A/N: So it's three in the morning, but I have WRITTEN SOMETHING. FINALLY. After, what, a month? Gods, I hate it when I fizzle out; ain't fun. But here is something for y'all, and I dedicate it to CoblynauRisen, who, like 6Amaya6, left me something like NINE reviews to read when I got home one day. Seeing that always makes me so happy. :D Squiddosaur, you'll be next for a dedication when I can kick my butt into writing something.

It is late, and I am sleepy, so please forgive any spelling or grammatical mistakes I've missed in the editing process (which was really more of a quick glance...). I'll come back and edit it some more later.

Edit: Went in and added some more details towards the end. I like how it turned out. And hey, I wrote something! ...even if it was only two paragraphs to add to something I'd already written. XD (June 28, 2010)

Drabble Number Ten Rating: T (For swearing, like always)


Dream of Me

One night, Malcolm has the strangest dream of his life.

It's not strange because people start growing random and assorted things from uncomfortable positions; nor because he visits impossible and awe-inspiring places. It does not rank as the strangest because he flies, or breathes under water, or survives frighteningly high falls. It isn't strange because the happenings in his dream are out of the ordinary or impossible; no, it is strange because everything that happens in it is possible. It's all very comfortable and realistic, and later he wonders why the rest of his dreams can't be more like this one.

When the dream starts, he's sitting in the living room on the couch, watching a movie. His whole family is there, all sitting on the couch, which seems to have elongated enough for them all to fit. At the far end his parents sit next to each other, his mother sitting with her legs tucked under her as she leans against his father. Next to them Francis sits with Piama, sharing a giant bowl of popcorn—Francis stuffing his mouth with fistfuls of the kernels at a time. After them Dewey and Jamie sit side-by-side, Dewey covering Jamie's eyes; which probably has something to do with the movie, but Malcolm doesn't pay enough attention to formulate a better theory.

Malcolm's not really watching the movie, though. He's instead focused on the strong arms that have weaved themselves around his body and under one of his own arms, and the warm shoulder on which his head is placed. He's sitting on someone's lap and they're holding him, and he finds it quite pleasant. And of course he instinctively knows who it is—the way you know something in a dream without having to see it or be told it—and the fact doesn't bother him. Actually, it seems rather normal.

He finds himself kissing at the smooth skin of the neck in front of him. He gives gentle, smooching pecks to one of the veins he can see. It makes the other squirm, because evidently they're ticklish, and it makes Malcolm feel giddy to know that he can cause that. It's a wonderful feeling.

Suddenly he can hear rain coming from outside, pounding down like it's trying to force itself to the center of the Earth. Only, it's not really outside; it's inside. It's inside the school, and he's at the school. And there's a river where the hallway floor should be. The rain is falling from the ceiling tiles.

Malcolm is standing by his locker on the edge of the river, absently pondering whether it'd be safer to put his text books back in the locker or to keep them with him. He sees that Dabney and Lloyd have constructed a makeshift raft out of an entire section of lockers, and decides the latter option would be better.

But then he doesn't care anymore, because the books are gone and he's lying on top of a firm, bare chest inside a wooden boat. The rain falls steadily from the ceiling and completely soaks him, but he doesn't care because he has his swimsuit on and would be soaked regardless of the rain anyway. Besides, the person beneath him is far more interesting. They're warm, and slick with rain, and laying his head down to listen to their heartbeat is so completely soothing.

The boat they're in rocks gently with the motion of the river, and they pass by the main office. The principal stares out at them disapprovingly, but he's barricaded himself in the office, so there's really nothing he can do about it. So he goes ignored.

There are gentle circles being woven into Malcolm's shoulder by deft and clever fingers that know exactly where to touch him to make him relax. However, his shoulder is slick from the rain, and the fingers keep slipping every once in a while, so the effect is only partial. But Malcolm enjoys it nonetheless.

A ringing begins to fill his ears. It's not like the high-pitched ringing that people often get in their ears; instead it's round sounding, and melodic. It seems to fill the air, coming in from all sides and penetrating everything around him. It's like... Well, it's like singing metal is what it's like. Like reverberating metal pouring its soul into the air around it. It's beautiful.

As he listens the rain disappears. He finds that he's now standing up; standing with a stone floor beneath his feet. He can see multi-colored streamers flying in the wind, and out beyond them a wondrous mountainscape. He somehow knows that behind him, a giant golden statue of the Buddha stands resolutely.

Someone is hugging him, and he just as easily knows who it is. They're standing on a balcony overlooking the downward slope of the mountain, holding on to each other in breathless happiness. Because why wouldn't they embrace? They made it; all the way. They never gave up, and here they are.

They are so happy and giddy that they hardly notice the monks and the few other visitors that mill around behind them. Of course, none of them are paying them the slightest bit of attention anyway, so it really doesn't matter.

Malcolm buries his face into the other's neck, gently snuggling into it, his nose rubbing softly up and down its length. He is so content right now, and this warm, spreading feeling fills his chest. Strong arms encompass him, and he can feel hot, excited breath tickling at the edges of his ear. He can't believe he's here, that they're both here, and oh, God it's so amazing!

He wants to tell the other how amazing it is, and how amazing they are, but finds that for all his happiness he has no voice. The only sound around them is that gentle metallic ringing. So instead Malcolm just squeezes tighter, and wishes it would never end.

And that is when Malcolm wakes up.

He stares silently at the ceiling of his bedroom, pupils wide in the darkness, and can feel that loving warmth still spreading through his chest. It's like tendrils of warmth moving out from the center of his chest; snaking around his heart and his lungs and filling them with such emotion that he feels he might burst. It resonates with his heartbeat and every breath he takes, and it spreads further and further throughout his body. It is the single most amazing feeling he has ever felt: like everything is right in the world, or like nothing can hurt him in its presence. It feels as if it has always been there, and will always be there, and he's so happy about that. So very, very happy.

But already the dream is fading, and along with it that warm feeling, and he grasps at wisps of it, desperate to remember. He tries his hardest, putting his photographic memory to work, but within moments it's gone. Within a mere blink of an eye, no more than a second after he wakes up, that joy has vanished. And now nothing remains but a cold, empty pit in the middle of his chest.

Feeling panic and sadness coming on, he quickly turns to his right and shout-whispers, "Reese!"

Reese's eyes open slightly, and he groggily lifts his head just enough to stare at Malcolm in the darkness.

"What?"

"I..." But then Malcolm realizes he doesn't really have anything to say, and he frowns apologetically, even though he knows Reese can't see it. "Nothing, sorry."

Reese's eyes snap closed, and he's out in less than two seconds.

Malcolm turns back onto his back and stares up at the ceiling again. He tries to remember what his dream had been about, but no specifics come to him. All he really remembers for certain is the feeling it gave him—a good, no, great feeling. It was like all-encompassing joy.

And, for some reason he can't explain, he has the fiercest urge to get up and climb into bed with his brother. He isn't feeling particularly suicidal, so he tries to ignore that urge as much as possible, even though it is very compelling.

He can already feel the cold beginning to seep into his chest. He knows it well: the feeling of loss and disappointment. Whatever he had dreamed, it must have been wonderful to provoke such a pitiful, tormenting cold spike within him.

He thinks, though, that the worst part is that he can't remember a single specific detail. He wants something to hold on to, something to remember. He needs something to cherish, something to bring back that warm feeling whenever he needs it. But nothing comes to him, and he's so disappointed that he can feel pinpricks at the corners of his eyes.

And then he chastises himself for getting weepy over a stupid dream, and tries his damnedest to ignore the chill in his heart. He turns onto his side—the side that wouldn't force him to face Reese—and closes his eyes, intent on going back to sleep.

It isn't until much later, when certain specific events happen, that he remembers pieces of his dream in any detail. But by then he doesn't need those dream fragments to bring up that warm and loving feeling in his chest. So when he feels a sense of deja vu as Reese's fingers rub slow, small circles into his slick shoulder, he just smiles and enjoys the moment.


A/N: I have actually had dreams like this, but I never remember who the other person is. It's kinda depressing. Still, cuddle dreams are my favorites, even though they rarely come about.

This was inspired by the excerpt-thingy on (who else? XD) usedusername's profile today/yesterday. (Which I thought was awesome-sauce, btw) It occurred to me that a lot of dream sequences involving these two are sexual in nature. And while that is perfectly normal and understandable for their situation, I just wanted to try something different. Of course, I think I totally fail at dream sequences, but meh. That's up to y'all.

Two of the three parts of this dream were inspired by this nifty 'White Noise' app on my mom's iPod. I've been listening to rainstorms and Tibetan Singing Bowls. It's all very relaxing and making me sleepy. zzzZZZ

Reviewing makes me smile, but then again so does simply knowing that people read my stuff. So reviewing isn't necessary. :D