Leo's and Zane's Inner conflicts

Leo's POV:

Over the following days, Leo found himself more and more drawn to Zane. The older boy's visits continued, though they remained brief. Sometimes, Zane would just stand in the doorway, silent and still, as if trying to process something he couldn't quite name. And Leo, caught in the pull of that quiet intensity, would find himself waiting for the moment when Zane would look his way, when their eyes would meet and the air would shift, even if only for a second.

There was something about Zane that intrigued him—something both intimidating and magnetic. Zane was rough around the edges, hardened by the world, and Leo couldn't help but be fascinated by that contrast. Leo, with his gentle nature and soft smile, was so different from Zane. And yet, the two of them were starting to form a connection that felt impossible to ignore.

But as the days passed, Leo couldn't shake the nagging feeling that Elias was watching him more closely than usual. The way Elias would glance at him when Zane came by, the way he'd offer warnings in a tone that was careful and full of unspoken concern—it was clear that Elias didn't trust Zane. And part of Leo understood why. Elias had built a life of peace and safety for him, a world of flowers and quiet moments. Zane didn't fit into that world, and Elias was scared of what might happen if Leo got too close to someone like him.

Leo couldn't ignore that conflict inside him. Part of him wanted to follow Elias's advice, to protect himself from whatever dangers might lie ahead. But another part of him—the part that longed for something more, something beyond the walls of the shop—was drawn to Zane. Leo didn't know what to do with those feelings. The loyalty he felt for Elias, who had been nothing but kind and protective of him, waged war against the strange, powerful pull he felt toward Zane.

What if Elias was right? What if Zane was just trouble, a distraction from the safety Leo had always known? But the truth was, Leo didn't know how to turn away from Zane. The connection between them felt real, even if it didn't fit into the life Elias had worked so hard to create for him.

In the end, Leo knew that the path ahead wasn't going to be easy. He didn't have all the answers, and he wasn't sure where Zane fit into his life. But one thing was certain: the tug he felt toward the older boy wasn't going away. And no matter how hard he tried to push it down, it was only growing stronger.

Zane's POV

Zane wasn't the type to get close to anyone. He had learned long ago that people could be a source of pain, that caring about someone only led to disappointment. His life in the slums had taught him that love and kindness were luxuries that few could afford. He had always kept his distance, relying on himself and no one else. So when he found himself drawn to Leo, it confused him.

Leo was unlike anyone Zane had ever met. He was soft-hearted, gentle in a way that Zane didn't fully understand. His kindness didn't come with the edge of suspicion, didn't come with the hard, protective layers that Zane had built around himself over the years. It was raw, unguarded, and, at times, almost overwhelming.

The contrast between them was sharp. Zane's view of the world was shaped by years of hardship, of surviving on the edge, where trust was a rare commodity, and people were often driven by selfish motives. Leo, on the other hand, had always lived in the safety of his little world—a world filled with flowers, warmth, and kindness. It made Zane uneasy, yet there was something in Leo's innocence that called to him.

At first, Zane didn't know why he kept coming back to the shop. He told himself it was just out of curiosity, or maybe a fleeting need to make sure the kid was okay after the run-in with the bullies. But deep down, Zane knew it wasn't just that. There was something more, something he couldn't put into words. When Leo smiled at him, or when he thanked him quietly for helping him out of a tough spot, something inside Zane would stir, something he couldn't ignore.

Zane had never been the kind of person to get attached to anyone. But with Leo, it felt different. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but the thought of Leo getting hurt, of the kid being taken advantage of or falling into danger, made Zane feel a tug in his chest that he couldn't explain.

He'd never been the type to protect anyone, not really. He had always relied on his own strength to get by, and he certainly didn't believe in saving people. But with Leo, it was as if the walls Zane had built around himself had started to crack.

Every time he saw Leo, the same thought crossed his mind: I can't let anything happen to him. It was a feeling that made Zane uncomfortable, a feeling he couldn't quite shake. He tried to push it away, to focus on other things, but it always crept back in, a quiet pull that was impossible to ignore.

It wasn't about obligation, Zane realized. It was something deeper. He didn't have to check in on Leo, but somehow, he found himself doing it more often. It wasn't a conscious decision, not really. It was just something he felt drawn to, something that felt right, even if it didn't make sense.

Zane wasn't used to feeling responsible for anyone. He had lived his whole life looking out for himself, never thinking about anyone else. But with Leo, that instinct to protect—however foreign it was to him—felt natural. It wasn't about pity. It wasn't about fixing him. It was just... wanting to make sure he was okay.

Even if Zane didn't fully understand why, the feeling was undeniable. And it was starting to scare him.

A Growing Friendship

Over the next few months, something unspoken but undeniable began to form between Leo and Zane. It started slowly, imperceptibly—a glance shared across the florist shop, a brief conversation about nothing in particular, a quiet acknowledgment of each other's presence. One day, as Zane was about to leave, Leo caught his eye and smiled, "You sure you don't need anything today?"

Zane paused, looking at Leo as if the question itself was a little strange, before grunting, "Nah, just looking around." Yet, the corner of his mouth twitched, almost like he was trying not to smile. It was moments like this—small exchanges—that made Leo wonder what Zane wasn't saying.

Zane, ever the stoic figure, would come and go, as though his visits were nothing more than a passing habit. He rarely stayed for long, still maintaining the tough, distant exterior that had become second nature to him. "You should really let yourself relax sometime," Leo had once ventured, after noticing how stiff Zane seemed even when standing still. Zane's brow furrowed, and he gave a half-shrug.

"I don't do 'relaxing.'"

At first, Leo wasn't sure why Zane kept coming back. Zane never gave a clear reason, and yet, Leo began to notice the subtle things: the way Zane's eyes would flicker with concern when Leo looked a little tired, the way he always seemed to linger just a moment longer when Leo spoke, as if trying to find the right words to say. One afternoon, when Leo mentioned he hadn't gotten much sleep, Zane quietly offered, "You need to sleep. Won't help anything if you keep running on empty."

It wasn't like Zane to offer advice or show any sign of care, but Leo slowly started to realize that, in his own quiet way, Zane was watching out for him.

Leo knew Zane wasn't one to talk about feelings, especially not when it came to protecting someone. Zane never said much, but his actions spoke volumes. He'd show up at the shop during times when Leo seemed particularly down, or when things at the orphanage had been especially difficult. He didn't ask for details, didn't push for answers. Instead, he'd offer a moment of silence—a rare moment of safety in a world that often felt chaotic to Leo.

One evening, as they sat together, Zane cleared his throat and muttered, "You're still here late today. Need me to take a look around for you?"

Leo chuckled softly. "You're not my bodyguard, you know."

Zane just shrugged, his face unreadable. "Maybe I should be."

At first, Leo didn't fully understand why Zane seemed to be drawn to him. Zane was tough, gruff, and had a way of intimidating people without saying a word. But Leo, in his quiet way, started to piece together the truth: Zane was looking out for him. It was something he did instinctively, not out of obligation, but out of some deeper, unspoken desire to protect.

Zane, on the other hand, didn't quite know what to make of his growing attachment to Leo. He had always prided himself on being tough, on being someone who didn't need anyone else. The world had taught him that people came and went, that caring for someone only led to pain. But Leo was different. There was something about him—a softness that Zane couldn't resist, no matter how hard he tried. Leo's kindness made Zane feel something unfamiliar, something that pulled at the edges of his well-guarded heart.

One evening, as they exchanged a quiet moment before closing, Zane muttered, "You don't get it, do you? I don't—"

"You don't have to say anything," Leo interrupted, his voice gentle but sure. "I get it more than you think."

Zane faltered, his usual response stuck somewhere deep inside. Instead of pushing it further, he simply nodded, unsure of what to do with the strange warmth spreading inside him.

He couldn't understand why he felt this way, why he found himself coming back to the shop even when he had no real reason to. Zane had never been one for bonds, but Leo made him feel like there was something worth protecting in the world. Every time Zane saw Leo's gentle smile or heard him laugh, he felt the tug of something he hadn't experienced before—something vulnerable, something real.

Zane's tough exterior never fully cracked, but with Leo, there were small moments of softness, fleeting but significant. The way Zane's eyes would soften when Leo spoke about the flowers he loved, or how his normally guarded expression would slip into concern when Leo seemed troubled—these moments didn't escape Leo's notice. Despite Zane's roughness, there was an undeniable tenderness in his presence. And Leo couldn't help but feel comforted by it.

For reasons he couldn't quite explain, Leo had always been drawn to lavender. It wasn't tied to any memory or past experience; it was simply something about the flower that comforted him. Its soft purple color and light, calming scent felt grounding, like a quiet anchor in the busy world around him.

One afternoon, as Leo carefully arranged a bouquet of lavender, he found himself speaking more to the flowers than to Zane. "I don't know why, but I've always liked lavender," Leo said, adjusting the stems.

Zane glanced up from the counter, his expression unreadable. "It's just a flower," he said, though there was a hint of curiosity in his voice.

Leo smiled, a small, knowing smile. "Yeah, but it's more than that. I can't explain it. It just feels right."

Zane said nothing in response, but his gaze lingered on the flowers for a moment longer. Then, in his usual way, he shrugged. "If it feels right, then it's good enough."

Despite Zane's roughness, there was an undeniable tenderness in his presence. And Leo couldn't help but feel comforted by it. No need for explanations, no pressure to understand everything—there was simply something about the way Zane stood by him, offering a quiet kind of support. In those moments, surrounded by lavender, Leo found peace in their silent connection.

For Leo, Zane's visits became a welcome part of his routine. He began to look forward to them in a way he hadn't expected. The boy from the slums had become something of an enigma to him—intimidating, yes, but also intriguing. Leo didn't completely understand why Zane acted the way he did, why he kept showing up or why he cared, but he was beginning to see through the layers of Zane's hardened shell.

As time went on, Leo became increasingly curious about Zane's past. He could sense the weight that Zane carried with him, the things unsaid in every conversation. The walls Zane had built around himself weren't just for show—they were a reflection of years of hardship and survival. Leo had seen that same quiet struggle in himself. They were both shaped by lives that had tested them, made them stronger in ways that weren't always visible to the outside world.

One afternoon, Leo took a chance and asked, "What happened to you, Zane?"

Zane stiffened, the walls rising quickly. "Not your business, kid."

But even in the harshness of his response, Leo could sense the vulnerability there. They were both carrying pieces of a past that refused to let go, but Leo's kindness made Zane feel like maybe—just maybe—he didn't have to carry it alone.

What Leo didn't fully realize yet was that their connection was slowly becoming a lifeline for both of them. While Zane had always kept others at arm's length, his bond with Leo was quietly changing him. He didn't know how to protect the kid from everything the world had to offer, but he felt an undeniable responsibility for him, even if he couldn't articulate it. And as for Leo, he had begun to understand that the tough, distant Zane wasn't someone to be afraid of—he was someone who, despite all his rough edges, was willing to stand by him when it mattered most.

In the quiet moments of shared solitude between the flowers and the fading sunlight, their friendship continued to grow. It was unspoken, fragile, but it was real. Neither of them could have known it at the time, but it was a bond that would become a cornerstone in both their lives, one that would change them both in ways they could never have anticipated.