[Everything has meaning in dreams, especially flowers - the art of reading their symbols was lost in time, but he remembered, despite thinking them something not worthy of his attic space.

Loss, mourning, regrets, longing... and bay - 'I can but in death'. The face - changes, for a moment one he was too familiar with - then it vanished like a bubble on a pin.

He should go, leave the man to this Elysium, but he lingers, sitting close - listening to his own heart, hearing the rustling of the flowers, taking in their scent. It's easy to just stay - then he opens his eyes, starting.

How long was he here? Did time even matter here? Reluctantly, he pulls himself up, and hesitantly, his hand reaches out, fingers brushing against the man's shoulder, gently nudging him]