Work Text:
At first, everything was blurry.
You try to get a feel of your surroundings, but it feels as if you’re a ghost stuck in limbo. Your body’s moving, doing something. As you squint, you recognize your guitar in your arms. Ah yes, you are performing.
The echoes of the band’s music echo throughout the venue, The Rockit. You don’t seem to be playing, you think to yourself, but at least your body’s doing alright.
Just as you begin to settle into this strange yet relaxing state of yours, you see a blinding light from the balcony. A figure launches out of the light toward you, calling your name. Almost by mere instinct, your arm raises to block the silhouette's impending jab.
As the “best fighter in the Province'', you know the routine. Opponent gets confident, the fight starts, you unleash the combos and the power moves, and they learn their lesson. It’s tiring honestly. You’re just… so tired…
Before you know it, you’re about to land the final blow. You rev up your uppercut and-
It connects.
Not your fist. Theirs.
After all the haziness you’ve been experiencing, you are taken aback by a sudden clarity. You feel a deep, rooted pain within you, as you fall to the ground.
Your vision begins to fade. Going… going…
“…!-”
★
Suddenly, a 22-year-old Scott Pilgrim woke up.
“Huh, what?!” He uttered, patting himself down to make sure he was still corporeal. A look towards the window (and later the clock) confirms that it is too-early o’clock. Nevertheless, Scott sat there for a moment, attempting to contemplate what his dream was about.
Interrupting Scott's brief thought-sesh, a lightswitch clicked. Standing in the middle of the room was his ‘cool gay roommate’, Wallace Wells. "Sleeping well?" He asks, voice dripping in his usual sarcasm.
“No, not really… Lots of weird dreams.” Scott replies, semi-yawning.
“If it’s about Envy again, I don’t want to hear it. I’ve heard enough about her in the past few weeks.”
“It’s only been 5 days since we broke up!”
“Hm. Well, Scott, I suppose it’s felt like weeks. Want a coffee?”
Ignoring his question, Scott began to ramble about his dream. “It was so strange… I was performing with a band. A band I’ve never seen before. Then I…”
His soon-to-be-mental-spiral was interrupted by a swift tap on the shoulder from Wallace.
“Hey. Guy. You know I care about you… to an extent. Would I like you to begin sleeping well? Yes. Is it really so I might be able to get a solid amount of sleep? Also yes.”
With two more shoulder pats, Wallace went off to the kitchen to do whatever he needed to do at... 3-something-am.
Sleep, right. That did sound pretty good right about now, he thought.
Scott pushed the dream-related rumination to the back of his mind for another time, and tucked himself back in to try and go back to sleep. Preferably death-free this time.