Red roses.
They were always red roses.
I don't know why, or even how.
They were always perfect, thornless, and the color of blood.
Even the sepals were trimmed to perfection.
I didn't know if they were just for me, or if he passed them around like how Brianna passed notes around.
I normally went with the latter.
But, well, I kept them. I put them all in a vase on my desk and gave them floral food and opened the curtains on schedule.
Seventeen of them died, anyway.
Eventually, though, I had to buy a second vase.
A third one joined them soon after that.