Drabble.

His hands flew to the glass of the window in front of him, leaving smudges of his fingerprints on its surface. His racing heart screamed for him to run as he dropped his glass of wine on the ground at his feet, the sound of it shattering only impacting the blow. He would never make it in time.

The last sakura petal fell from the tree and hit the snow-covered ground as slowly and gingerly as possible. Winter was determined to stay though these next few weeks should've been the last of the bitter cold. He swallowed and clasped his hand around the bouquet of roses he'd placed on the windowsill, the thorns gently protruding into his skin.

He turned his attention to them. They were beautiful, not one was wilted or damaged, their stems left unharmed by his vice grip. A lone tear glided down his face and fell atop the fullest of the two dozen roses, red, as they had always been her favorite.

The mask returned to him as a smile in the face of this bitter moment, "Happy Valentines Day, my love." More tears hit the roses and he did nothing to stop them, though they threatened to pull away the flower's petals.

Avoiding death didn't alter its inevitability.

The beauty of the petal breaking away from the rose is fleeting-

Fleeting…

Gone.

The flowers fell to pieces in front of him. Beating time was a losing fight: he'd always known that.