There he goes again, with that bitter smile on his face as he scroll through his chat history.
He knows he’s not supposed to do that, know that it’s useless and he’s just hurting himself by remembering the good old days when everything worked out perfectly.
Yet he can’t help it, can’t help that he miss those days and can’t resist the temptation of relishing it, even if it’s only in his memory.
And he can’t deny that he long for those days to happen once more.
So he reaches for his phone, tapping on a certain name, and he type that word.
Then he press send.
À la mort.