Work Text:
When Schroeder slept, he dreamed of things that trod the line between beautiful and nightmarish, between everything he ever wanted and everything he scorned. He tossed and turned in his bed as his mind painted him the most vivid images.
Himself, older and taller, more accomplished, with a proper grand piano. Himself, standing by the school principal, getting congratulated on his excellent grades. Himself, younger and shorter, curled up in his mother's protective embrace. Himself, standing by his beaming father, the two of them looking so similar. Himself, gazing at a portrait of Beethoven. Himself, with Lucy van Pelt in his arms and her lips against his -
That was what woke him. He shuddered as he lay in his bed, his entire body feeling very warm despite the fact that it was winter. He licked his dry, chapped lips as he gazed at the barrel-vault ceiling above him, his heart thudding in his chest. Why had Lucy van Pelt, of all the people he knew, featured in his dreams? And in such a manner, too?
Confusion twisted with something unfamiliar inside his chest, and Schroeder couldn't rid himself of it no matter what he did.