Icarus' fingers caressed the rose, the soft petals brushing against his skin. His eyes were blank, empty, almost distant as he stared at it, yet a small smirk touched his lips, faint but deliberate.
It was as though he were imagining something… or someone. Perhaps how she would react when she saw him, or rather, the rose in his hands.
Slowly, he moved toward the door. Each step was measured, quiet, the air around him still. His hand rested on the knob, the cold metal pressing against his palm. Just as he was about to push it open, his body froze.
A deep chuckle echoed from the room through the door.
His fingers brushed the knob once more before he slowly pulled his hand away.
There was a pause—long, heavy, suffocating. Then he took a step back from the door. Gradually, he turned. A smile curved onto his lips, but it wasn't warm. It was strained… almost painful. For a fleeting moment, it lingered, before his expression returned to its usual stillness.
