Title: Realistic Dreaming
Author: Bull
Spoilers: Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days
AN: I've watched the dream scene at least fifteen times, and I find it incredible. I don't know if I'm the first, but I had to write a story about it when the inspiration hit me this morning. The whole thing is in Luke's point of view, and her name is never mentioned, but it sounded more inner- Luke like, kind of like he can't say her name because he can't let himself admit how much he cares about her. Am I crazy? I hope you like the story, I almost missed the bus because I needed to finish it before my muse went on vacation.
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I'm downstairs, in her kitchen. It doesn't feel like just her kitchen though, it feels like home. My subconscious wonders what I am doing here, why I am not at the diner. I'm making breakfast for her, maybe this is the way we will make up from our fight? No, we are already 'made up.' I can sense it; there is no constant pounding in my head, burning in my heart like there was some time ago. Speaking of time, when is it? I really need to get to the diner.
Before I can leave, her voice comes floating down the stairs. Then it hits me, it's seven in the morning. I know I did something that would drag her down here last night, after she fell asleep. What was it? I try to determine what is reality and what is not. Then it hits me, the alarm clocks. Dozens of them, all set for seven. I try not to grin as I hear her get out of bed and march down the stairs, grumbling about how she wanted the option to get up, not to be drastically woken up. That's not what she said last night, it must be her pre-coffee attitude.
As she walks into the kitchen, my jaw nearly drops. She looks incredible, wearing a pink nightgown that shows a lot of skin. What is this, a joke? Since when does she feel comfortable wearing such a small amount of clothing around me? I don't mind though, no, not at all. She comes close to me, still complaining about the alarm clocks, which by the way, I got a great discount on. She grabs for her coffee, and is about to take a sip when suddenly she stops.
I admit it, I switched her coffee. I knew she would be able to tell the difference, but it was worth a try. Now she is frantically digging through the kitchen, trying to find the 'real coffee' as she calls it. With that nose, it will take no time. I am telling her to stop, I didn't do anything, but secretly I am thinking how cute she looks and mentally timing how long it takes her. Five-four-three-two-one-and she has it. She runs to the counter, proud of her skills. I knew I should have hidden it further away, but I just can't be that cruel to her.
I follow her, asking her to give up coffee for just one day. We both know she never will though. I hand her the breakfast that I made for her, and start to leave. As I walk away, she tells me we need q-tips. I come back while she is still talking about what crazy things we need, and tell her I'll be home early. Home? I lean down to kiss her on the lips. She responds to the kiss, to my surprise. We kiss again, then I lean down to her stomach. Her stomach! I can't believe this, have I lost my mind? Do I need a therapist? This can't be happening. Suddenly it hits me. this is a dream. Of course. I can't just leave it like this though, I have to finish it. It really is my dream, my deepest hopes. We kiss one last time, and I leave for the diner. Ah. Now I can wake up in peace.
When I do wake up though, it is a mind-blowing thing. I jump up, practically hitting my head on the ceiling. It felt so real, much more so then my thousands of previous dreams about her. I wonder if she felt anything, then quickly dismiss the thought. Of course not. It must just be my feelings about the fight that we are in that made this dream so realistic. She will remain oblivious about my feelings for her forever, it seems. But that's the way it has to be.
Spoilers: Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days
AN: I've watched the dream scene at least fifteen times, and I find it incredible. I don't know if I'm the first, but I had to write a story about it when the inspiration hit me this morning. The whole thing is in Luke's point of view, and her name is never mentioned, but it sounded more inner- Luke like, kind of like he can't say her name because he can't let himself admit how much he cares about her. Am I crazy? I hope you like the story, I almost missed the bus because I needed to finish it before my muse went on vacation.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm downstairs, in her kitchen. It doesn't feel like just her kitchen though, it feels like home. My subconscious wonders what I am doing here, why I am not at the diner. I'm making breakfast for her, maybe this is the way we will make up from our fight? No, we are already 'made up.' I can sense it; there is no constant pounding in my head, burning in my heart like there was some time ago. Speaking of time, when is it? I really need to get to the diner.
Before I can leave, her voice comes floating down the stairs. Then it hits me, it's seven in the morning. I know I did something that would drag her down here last night, after she fell asleep. What was it? I try to determine what is reality and what is not. Then it hits me, the alarm clocks. Dozens of them, all set for seven. I try not to grin as I hear her get out of bed and march down the stairs, grumbling about how she wanted the option to get up, not to be drastically woken up. That's not what she said last night, it must be her pre-coffee attitude.
As she walks into the kitchen, my jaw nearly drops. She looks incredible, wearing a pink nightgown that shows a lot of skin. What is this, a joke? Since when does she feel comfortable wearing such a small amount of clothing around me? I don't mind though, no, not at all. She comes close to me, still complaining about the alarm clocks, which by the way, I got a great discount on. She grabs for her coffee, and is about to take a sip when suddenly she stops.
I admit it, I switched her coffee. I knew she would be able to tell the difference, but it was worth a try. Now she is frantically digging through the kitchen, trying to find the 'real coffee' as she calls it. With that nose, it will take no time. I am telling her to stop, I didn't do anything, but secretly I am thinking how cute she looks and mentally timing how long it takes her. Five-four-three-two-one-and she has it. She runs to the counter, proud of her skills. I knew I should have hidden it further away, but I just can't be that cruel to her.
I follow her, asking her to give up coffee for just one day. We both know she never will though. I hand her the breakfast that I made for her, and start to leave. As I walk away, she tells me we need q-tips. I come back while she is still talking about what crazy things we need, and tell her I'll be home early. Home? I lean down to kiss her on the lips. She responds to the kiss, to my surprise. We kiss again, then I lean down to her stomach. Her stomach! I can't believe this, have I lost my mind? Do I need a therapist? This can't be happening. Suddenly it hits me. this is a dream. Of course. I can't just leave it like this though, I have to finish it. It really is my dream, my deepest hopes. We kiss one last time, and I leave for the diner. Ah. Now I can wake up in peace.
When I do wake up though, it is a mind-blowing thing. I jump up, practically hitting my head on the ceiling. It felt so real, much more so then my thousands of previous dreams about her. I wonder if she felt anything, then quickly dismiss the thought. Of course not. It must just be my feelings about the fight that we are in that made this dream so realistic. She will remain oblivious about my feelings for her forever, it seems. But that's the way it has to be.