"Nero,

There are so many things I wish to say to you, but not the vocabulary with which to express it. I'm being selfish in doing this, and I don't want to hurt you with what I have done. Please don't hate me; I could never forgive myself if you did.

I wish there were enough time to tell you how much you mean to me, but the universe seems to be working against us.

You are my forever and always, and I regret not being able to share that with you. I will only ever truly love YOU, and I can never fully die because you own a piece of me that will be with you for as long as you shall live. You are more than I will ever deserve. I want you to be happy – I love you. So much it physically hurts. I'm going to miss you – my body, my heart, my soul will crave you all the remaining desolate years of my life.

I'm sorry – I'm so fucking sorry.

Yours… forever…

Dante."

The note arrived with a single black rose, the edges of the petals dipped in shimmering silver. The note itself was written in deep crimson ink, elegant and swirling at just the right spots to confirm Dante's handwriting. Half of the 'e' in his signature was splashed across the page owing to a clear splatter of some sort, but it was irrelevant. Nero was humbled by his thoughtful gesture and stuck the note inside his suit jacket, hustling his assistant for a spare glass for the flower. He never thought Dante would actually pull off getting one, and during his lunch break his mind travelled back to the moment when he first confessed the strange obsession.

Sitting atop the back left corner behind the framed picture of Dante he had perched on his desk, it bloomed magnificently against the little bit of sun his office collected during the day, and the silver rims shone against the bland yet stylish grey of his walls. He stared at it gracefully for what seemed like hours until he was snapped to reality by his ringtone – a particular one at that. He had assigned 'Behind Blue Eyes' by Limp Bizkit to Vergil's contact because it seemed to be the only song that could accurately depict his perception of Dante's twin; the only downfall to the personal arrangement was that he could never listen to the best part of the song because he had to answer it before Vergil would come storming in wondering where he was and if anything had happened to him.

Vergil was extremely protective over his younger brother and Nero: he played the elder sibling role really well, and adopted it for Nero after he had been introduced to him for the first time. Initially, he had not taken kindly to all of Dante's time being taken up by the new individual, but after spending some time with them both he realised how important Nero was to his brother, and he was able to reach a yielding consensus. He still fussed over him, which was adorable, but Nero was ever-thankful that someone cared so much for and about Dante. Nero teased him relentlessly about it, but it's what bonded the twins, fostering a connection unseen to the naked eye yet ever-present in everything they did and the way they carried themselves.

Nero grabbed his phone off his desk and answered in the sweetest voice he could muster. "To recap, yes, I have taken my vitamins; no, I just got off my lunch break; yes, your brother still means the world to me-"

"Where are you?" Vergil's usual cool and smooth tone was replaced with inexplicable terror and despondency. "Why did you take so long to answer the damn phone?"

Nero's smile faded. He had never heard him under so much distress. "I'm at work. Why? What's wrong?"

A deep exhale came through the phone, and Nero could see Vergil pinching the bridge of his nose. "Nothing, just… What time are you coming home?"

"I have a meeting at five. It shouldn't be longer than an hour-"

"Don't rush it. Don't rush home, okay?" Vergil sniffed. It sounded fluey. "Nero? Did you hear me?"

Vergil had only pulled a stunt like this once before, getting Nero all worked up to think the worst possible scenario in his head but come home to see Dante had fixed a romantic dinner with his favourite meal, favourite flavour of ice cream, and some dessert after. It was a great plan because he had the innate ability to make mountains out of molehills by saying completely random words in his trademark tone that chilled your bones and organs to its core. When all the fun and games came to an end, he would act as if his role in the endeavour had never existed, but the miniscule sneer concealed behind his angelic features always managed to give him away. Nero decidedly played along, providing the perfect illusion to mask his fake surprise for later. "Yes. Loud and clear."

"I'll see you later then. Be safe." The phone went dead. Nero smiled on the other end, not knowing what to expect.

Stealing a glance toward the looming clock in the meeting room, they were finally set free at five minutes past seven; Nero lost the attention of his colleagues a half an hour into the seminar as his mind drifted to the possibilities of what tonight might bring. He even went as far as imagining a marriage proposal, and that was the pinnacle of everything for him. He hurried out of the room, rushing out between his colleagues who stopped to ask him questions. He reached the main doors of the building and by pure luck a cab was at the sidewalk, seemingly waiting for him to climb in.

"Hi. 5612 Redmund Avenue-"

"Can't do that, sorry. Traffic is backed up at the previous intersection; that corner is completely blocked off – you got somewhere else you gotta be?"

Cars never took that route; their street was riddled with the scum of the earth, and anyone daring to walk or drive through without a weapon or reason of sorts, it was their death wish and their fault alone. "Traffic?"

The driver turned to face him. "Yeah, heavily backed u- FUCK!"

The sudden appearance of Vergil in the seat next to Nero startled the driver to his wits end. He threw on his most charming smile and addressed the owner of the vehicle. "Hi, how are you?" He thrust a hand out to the gentleman and he took it eagerly, shaking with spunk.

"THAT WAS SO FUCKING COOL!"

Vergil laughed, but Nero could tell it was forced. "Mind keeping that little trick to yourself for now? The more you talk about it, the less effective it gets-"

"What the hell are you doing, Vergil?"

He turned his head to Nero: for the first time that day, and ever, Nero faced a deeply troubled and upset Vergil; his face bent to every possible bad emotion's will, and he made no effort to hide it; his eyes were bloodshot, puffy, and fatigued, and it took everything in him to not completely break down in the small yellow car. He was outdoing himself this time – there was no way he could fake this authenticity twice. Vergil fascinated himself with his comfortable sneakers and spoke to no one in particular. "You don't mind me stealing your passenger, do you?"

Vergil grabbed his hand and warped into thin air before the dumbstruck civilian could shrug in answer. The pair landed unsteadily in front of the house Nero and Dante shared; Nero would never get used to the aftermath of the teleportation and turned around, doubling over next to Vergil and spewed half of his lunch behind them. It was a cul-de-sac, so no grass would benefit from the nutrients and protein now drying on the tarmac. It was only when he drifted to proper consciousness that he heard two different sirens and a set of purple lights splitting the air – to his horror, they weren't purple but was rather red and blue: two police vans and a huge ambulance swallowed the entire road in one gulp.

Nero's gaze shifted from his house to Vergil and back again: every light in it was switched on and it spread across the rest of the houses in the very secluded corner. Vergil's face was illegible, but the tears brimming and falling in quick succession could only mean one thing: something horrible happened to Dante. All of his neighbours stood outside their doors throwing apologetic expressions at Nero, and he had no clue why. One look at Vergil's face was enough to freeze him in place and propel him into his house simultaneously. He grabbed Nero at the collar of his blazer as he ran, jerking him violently in the opposite direction. "You don't want to see what's in there."

He remained immobile for a few seconds. "Please let me go."

"You don't want that-"

"Please let me go-"

Vergil was desperate for Nero not to move. "Nero-"

"LET ME GO, VERGIL!" This was no longer a joke, and Vergil wasn't part of some made up scheme to freak Nero out. This was real. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. The absence of Dante in the entire shindig made him worry more, and he knew everything he needed to know was behind the single oak door that was kept closed with yellow crime scene tape. Nero strained against Vergil to get free and run toward his front door; he didn't know what to expect, and to some degree he didn't want to. He began to scream as Vergil's grip on him tightened and everyone beheld the scene with remorse of the unholy kind. The officers in uniform watching the scene blinked in Vergil's direction, giving him the mournful go-ahead to let Nero go. "PLEASE LET ME SEE HIM!"

"I can't do that-" and he broke free, the speed of sound impelling him forward.

The door flung inward at the pure power of his anger; the floor was in the same spotless condition as he left it this morning, but at eye level a sight far more gruesome than any nightmare was conjured: Dante's favourite pair of shoes hung in front of him, attached to Dante's favourite pair of red jeans, his favourite belt looped through it, his favourite black shirt, and signature red coat he always wore. He stopped his gaze at the collarbone, moving forward and hoping to feel no substance behind the pieces of clothing; they weren't strung together as he had hoped. Nero's fingers grazed at the strong calves belonging to his boyfriend and reversed into the door, his eyes venturing further up his frame. Nero's eyes ascended Dante's lifeless body as it suspended from a thick brown rope attached to one of the ceiling rungs: his handsome face was reduced to a bloated mess of protruding veins and arteries; his eyes were wide open and staring Nero in the face. Bits of his hair and scalp were scratched to the bone and claw marks were evident on his neck where the rope burrowed skin, deep gouges that were enough to kill him as opposed to the hanging itself. A single gunshot wound to the forehead bled profusely all the way down his build and crusted in the laces of his sneakers. His perfect snow white hair, or what was left of it, was maroon with dried blood, and his mouth gaped open grotesquely; the empty shell of the man Nero once knew gazed unresponsively at the future he left behind.

Nero fell to his knees in agony as he watched the body, anticipating the worst structured jump scare known to man. It never came. Nothing came. No hint of life and absolutely no sign that a soul possessed the bulk floating from above. He covered his face in his hands and proceeded to cry the most painful cry in his life; it was silent and lingering, unadulterated sadness and discomfort enveloping his body as he clung to the floor for support, his tears dripping underneath and settling in the grooves of the wooden floor. His mouth opened in lament, but no sound came; the air in his lungs as defeated as its host made the quickest escape rising into nothingness and Nero was anguished to draw breath. He clutched at his chest as if part of him had disappeared along with Dante, and he gathered all the energy he could to look up at him one last time. The second experience was as bad as the first, but this time he was able to emit a blood-curdling scream that echoed against the windows of the houses that surrounded them. The shriek was enough to call a force of white uniforms through the door, ready to tear Nero from the sight; as he was dragged to his feet he noticed something peculiar on Dante's shirt – down the left side of his body, and only the left, seemed to be doused in some sort of substance that made it shine against the light. This piqued his curiosity enough to calm him from the episode he felt brewing in his belly and the men felt comfortable to let him go. The feeling returned to his legs, but only just. "Can you take him down?"

The unknown paramedic nodded. "We are going to proceed with the removal of the body under your consent, sir."

"I need to see something before you take him away." The man in white looked at him sceptically, but couldn't deny the poor man's request. "Please." His crying eyes and pleading voice begged with ferocity. "This is all I have left of the man I've loved for most of my life. I would prefer the last image of him in my head be relaxed and at peace, even it happens to be on a stretcher." Nero allowed the tears to fall to drive the point home, wiping them with the least amount of determination imaginable.

It took three men to retrieve Dante's body, treating it with as much dignity as a suicide would allow. His usually bulky frame wasn't for the feint at heart, but so much blood had left it that one paramedic was more than enough to hold his body in position between his arms to lay it delicately along the stretcher. Nero clung to the railings, gripping for dear life as his knuckles turned white at the sight of Dante's frame. His head tilted in Nero's direction as if he knew he was there, and the younger man resisted the urge to touch any part of him; he reached across Dante's chest over his shirt and groped at the edge of the jacket, pulling it slowly to reveal a coarse, cavernous, gory hole right through his body. The underside of the stretcher could be seen from any angle, and the nerve tissue surrounding the wound flailed in tatters after being ripped to shreds, searching for the beating organ that once stood in that very spot. Nero retracted the action and closed his mouth with his other hand, his audience feeling the suffering radiating off of him.

"There's one more thing-" The same man from before plucked at a bloody tube hidden under his right sleeve. The tube was connected to a vein in crook of his Dante's elbow, and at the opposite end was a nib-like contraption similar to those seen on a pen. He held it up for Nero to inspect. "Does this mean anything to you, sir?"

He had written the letter in his own blood.

Nero tore his gaze from the enquiry, shaking his head guiltily at the paramedic. The men did their best to straighten the corpse in front of them, and Nero watched as the man at Dante's head shut his eyes carefully; it pained him to realise that it would be the last time he would ever see them, and he nearly fell to the ground again if Vergil hadn't melted to his side and hugged him tightly, leading him away from the horror. He decided against kicking and screaming and permitted Vergil to lead them to the same spot they arrived at. He held a close grip on Nero, allowing the trembling, feeble figure to cry to his heart's content in his shoulder; his strong hands clutched at the expensive suit he wore, resisting the urge to completely break down with all of his might. Vergil had to be strong for him – the boy had no one left. "His heart is gone."

The comment was inaudible to Vergil's razor-sharp ears. "What?"

"His heart – someone took it. It isn't there."

Vergil smoothed the hair on his head soothingly. "How is that even possible-"

Their heads snapped to the brash swinging of the front door where Dante's body was being wheeled out on a stretcher. Nero twisted back to Vergil's frame and dug his face in his chest as it absorbed his silent laments. He held Nero flush against him, watching with revulsion as his twin's body was hidden beneath a thick black sheet of material, concealing the dreadfulness of the accident to the neighbours observing from afar. Without a word of warning, Vergil peeled away from him and ran to the black mound making its way into the ambulance: the cold air nipped at Nero's frame as his only source of heat ventured to have his heart crushed into a thousand pieces on the tarmac, forming a puzzle that would never be perfect again. He viewed from a distance as the sheet was pulled back over Dante's chest where Vergil copied Nero's actions and felt a similar distress to the sight. He shifted his weight and brought Dante's face into view, running a gentle hand through his hair and kissing him on the forehead; the gesture caused Nero's face to crumple in agony as he shielded his failing emotional state from the brothers, holding himself tight in an attempt to bring some life into his freezing body – the people he now faced hit the nail in his coffin and he fell to his knees resting his face in his hands, heavy sobs heaving across his shoulders to hinder the blaze in his lungs.

The doors of the ambulance were forced shut and he felt a familiar form pulling him to the side as he fell onto his hip into his source of heat once again. Vergil's expression was cold as ice with anger at what was his brother had caused, and the smaller man could hear the gears grinding with great force inside his head; he wrapped his arms around Vergil's waist and bawled into his chest as he leaned into his bulk, and he cradled Nero in his arms in the middle of the street, not bothering to wipe the stream of tears that had escaped their indifferent prison.

Nero wasn't eating. It had been two days since the occurrence and not a stitch of food or water touched his lips. From his living room, Vergil could hear the unforgiving and inexorable sobs coming from his bedroom door; each time he would lurch off the couch and join the chaotic heap sleeping in his bed. Nero slept primarily on his left side so his back was facing the door when Vergil waltzed in. He moved to the other side of the bed and climbed in, facing an expression of undeniable hurt and heartache which he couldn't ignore. They stared at each other for quite some time before the twin sauntered to Nero's side, wrapping his body the way Dante did when they went to sleep. Vergil didn't enjoy the feeling of manipulating Nero, but he had no option if the boy were ever to get over the ordeal. This went on for five consecutive nights; time withered Vergil's strength and tolerance and he found himself taking shelter in Nero's frame, concealing their whimpers of sorrow into one another's shoulders until exhaustion overtook their limbs and senses, only for the cycle to repeat a few hours later.

He would never admit it, but Vergil was more of a mess than Nero. His leaving the apartment were interpreted as social visits, but he'd warp off to various corners of the world and bury himself deep in dark secluded alleyways and scratch away at the chipping concrete of the buildings that housed his innermost feelings; the loss of his brother tipped his equilibrium and parts of him ceased functioning after seeing a shell once so full of vigour devoid of anything human. Vergil punched, kicked and screamed between the offending materials, hoping the brutality to his body would wake him up from the worst nightmare conceivable. Most days involved him clasping Yamato with his bare hands, gouging deep scars across his palms and wishing it a blood sacrifice for his brother to come back to life. He watched the crimson liquid descend the full length of the blade and drop to the floor to soon be swallowed by the inanimate ground; how something so ordinarily inadequate was taken for granted, Vergil would never know – Dante had bled himself dry and experienced a long, gruesome death, and here he was, wasting the one thing keeping him alive as a requiem for his deceased twin. He would return home and change into the sleepwear he kept under the pillow of his couch, trekking to meet Nero at his side and cry some more, begging for the overwhelming fatigue of the day's routine to envelop him.

Vergil awoke the eve of the eighth day to an empty bed and a moving kitchen. Pots and pans shifted in their cupboards, cutlery were being fondled in their dividers, glasses were being moved and replaced, and the fridge door sounded as if it had a mind of his own. He had grown so accustomed to the silence of living alone that he unconsciously grabbed his sword in defence and staggered into his living room ready to rip his intruder to shreds, but only to see a delicate figure at the dining table frighten in shock at the suddenness of his approach. Nero ran to his side thinking there was trouble. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were awake."

Nero faltered from his moment of weakness. "I nearly pissed myself, Vergil. Don't do that."

For what seemed like forever, Nero was speaking. His voice was shaky from non-use, but it was him nonetheless. A faint sizzle rang through the kitchen and Vergil twisted his face to the noise; on his quaint stove he saw two pans blistering in competition with four eggs and multiple pieces of bacon, sliced tomato and orange juice waiting patiently on the counter. Vergil pointed the edge of his sword in the direction of the food catching Nero's eye. "You're cooking?"

"I'm not hungry, but-" He smiled embarrassingly and pulled at the collar of his shirt. "-Dante never liked it when it protrudes like this, so…" The mention of his name echoed around the naked walls of Vergil's apartment, ostensibly soaking itself between the cracks. A fresh batch of tears brimmed at their eyes, trying not to foil their first attempt at endeavouring a normal day. "I guess I don't have much of a choice."

The slip affected Nero adversely and he began shivering in the warm evening weather. Vergil pinched the corners of his eyes and faced him. "Why don't you grab a seat? I'll finish up here." Placing Yamato upright next to his bedroom door, he shuffled around to snatch a troop of mushrooms from the bottom of his fridge and chopped away as the other man sat at the table. Nero decidedly busied himself with making a fire in the crook of the living room, stacking the wood methodically and having the heat roar through the space in less than five minutes. He stood and turned, watching Vergil transfer the dinner to their respective plates and pouring the juice into the two long crystal glasses Nero set out earlier. "Which seat do you want? I know you have a specific way of sitting."

The smells coming from the table hummed harmoniously with the rumbling of his stomach. "To your left, please."

Being left-handed, Nero always sat to Dante's left – they would chop up whatever needed chopping up on their plates and lace their fingers together as they ate. It enhanced the flavour somehow; being irrevocably happy in front of breakfast, lunch, dinner, or whatever it may be, did wonders to their taste buds regardless of the possibly horrendous food they feasted on. Now, Nero was forced to taste and savour the food for what flavour and nutritional value they held; even more so, it was his first official meal without Dante by his side.

They sat and he hurriedly sliced the bacon and tomato into little bits, medium-fried egg yolk oozing all over the plate mingling with the juice from the hot mushroom that steamed in front of him. Nero took a deep breath and dropped his right hand next to him, perching at the edge of the seat and clasping at the underside of the chair. Vergil watched his movements with melancholy as the younger man's face twisted to realisation, shifting his hand from the edge of the seat to nest under his thigh as his arm hung limply, not knowing what do with itself. Nero kept his face forward to stare at the darkened makeshift garden on Vergil's small balcony; the full moon shone just enough light to reflect on a lone red rose that stemmed among the clovers and weeds in a black clay pot that signified the end of the garden. He stopped eating and rested his chin on the back of his hand, calming the tears that begged for release from the lump at the back of his throat – he almost lost control as a pale hand rose to his shoulder and lightly grazed the entirety of his arm, pulling his hand from under his body and interweaving their fingers. Nero hoped to catch Vergil's eye but gazed upon his profile instead, both men aiming not to over- or underestimate the situation. "This was Dante's favourite thing to do." Nero considered Vergil's plate and smiled at seeing everything chopped into chunks. "He'd never shut up about it."

"It happened the first time he invited me to stay the night." He stacked a bit of everything onto his fork and swallowed before continuing. "It was four months after we agreed to be together. We were in the honeymoon phase and I couldn't keep my hands off him. I did it on a whim hoping he wouldn't pull away from me, and that's basically how we ate every meal together. If it we had burgers, I'd switch it up and use my leg. He used to laugh every time he felt me sneaking my foot somewhere, but he was always cute about it. It would then always be weird if he had jobs and I would have to eat a meal alone, and my arm refused to work if for the sole purpose of holding his hand. Even when we were mad at each other, we would always sit like this and share a meal. Sometimes I could feel the anger vibrating through his body, but his touch would always be gentle; he would have millions of things flying through his head, but he'd still ask me how my day was. He'd listen as if it were the last thing he'd ever hear me say, and whenever I'd ask him back he'd shrug it off as nothing. He'd commit everything to memory and ask days down the line about something I'd clearly already forgotten. Tiny, stupid things I had no right complaining about-"

"If this is where I think it's going to go, you dare blame yourself for what happened to him and I will throw you out of that fucking window." His grip on Nero's hand stiffened as his eyes concentrated on his food. "Don't blame yourself for what happened to him. It's nobody's fault. He wouldn't take lightly to you sitting next to me confessing you did little to stop this. You have no idea what you did to him. I do, and this outcome constitutes nothing to who you are as people and how you were as a couple. Please believe me." Vergil sniffed over his plate. "If you take anything from today, please know that he loved you more than you can imagine-"

A brass knock came from the front door and Vergil shot up instantly; he wasn't accustomed to visitors whether or not an arrangement was made, and the sound made the hairs at the back of his neck quiver in a bad way. The two men looked toward each other as Vergil grabbed his sword and unsheathed it, nudging his head for Nero to answer the door. He held out his hand as he heard a swift thump on the floor and a flurry of feet fumble down the long corridor to the general direction of the exit. "We can't keep him freezing out there-"

"He already left."

"What-"

"He dropped something and left. You open that door, you will see a box and nothing else."

It didn't feel right. Then again, nothing ever felt right to Vergil. He clutched Yamato tightly in his grasp as he floated to the door, opening to a medium sized cardboard box covered in plastic on his threshold. Nero's name was scrawled across the top in a thick black marker. "It's for you."

No one knew he was staying with Vergil; no soul had knowledge of him moving out of the house that he shared with Dante. He swiftly cleaned the house from head to toe and moved across town the day after his death. There was nobody he could tell anyway – Dante was the only family he had. Vergil altered to attack mode when Nero claimed his package at the door, protectively stalking him as he placed the box on the table and proceeded to open it. The tough outer coating of plastic was thick and sticky, so Vergil stepped in and made easy work with his sword, nearly tearing the box and obliterating its contents. While Nero removed the cumbersome plastic, an indecipherable note in the uppermost left corner caught his eye and he read it aloud. "You claimed it belonged to you. Now it can truly be yours." Vergil tried making sense of the message before Nero went further. The bad feeling didn't disappear when Nero also proved clueless to the quote.

The box opened to another squashed in place by packing peanuts; the outer layer was a deep crimson in soft velvet with a delightful eloquent bow at the top. Nero's face softened at touching the silky texture and pulled at the bow… but stopped. Out of habit he looked to Vergil for permission, but what stared back was not an expression you kept after receiving a random gift in the mail. The twin stepped closer and the noise was undeniable – his sword plummeted to the floor as he reached to close his mouth, quelling a small scream. His hands were shaking, sweat covered his features, and his eyes were nearly popping out of his head. "I don't think you want to open that, Nero."

Nero purely thought he was overreacting. "Vergil, it's just a box." The bow was pulled and the top of the box was lifted before Vergil could spew any forewarning. The distinct sound he heard earlier grew in volume, bouncing off every object in his living space. Nero knew what he was listening to: he faced Vergil after lifting the lid and his insides crumbled to dust. The man on the other side of the room watched as Nero fell to his knees and screamed blue murder, covering his ears at the heartbeat that reverberated through the box.

They had just made love for the first time. Nero was coming down from the high at Dante's actions, and they lay in each other's arms oblivious to the world around them. Nero's heavy breathing earned a very manly giggle from Dante. "Yeah, I'm that good." Nero nodded into Dante's chest and he chuckled harder: most of his energy went to holding his body and mind in one piece, and that alone took a lot out of him. He never knew the relentless side of his boyfriend, and he learnt it the hard way.

"Can I ask you a question, Nero?"

He nodded again. "If there was one thing that you'd spend your last moments on this earth creating, what would it be? Like, if you had the power to construct one thing on this planet that didn't exist." It was a weird question to ask, but he was interested in Nero's answer.

He had no right to be asking such deep questions after what just happened. Nero's mind was still pounded to mush and said the first thing that came to his mind. "Black roses."

"Why those?" Dante's hands were in Nero's hair, pulling it comfortably enough to lay a big one on him.

"Because I love roses and I love black." Nero adjusted his position next to Dante and kissed him deeper. "Oh, and the edges of the leaves would have to be dipped in silver. Pure silver, so they won't wilt."

"I think they'd still wilt."

"But they'd look pretty, won't they? Fine! I'd make immortal black roses dipped in pure silver." Nero tried to back his choice by bringing in some perspective. "People could use it at funerals. Why do people use bright-coloured flowers during those times? When someone dies, everyone should be dead on that day as well, and if that means everything is black, then everything should be black, including the flowers, right?"

"You really think that?" Dante shuffled closer to Nero's body, wrapping his entire frame in one grasp.

"Yeah. And then everyone should take one rose home as a reminder. Not to be reminded of the loss, but rather seen as taking a piece of the person home. It will never wilt, so it will always be with the families in their homes." Dante never thought of it like that. "I honestly think it could heal any wound. It doesn't exist, but I think it could if it did."