The blanket lay crumpled on the grass, the half-eaten strawberries scattered like tiny drops of blood across the embroidered fabric. The wine glass, tipped over in the chaos, bled crimson into the soil. What was supposed to be a romantic picnic in the garden was now left in ruin. Roman tugged at his tie, exposing the sliver of his olive skin, as he watched you disappear out of view from underneath the rose covered arch.

One hand slid into his pocket as he ran the other through his velvety black hair. Roman’s gaze landed on the glistening red roses, their vibrant petals swaying gently in the breeze. How ugly… He lets out a bitter laugh as he grabs a single rose with a rough tough and watches the petals crumble beneath his palm. The tiny beads of blood welled up into where the thorns bit his hand and he let out an annoyed scoff before discarding the used flower away.

No matter what you say, do, or act, he knows you care. He runs the back of his bloody hand against his lip and traces your step. Would you turn him away when he’s so hurt?