The storm was behind. Rain only moments away, no more had fallen on him.
He passed the storm; it wasn't as though that rain had ceased to exist. It was there, still behind him, getting closer with each second.
The man arrived where the sun was still out.
Everywhere he looked, only the storm could be seen, covering the entire sky, painting it with the dark gray he had just escaped from.
However, there was one place where the storm had not yet reached. There was a hill, a path leading up there, just where the man stood. Diverging into two. One leading up there. The other went back to his apartment. He was standing right in the middle, glancing in both directions. Trying to choose one.
But just then, he heard a soft laugh in the distance. Coming from the path that led to his apartment.
There he was. The boy from earlier and the middle-aged man. Only their backs were visible. The boy's enthusiasm shone brighter than the image of what the man's eyes could pick up on. He held onto the middle-aged man's pants, whose hands were still in his pockets. Even so, the boy was hopping and tugging at the middle-aged man's clothes.
He watched them getting further away and then eventually disappearing around one of the turns.
Even with them gone, the afterimage of the boy remained. A bright smile on his face with a goofy expression on it.
The man stood there, holding the cup in his hand. Its warmth had almost entirely gone, just barely warmer than the cold rain on his skin.
A wall before him, just where the two paths diverged. Between the road and the wall was a grassy ground. Inside the grass was a bunch of dandelions blooming. Their scent filled the nostrils of the man, sipping them in and letting them take him to places.
He crouched down and picked up a puffball, severing it from the ground. Holding it in his hand with his thumb and index finger, bobbling it between his fingers.
A few of the seeds loosened and flew away. Small particles levitated in the air, drifting further away from him.
The wind swelled, taking away the remnants of what was there.
The man's clothes flapped, his hair no longer covering his eyes, as the wind swayed them. He dropped the cup and curled his palm around the dandelion puff, keeping it from being taken away. Even with his hands covering the flower, the stem he held the dandelion puff was bent, slamming it to the side of his palm. The smooth texture pressed against his skin, sending a light shiver down his spine. He flexed his finger muscles, trying to fight against the wind.
The wind got more intense.
Even more of the seeds come undone, sticking to his hands. He refused to let go. Covering the whole thing with all his might.
Why did he care about that so hard? It was just a random flower he picked up at the side of the road. He didn't know it himself. But that flower was more precious than the cup he fought so hard to protect. Though, he might not even realize that he dropped it. Because if he did, he wouldn't have let that cup leave his hands, let alone drop it.
Moments later, the wind quieted, no longer tearing the man's clothes nor the flower in his hand apart.
Once he noticed that the grass no longer bent, he took his hand away.
His hand, covered with tiny seeds, grabbed onto it. The rest of the puffball only having half of its former state.
He raised the puffball in front of him, stretching his arms as far as his muscles allowed him, focusing directly on the white seeds above the stem. Everything blurred aside from that dandelion puff. The wall was now just a mushy sight, along with the grass field, with the other dandelions in front of it. All were faded into the background.
He brought his hand closer. The dandelion puff inches from his face.
For a couple of seconds, he did nothing. Only gazing at the fragile seeds. His eyes struggled to free themselves from the cover of his eyelids. That heaviness refused to leave him, no matter what he did or didn't do.
He shut his eyes and blew the seeds, hearing as they were carried away by the wind.
The seeds didn't go in the direction of his heart. They flew the opposite way from where the hill was, just where the boy and the middle-aged man headed.
The man opened his eyes.
A wall was the first thing he saw. A little lower, the remnants of the puffball. The only thing that was left of the flower was its stem.
He clenched it.
While staring at the wall before him, in the corner of his vision, there was a puddle right between his feet.
It was just a small dent where the rain had gathered, nothing that special. At least, that's what he would've said back then—no, not even that. He probably wouldn't even hear the question or see what was around him. Even the fact that there was a person asking this would slip through the cracks.
But now, he noticed it.
He glanced at the puddle, getting a glimpse of his reflection.
His unkempt hair, his tired eyes, his face that rarely ever moved—that expression that would turn anyone away from him—and his unevenly shaved, semi-maintained face.
How could he go out in that state? He probably thought.
Though, he might have had no thoughts like these lingering in his mind anymore. After all, what's the point of having them now? He didn't gain any satisfaction from holding onto them.
Once he saw himself, the corner of his mouth dipped lower.
His head was small from the reflection in that puddle, as that was the furthest away, but even in that size, he could see it. Or maybe he felt it inside.
After spectating his face, his eyes dropped further down, stopping at a small, box-like bump on the side of his pants. When he saw that, he put his left hand on it, realizing what it was.
His phone.
He hasn't checked the time for a long time now.
Digging his hand into his pocket, he pulled his phone out.
The time was…