderful. What's wrong?"

He doesn't say anything to her gaze. "It's a girl."

"So, why are you sad, Lucas? You're getting everything you wanted, a family."

More tears sprint down his eyes. "Because it's our dream. Because it's what we wanted: the two boys and a girl, summers at our beach house, winters at our home in the south of France, me coaching Little League, you baking-but-more-like-buying treats. It's what we—"

Brooke is bawling. She stops him, bringing her icy fingers to his lips. "Stop, Lucas."

"It's what we wanted. It should have been us."

"Lucas, shut up! You're engaged to Peyton. She's having your baby. Stop! We're a thing of the past."

"That's what I thought, but when she told me she was pregnant, I just wished—"

A doorbell.

(Because a kiss at Blue Post led to the love between the couple behind the red door. A man in a blue jersey and a girl with a red feather fell in love. And that girl gave him a purple money. For Blue Skies.)