He was falling.

There was air rushing all around him, surrounding him, choking him. His body smashed against something — a rock maybe? — and he was hurled to the side. There was more air. More crashing. He could barely feel a thing though — there was no pain, because it was so, so cold — too cold to feel anything, let alone harsh, bone-deep pain.

If Changmin could process anything at the moment, he would have been grateful for that fact — after all, who wanted to experience that type of feeling? But everything was a blur around him, and Changmin couldn’t process anything — not even one coherent thought.

There was something rushing towards him. Something wide, something brown, something jagged — so, so jagged. A sea of rocks. The wide, expectant mouth of a shark, with its sharp teeth waiting in anticipation to tear through his flesh, to devour him.

The ground waiting for his body to hit it, to crumple. To die.

Changmin woke up, gasping, to the sound of his phone ringing loudly. Blindly, he fumbled around in the darkness, his hand hitting the edge of the nightstand. His hand curled around his phone a moment later and he hit the answer button, barely able to process what his body was doing.

“Hello?” he murmured.

“Bad things will happen.”

“I’m sorry?” Changmin’s brow furrowed.

“Bad things will happen.”

Changmin closed his eyes, feeling frustration bubble up within him. A prank call, and anti-fan…whatever the hell this was, this was the last thing he needed. The memories of his dream were still fresh in his mind; he could still remember the horrible sensation of falling, and the feeling of cold air smashing against his face. He unconsciously tightened his grip on the phone.

“I think you have the wrong number,” he said stiffly, and then removed the phone from his ear before the voice on the other end had a chance to respond. He ended the call and sat on his bed for a moment, feeling his chest thumping.

Cold air. Jagged rock.

Changmin closed his eyes, swallowing heavily, struggling to calm his racing heart. It’s just a dream, he told himself. You have nightmares all of the time.

‘But it’s the same one. The same one I had in the woods…’

He forced himself to stand and walked unsteadily towards the door. He needed a drink of water. His throat felt dry, and his heart was racing. He needed to calm down, to think rationally. Right now, all that was in his mind was why he kept dreaming about this — he wasn’t afraid of heights, or falling. It had never crossed his mind before, so why now, so suddenly?

He walked out of his room, and across the wide expanse of corridor, until he reached the kitchen. He the tap, grabbed a cup, filled it with water. The liquid was cool against his parched throat, and he closed his eyes, savouring it. The cold feeling was good; it was like a sudden shock, awakening him from his confused, disoriented state.

And then the phone rang.

Changmin stiffened momentarily, surprised by the sudden noise. He shook it off, walking over, picking up the phone. He held it to his ear. He breathed in — once, twice, maybe a third time. He wasn’t sure how long it was before that same, deep, disembodied voice met his ears, with that same message — “bad things will happen”.

Changmin felt a slight tremor run through him, but for the most part, he was simply annoyed — after all, it wasn’t strange for people to have his number. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with this though; it was late, he was tired, and his earlier alarm still hadn’t ebbed away.

“Bad things will happen?” Changmin repeated, almost mockingly. Inwardly, he wondered if he should soften his tone somewhat — if this was a prank call, made by a fan — or maybe a talk show, he thought briefly, but then brushed this idea off. There would be no talk shows at this time of night (or morning rather) — then it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to snap at them. But Changmin was frustrated, and he simply wasn’t in the mood to be polite.

The voice didn’t reply; there was the sound of heavy breathing, and that was all.

“Prove it,” Changmin said, after a momentary pause. Why am I even still at the phone? he silently mused, and found he couldn’t answer that; something kept him standing still, the phone held to his ear, a strange feeling welling within him. Anticipation? Concern? Fear? He silently brushed off the last one, because what did he have to be afraid of?

‘Perhaps that strange feeling of falling. Or all those rocks, that would snap me like a twig. A tall, Changmin-sized twig…’

“Look in the mirror.”

He blinked, wondering if he had heard correctly. A beeping sound reached his ears; the call had ended.

Changmin clenched his jaw. Look in the mirror? He silently berated himself for even considering that this could be anything more than a prank call.

He dropped the phone, letting it crash noisily onto the kitchen table. He’d put it away in the morning; he didn’t care if the phone stand was just inches away from him. He was tired. He wanted to sleep.

He sighed and headed out of the kitchen, turning the light of behind him. He crossed the corridor, his shoulders hunched, feeling irritation bubbling. He was tired, and cold (but not as cold as in his dream), and the last thing he needed were meaningless insults.

“Look in the mirror”. God, the least they could do was come up with something original. He reached his room, and his hand moved towards the light switch. It was when he turned, barely a fraction of an inch, that he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror in the hallway. Perhaps those disembodied words had once again filled his mind, but he was too shocked, too confused to process them — instead, he walked forward, wondering if it was simply his eyes playing tricks on him, or the shadows flittering across his face.

No. As he stood, barely an inch away from the mirror, staring at his face, he felt a cold chill run up his spine. His fingers touched his face, ghosting across his cheeks. He touched his eye, flinching as a sharp pain ran down his face.

It wasn’t possible. Surely he would have realised before — and surely, he would have remembered ending up like this. And yet, he couldn’t remember any incident that could have left him with those dark, purple bruises. They coloured the right side of his face, and blossomed across his eye. They hadn’t been there before — he knew, because there was no way in hell Yunho wouldn’t have pressed him for answers if he’d been covered in blue and purple splotches.

Distantly, he heard the sound of the phone ringing.