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Ros was asleep, and he was having a dream. He was on stage, and he was wearing a costume. Ros looked out into the dark. Guil was sitting in the theatre.
Maybe, it was the darkness’s fault, or trick of the dream, but Guil looked different and strange. Strangely different. Or differently strange, Ros decided.
He also liked his costume very much. It was quite similar to what he usually wore, but fancier, and who he was if not an appraiser of fancy things? He really wanted to have a look at himself in a mirror, but the only reflective surface there was Guil’s eyes. Enormous in comparison with what Ros saw every day. It suited Guil, though, so it didn’t matter.
So. They were in a place that would demand acting from the on-the-stage person and perception from the at-the-auditorium person, stop, no, they are called an actor and a viewer, and, in this situation, Ros and Guil respectively, so Ros was supposed to act, and, most likely, right now.
He bowed, just in case his dream was already ending, a little guilty for making Guil wait, though he knew that he wouldn’t mind. At least for a couple more minutes.
What if this is a ballet, Ros suddenly thought in a cold sweat. There was no music, but who knows with these modern experiments.
He bowed again, deeper, wishing he had a bouquet to throw at the audience of one (still a fully-fledged audience, mind you), then remembered that it worked the other way round. Anyway, he will give Guil flowers when he wakes up. Roses, which was always a funny joke.
Oh, for god’s sake, he must do something already.
“What should I do?” he whispered rhetorically, and jumped up when the question was answered.
“ROS WILL NOW DANCE, AND HE WILL BE WONDERFUL,” said a booming voice from out of nowhere. A playwright’s, maybe, for some reason?
So it’s a ballet after all, Ros sighed, his heart sinking.
And he tried to jump up again, this time intentionally, and as elegantly as possible. And to his surprise, it was elegant indeed. His next movements were marvellous.
“Can you dance…” Ros shouted to Guil after the last fouetté, as if inviting him to the stage, but then continued, unusually boastfully for him, “this good?”
At that very moment, he forgot it was a dream.
In a silent response, Guil’s eyes became smaller. Because he was smaller altogether now.
Oh no, would think the real-life Ros, but the pride was filling his lungs too much for him to breathe in enough air for this tiny phrase, even in his mind.
“ROS WILL NOW PLAY THE PIANO VERY WELL,” said the voice, and a piano plummeted down from the same nowhere, an inch away from Ros, falling into pieces and restoring itself in the absurd magical way such things happen in dreams. It didn’t make Ros realise again that it was a dream, however.
Okay, he nodded to himself. I guess I can do it.
He sat down on the stool and put his hands on the keys with confidence inspired by his dance, even though he saw a piano the first time in his life. Eh, it looked enough like a clavichord.
Some tiny piece of his mind noticed that his fingers had a weird shape and rusty colour, but didn’t have time to communicate it to the rest.
He played brilliantly, which was also a surprise for him, but not that much this time.
“Can you play…” he asked Guil again, though he knew that Guil very much could, “this good?”
Guil mouthed a no and shrank even smaller.
“ROS WILL NOW WALK ON A HIGH WIRE, AND HE WILL NOT FALL DOWN,” the air vibrated, and a wire materialised right before Ros’s eyes.
Despite the fear of even minuscule heights and unnatural talent for tripping over his own feet and every single rock on his way, Ros walked the wire.
“Can you…” he looked in the darkness of the hall and saw no one.
Oh no, he finally thought, and woke up with a start.
“I’m so, so sorry!” he yelled even before he saw Guil standing in front of him. “You can do so many things!”
“Huh?” said Guil, his eyes of normal size but still beautiful.
“I’m not wonderful, you are wonderful!”
Guil blushed a little.
“Is this a new game? Self-deprecating compliments? I think I’ll be good at it.”
“No, it’s just… God, it was a dream,” Ros rubbed his face.
“I know you don’t like telling what was in your dreams,” Guil sat by his side, “but I’m always here if you want to share.”
“I was awful! I mean, I was great, but I was awful!”
Guil was quite used to Ros’s words not making sense and didn’t ask for elaboration.
Ros finally dared to look him in the eyes and saw him in that good mood that always made Ros immensely happy.
“If I was a character,” Ros continued, calmer, “it would be very out of me. I hate nightmares.”
“I had a dream too,” Guil mused. “You danced and played some weird clavichord…” (“Piano,” Ros whispered), “and was supposed to walk on a wire, but at this moment I woke up because you would’ve definitely fallen – no offence – and I couldn’t look at that. But the dance and the music were… perfect.”
Rose looked at him with tears in his eyes.
“You were a toad, though. Weird, but I guess it’s the deal with dreams.”
“Aaah, now I get it. You were a frog in my dream.”
“We shouldn’t eat that much cake before bed.”
Ros nodded solemnly at this deduction.
“However, we have some left for breakfast,” Guil pecked Ros on the nose.
Ros hugged him, a little too tightly.
“I would be so lonely without you,” he said.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get rid of you,” Guil hugged him back.
“Oh come on."