Million Pieces

dream a little dream of me

A/N: this is actually a fusion of two fics that i made for my old fandom but never got to finish hahaha *cries*

the version of this song that i listened to is by clare teal and grant windsor on their album "and so it goes"

*

Brett thinks that this dream is weird.

He went to bed at 10 P.M. as usual. Then he opened his eyes to this pitch black place. He wandered and wandered and wandered and never reached the edge. So he stopped.

And, here he is. Sitting at the ground of nothing. Staring at the endless pit of nothing.

Honestly? It's boring. There are so much a 6 year-old boy can do without anything around.

Oh, and weird. He's said that at the beginning, but he's going to repeat it. Because he can see his hands and feet so clearly in the dark. Also, he knows that being aware that he's in a dream is weird. Especially when the dream is so empty.

Brett wishes for his violin or gameboy to appear. Nothing happens.

What kind of dream is this? A bad one. He's disappointed by his own brain.

He sighs. What he's going to do until he wakes up then? The math homework today pops up in his mind. What questions are there—

A squeak.

Brett also squeaks in surprise.

"Uh. Hi," someone, who turns out to be a boy around Brett's age when he raises his head, waves his hand shyly. He speaks English but with the same Taiwanese accent Brett still has in his talking. "Sorry if I surprised you."

"It's fine."

"Is this a dream?" the boy asks, tilting his head slightly. "Because it feels like one." Then he peers curiously at Brett. "That means you're a figment of my imagination."

"Isn't it the opposite? You suddenly appeared in my dream."

"But it's my dream."

"We share the same dream then."

"Does it mean you're real?"

Brett stands then walks closer to the boy. He offers his hand. "I'm Brett Yang. And yes, I'm real. What about you?"

The boy stares at his hand. Brett can see the hesitation in his eyes. Three seconds later, he slowly grasps it with his hand. It's warm and solid to touch. And Brett gets a bit of a tingle from the contact. "Eddy Chen. I'm real too."

Brett chooses to believe his words, simply because it feels right. Eddy seems to do the same, looking curiously at their hands.

Letting go of his hand, Brett asks, "How did this happen?"

"I don't know. I'm also confused."

Well, Brett thinks. At least I'm not alone.

He changes the question. "What do you like to do?"

"I like playing games," Eddy answers, tugging at the hem of his white T-shirt. "But Mama only allows it after I have practiced."

Brett raises his eyebrows. That phrase sounds familiar. "Practice?"

"Music. I play piano. And violin."

"Really?" Brett perks up "Me too!"

From there, their conversation flows smoothly, from about music lessons to exchanging tips and tricks over Pokemon and Mario Kart.

Brett's about to say something when their figure suddenly fades. The look of confused horror as Eddy looks up to him is probably reflected on Brett's face. They keep staring until—