Downpour

A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME

The quiet chime of a bell wakes him up.

It's the type of bell that hangs above a shop door, announcing when someone walks in, and Chan thinks that he's back at Wonwoo's mechanics. His eyes are still blurry enough that he can't make out anything, and for a second he lets himself believe.

The hope doesn't last long.

Although he's sitting in a strangely parallel place, head resting on the counter by an ancient till, this shop definitely doesn't fix robot parts.

Huge bouquets of flowers line the sides of the shop's walls, labels announcing their names, meanings and lifespans plastered onto their boxes. Sunlight streams in through the huge windows, bleaching the paper. A watering can digs into Chan's shin, the water leaking from it staining his jeans. The room smells sickly sweet, almost nauseatingly so. The roses make his head swim with their stench, but he can't help but think that it's still better than hot chocolate.

No matter how huge the differences are, he can't ignore the similarities.

The till next to him has the same peeling letters that were stuck onto Wonwoo's. A note of some sort is trapped between the metal, the value hidden by the closed drawer. He remembers that note. That's the note he shoved in, before going after Wonwoo.

He runs his fingers down it tentatively, half expecting it to disappear before he touched it. The note is still as smooth as it was before. With a shudder, his fingers brush over a huge dent in the side. The sound of the metal connecting with the man's stomach plays in the back of his mind. Then he notices something else.

In the corner of his eye, he can see a pile of ribbons. For tying up the flowers, his mind supplies, but all he can see are the ribbons that Minghao used to decorate his bottles. Even the colours are the same: delicate shades of pink, purple and blue.

But unlike most of the dreams, he's completely alone. The streets outside the shop are deserted, and now that the bell's stopped ringing, the shop is silent.

There's no one there except him.

The realisation sends shivers up his spine. Its been so long since he's been properly alone- but it doesn't feel right. The shop feels too empty, like there's something missing. The followers seem to stare at him even though they don't heave eyes, and he can almost feel the presence of someone invisible.

He stands up quickly, trying to shake the thoughts from his head, and accidentally knocks over the watering can. It spills to the floor, creating a huge puddle that soaks through his shoes.

Or it would, if he was wearing shoes.

His feet are completely bare, and covered with mud. The water around him starts to turn a murky brown as it washes off slowly. He stares at his exposed toes like he's never seen them before.

There's obviously a connection between his bare feet and another dream, it's too random and sudden to be otherwise, but it takes him a while to place it.

He wriggles his toes, watching as themed swirls away. The puddle grows as more water washes out of the watering can, and Chan is suddenly very glad that the floor is tiled instead of carpeted. He bends down and sets the can down on the desk. There's still a little water in it, but most of it is on the floor.

It doesn't matter.

He looks up, checking the streets outside again, just to make sure that no one is outside. He doesn't know what he expected, but still can't help feeling disappointed when the streets are still empty.

Sunlight filters through the huge windows and glistens on the puddle of water. He can just about make out the individual beams through the way they fall, lighting up the petals that have fallen to the floor.