One of the first dreams Ross ever had was of falling.
He was outside on the roof, looking up at the sky on a cloudless day. When he started to say something about the color, he turned to Smith. Or Trott.
He saw that they were teetering on the ledge of the building. He asked loudly what they were doing, but they wouldn’t reply.
Slowly, Ross would walk over, take ahold of their sleeve, and pull them away.
But his foot would slip.
And he’d find himself falling.
CW: falling, brief language