On October 12th, rain poured through the open window, drenching everything it could reach in the room, including him.

And under the rain, he screamed until his throat was hoarse, until he had no energy left, until he wasn’t sure if it was rain or tears dripping down his face. Until his grip slackened on the cold body of the girl he held because he no longer had the strength to continue to hold on.

An hour later, the same figure left the house, steps slow, eyes dull, leaving a trail of dying grass after him.

***

On the chilly morning of the forty-eighth October 12th that he’d visited the place, Jongdae bent down in front of the grave, fingers tightening on the flowers he had in hand. He could feel the thorns of the white roses through his gloves, and while part of him wanted to take it off just so he could feel the flowers, he knew that they’d just wilt if he touched them. The bouquet rustled in the wind as he set it down, and above him, storm clouds drew together. It was tense with unreleased static, waiting to just be let go. He stood silently und