He’d been waiting, for a

couple of

                                                    hours

in fact.

Staring outside, through the clear double glazed window, he’d been passively viewing the small rose garden that they’d planted at the front of their quaint and new house. Hundreds of white roses bloomed outwards, reaching lazily to touch the tips of the lilac sky that stretched for miles, reminiscent of the white doves that took it upon themselves to occasionally flap by. Observing, he’d seen the paths of more than a thousand people on that day. Different paths for different people sure, but paths all the same. Twisted, straight, sideways, front ways... If you asked, he'd say he'd seen them all. It was a weekday, so it was to be expected, but it never ceased to amuse him... People who shared this common goal, yet they all claimed that their jobs were wildly different. More important than that of the next mindless consumer brushing past them. They all busied around like preoccupied ants, trying to establish the quickest and most hardworking in the bunch -- who could bring the most food home. Sometimes they tripped, sometimes they fell, but they never ever stopped.

He thought it was a crying shame.

Sighing, he sipped on his third cup of lukewarm tea, humming along to something vaguely pop based on the radio, raising his voice slightly as the rain started. There was something about the rain that calmed him. It made it a little easier to wait, like nature’s background reception music. He loved the sound of it, and the sight of it, especially in such a small house with so many windows. The beautifully lazy pitter-patter symphony echoed throughout the kitchen, soft and slow. The droplets refracted light from outside effortlessly, causing weird kaleidoscope shadows on the once dull cream walls.

He sat, watching the patterns quietly, with the lights turned off. His very own home entertainment system. Free of charge.

Tired eyes flickered to the clock on the wall as he stood, stifling the second yawn of the hour to stretch. Perhaps it was useless to wait, but he’d still do it. So he sat on the little white kitchen chair once more, his body growing numb and curling over, bringing his arms to rest on the kitchen table, eyes still on the window. The languid movement resembled that of a dying autumn leaf, dried of all previous fluidity and life. But it wasn't permanent, just a temporary state of hibernation. Another short sigh escaped his plump lips as his forehead slumped in defeat, giving in to the tiredness, gradually bumping his pale resting arms.

Needless to say, Yongguk was late.

The rain carried on crying as the radio gradually faded out, his consciousness getting carried away with the tide of day dreams travelling on the road to become night dreams. His last thought before slipping into a peaceful slumber? Roses... People should be less like ants and more like... Roses...