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Kyungsoo took a final glance at himself in the mirror. His stark white shoes and tuxedo were spotless, having remained untouched since their wedding. He adjusted his white tie carefully and ran a hand through what little silver hair he had left. The only color he wore was the golden ring on his finger, tingling on his finger and twinkling in the light. With a heavy heart, he slowly hobbled out of his apartment. There was no i love you, only the familiar thumping of his cane each time it hit the ground.

/ /

The sign above the restaurant glowed bright red. Just like the color of Jongin’s lips, he thought. Or of ambulance lights, he bitterly recalled as he squeezed the steering wheel tightly, and once again tried to erase the image of Jongin’s severed body laying lifelessly on the ground.

/ /

“It’s our fiftieth,” he said to no one, but himself. He glanced at the bouquet of white roses in his hands.

I like white flowers, though. They remind me of a lot of things, like angels, but mostly, they remind me of you: simple and beautiful.

“Hello.” Kyungsoo raised his head. The waitress’s eyes darted to the flowers before focusing on Kyungsoo’s thin, hunched figure again. “How may I help you today, sir?”

He smiled sadly, feeling his heart shatter all over again. “Table for one, please.”