where i come to yell about ferris bueller

It was like the moment he fell into the pool, still peacefully contemplating that small act of revenge he was about to commit against one Ferris Bueller, expanded over hours and hours so that it was as if he never left at all. In fact, the pool itself seemed to have expanded as well. There was no bottom of it to speak of, and the top seemed very well out of reach too, so it was just this sort of infinite state of pool water Cameron was effortlessly floating in. Not moving, yet not sinking. Completely against the laws of his world, but still, it was nice. Quiet. Sort of gentle. He had a passive notion to enjoy it while he could, which he hardly accomplished in real life too.

Cameron also noticed that he felt an endless stream of air bubbles escaping from his mouth and nose, and yet he wasn't really breathing. This didn't bother him, which he recognized as a comfortable line of dream logic. He was also extremely compelled to keep his eyes closed, for not any obvious reason, but it felt pretty natural to him. He could just be this, for a short while, just floating and exhaling and kind of being nothing at all.

Then, he felt it. Saw it, too, but not from his own perspective, as his eyes remained steadfastly closed. No, this was the perspective of some invisible third party, like different movie camera angles capturing the forms of two figures swimming in the blurry blue distance. They were approaching either side of Cameron, he felt the small waves of force in the water as they calmly kicked their feet and moved their arms, and as they got closer, he (or the movie cameras, that is) could finally make out their forms. They looked remarkably like Sloane and Ferris did at the pool in the waking hours, same swimsuits and all, same most everything. Except, Ferris' eyes were so heavily lidded they were practically closed, and Cameron could hardly catch a glimpse of Sloane's eyes, her hair moving about in front of her face in such a way that it always covered them; just her nose and mouth were visible. They both wore pleasant smiles, Ferris close lipped and Sloane showing her teeth slightly, and swam toward him slowly with purpose and a touch of happiness. It didn't look like they had to breathe at all, no bubbles coming from their noses or mouths, and Cameron guessed that made sense as to why they weren't in a hurry. It was a stark contrast, he remembered, to how they acted when he was in the water when they were all awake, those visions he never got to see of Ferris diving into the water in a heroic panic, and Sloane apparently sitting up above, watching, still. Was he glad he could see this Sloane and Ferris through the strange third party? He still couldn't tell, he hardly knew their intentions. Even though he didn't feel any ill will from them he was a bit apprehensive. Still, he didn't want to move or open his eyes, so he didn't. He just continued to exhale, the bubbles falling up and up out of his mouth, cruising toward watery vastness. 

The other versions of Sloane and Ferris were now very close, about two feet away on each side. They moved to start floating upright, like Cameron was, as they scissor-kicked softly and lazily in the water. Their smiles grew a bit, and Cameron could sense a bit of excitement coming from them. They were pleased they finally made it toward him. Cameron didn't know how he felt about that. His thoughts were too hazy to do much more than take in everything around him, keep still, keep exhaling. This Sloane and Ferris moved a little closer. They were reaching out. Suddenly, Cameron realized they were only inches away. Ferris' eyes were fully closed now, content, and Sloane seemed to look at Cameron curiously from behind her hair. Their hands were millimeters away. 

Then, contact.

Contact, very light contact, almost airy touches, but still contact. Ferris had his hand on the upper part of Cameron's chest, brushing it against him, while Sloane's fingers grazed Cameron's shoulder. It was sort of comforting. 

They were getting even closer now, getting bolder, Sloane's fingers moving in place, eager to travel further upwards, and Ferris' palm pushing more solidly against him. It looked like they wanted something, as they got up to either side of his face, but Cameron couldn't fathom what. What was it? What did they want to do? Maybe they were about to whisper something to him through the water, or maybe . . . maybe . . .

It was here that the questions started to multiply in Cameron's head, the whys bubbling up so suddenly and fervently it was like someone had jumped into the waters of his mind. He quickly got more confused, and started to blink his eyes open. His brow furrowed as he groaned slightly. His voice was muffled in the water as the bubbles steadily continued to rise from his mouth. Ferris and Sloane's touches were fading, and now he could only see from his perspective, the empty infinite poolness stretched out before him. Why couldn't he see them anymore? Where were they going? Did he do something wrong? What was this anyway?

What was it?

It only took him a couple more blinks to see his blank white bedroom ceiling.

Cameron was warm, very warm, and dry. It was very disorienting coming from the wet and cool environment he was getting used to. But no, that wasn't real, that was a dream, he wasn't getting used to anything. 

A dream. About Sloane and Ferris.

Cameron realized he was blushing.

He sat up quickly, pushing his duvet aside as he looked around him, like that would help at all to make any sense of it. He rubbed his eyes. They hurt slightly, he could practically feel how bloodshot they were. 

He wanted them a lot. Especially, God, especially after yesterday. His dream registered this, like the dreams never had before. That damn pool. That damn prank. There was desperation behind the whole thing that Cameron wanted to forget as soon as he saw the sweetly satisfying look on Ferris' confused face, heard Sloane's heavily frustrated sigh, play-fought with his friends in the water like he only saw them as friends.

In the dream, they wanted him. They wanted him in a way he now knew they could never want him in reality, no matter if Sloane teased him about seeing her change, no matter if Ferris laughed and didn't mind. The dream versions looked so at peace with it all, wanting him. Cameron, in the dream, he was hazy, but at least his heart wasn't hammering like it was at that moment. He began to tremble.

He might as well dream about a forgiving dad, a new car, a mom that wasn't coming from Decatur angry. He couldn't believe this. Even in his dreams he wasn't totally safe anymore. God, he loved them. God, he hated himself. And he was going to see them today, he needed to see them today, after checking in yesterday over the phone in the aftermath of the whole thing, assuring he was safe, at least physically, and both their responses being variations of Cameron, get out of that house as soon as you can tomorrow. Spend the day with us again. We don't even have to do anything.

He was going to see them, as friends, and he was going to love them, as friends. It was Saturday, Saturday was for normal friendships and not-so-normal circumstances, and running away from parents for the day, and just being. It was freedom. Almost.

It didn't matter what his stupid brain still thought, it didn't matter what his feelings said, he was going to ignore that and keep them because through it all, they were worth keeping. Cameron balled his still trembling fist.

He felt a new heat on his face, below his eyes. Cameron numbly reached up and wiped at it. His fingers came away wet.