"Shane?! SHANE OH MY GOD HOLYFUCKINGSHIT! SHANE ARE YOU OKAY?!"
Ryan felt himself falling. He was falling. He was falling! Get up, get up. GET UP! He jolted up in bed, dizzy from the falling sensation.
It was the third night that week where he had this dream. The first one ended quickly, before the others. It had ended with Shane and Ryan talking about something in a clearing. He couldn't figure out what they were talking about, he could hear it, his brain just didn't process it. Shane turned and he woke up. Always from the falling.
Now they ended differently, they're talking in the clearing, and then Shane's on the ground and he has to be dead and Ryan is scared and worried and he's falling, falling, falling. And he's awake.
He opens the window and looks out. No one else on the street, few cars. The changing light brings his gaze from the streetlamp that never turns off, to the sky. The clouds are pink. Bright, church ceiling painting heavenly clouds rimmed with gold and grey. And Ryan thought that in this ungodly, cold, alone hour, that the sky did that for him. That that was his sky and no one else saw. That was his sky and only he knew and only he would ever know.
Within seconds the sky was different, the clouds had changed. Ryan got to keep his sky.