Every night, under the pale moonlight, by the endless ocean, he sits vigil alone.

Every night, every month, every year.

Years upon years.

Ever since that fateful night.

The town has long since forgotten, and no one knows of his struggles.

A soft whisper floats across the wind.

“Why did you leave me…?”

A shadow passes over the moon, and he reminisces.

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“Donghae, wake up!”

He sits up slowly, rubbing the tender spot on his forehead.

“Don’t flick me…” he mutters groggily.

His brother only laughs and leaves, throwing down one last phrase.

“Maybe if you were a bit quicker.”

---

“Donghae, come back!”

He turns to look blankly at his brother, then at the red Corvette speeding away.

“Don’t pull me…” he murmurs uncomprehendingly.

His brother only shakes his head and fixes him with an unreadable gaze.

“Maybe if you were a bit quicker.”

---

“Donghae, watch me!”

He stares at his brother’s retreating back worriedly.

“Don’t leave me!” he shouts panickedly.

His brother disappears from sight, swallowed by the endless ocean.

“Maybe if I was a bit quicker.”

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“Hi, do you want some flowers? They’re free.”

Donghae blinks at the neat bouquet of flowers in front of his face.

“Sorry?”

The silver-haired man s the flowers at him again.

“Take them,” he chirps. “You looked sad, so I thought you might like them.”

Donghae gingerly takes the flowers from the other’s gentle hands.

“I’m Hyukjae, twenty-seven years old.”

“Donghae, twenty-seven as well.”

A pause.

“Why are you out at this hour?” Donghae finally asks.

“I could ask the same of you,” Hyukjae laughs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m an insomniac, as well as an albino, if you can’t tell. Most nights I walk around and gather flowers to leave on people’s doorsteps. Recently, I’ve started to move away from my home and come here.”

“You’re from the village over,” Donghae realizes with a start.

“Yeah, and they’re used to it by now. They say that’s why my hair is silver, the color of moonlight.”

Hyukjae smiles, and Donghae cannot help but return it.

“But out of everything, why do you pick flowers?”

“I’m the florist.”

Donghae starts.

“Do you carry blue roses?” he asks with a hastily disguised urgency.

Hyukjae’s eyes dim in regret and sadness.

“No… but my parents loved them, even if they were expensive.”

“They’re rare as well.”

“No, rarity meant nothing to my parents. They picked flowers for their meanings.”

“Oh? And blue roses?”

Hyukjae looks at Donghae, a slight smile sitting on his face.

“Mystery, and a longing for the impossible.”

Donghae does not smile back, and his gaze drifts back to the ocean.

“Much like us, I suppose…” he murmurs.

Hyukjae nods, raising his sight to the slowly sinking moon.

“Just like us.”

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The nights repeat, Hyukjae handing Donghae flowers, Donghae asking for blue roses, making small talk, and eventually, just sitting in silence until Hyukjae’s departure, just before sunrise.

Donghae gets thinner and thinner every time Hyukjae sees him.

He knows Donghae will not tell him the truth, and he understands.

So he does not ask.

Once, on a blustery summer night, Donghae receives red roses from a bashful Hyukjae.

Donghae’s heart breaks, and Hyukjae’s hopeful smile is the only thing that stops him from rejecting the flowers outright.

“I don’t like the color red.”

Instead, he requests for dandelions, if Hyukjae can find any.

“I like the meaning,” he says with a pained smile.

Hyukjae reads the sorrow behind that smile that does not reach his eyes.

So he agrees.

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Donghae requests a different flower each night.

Dandelion; happiness, a promise of complete faithfulness.

Jasmine; grace, elegance.

Star of Bethlehem; hope.

Tulip, pink; caring.

Wisteria; steadfast.

Heather, lavender; admiration, solitude.

Iris; friendship.

Among many others.

But not once does he request any red, or roses, save blue.

Once, Hyukjae brings viscaria.

Donghae dances with him.

Once, Hyukjae presents hyacinth.

Donghae plays with him.

One day, Donghae’s smile is sad.

He is near emaciated.

Brushing off Hyukjae’s concern, he requests cyclamen.

It is not a flower that Hyukjae is familiar with, and he goes out of his way to obtain it.

It and the long-awaited blue roses.

Pearl sapphire blue.

Just like the ocean.

Just like the East Sea.

Just like the East Sea that Donghae threw himself into.

Hyukjae’s excited smile disappears, and his hands drop to his sides.

The flowers scatter on the glittering sand.

Donghae didn’t even have the blue roses with him.

Glistening tears drip from Hyukjae’s face.

“Donghae…” he murmurs, dropping to his knees to face the wide ocean. “I have your roses…”

“I never got to tell you, directly, that I love you…”

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Lee Donghae succumbed to the sea on the same day his brother drowned, ten years ago.

They were the same age.

Hyukjae tears off the blue rose petals and throws them, one by one, into the breeze, hoping that each one will reach them, the brothers, in Heaven.

When he reaches the last one, Hyukjae pauses.

“I would give you a red one, Donghae,” he says softly. “But you don’t like the color red.”

Hyukjae relinquishes his grip, and the flower falls into the ocean.

He turns and walks across the beach, across the soft white sand.

Past the waving sea grass, past Donghae and his brother’s graves.

A bouquet of blue roses sits between the gravestones.