Zane's Life

Leo couldn't stop thinking about Zane. Every time the boy from the slums appeared in the florist shop, something about him intrigued Leo. The way he barely spoke, the way his eyes softened in fleeting moments—there was so much that Leo didn't understand. What made someone like Zane so tough? What had shaped him into the person he was now? Leo wanted to know more, but Zane wasn't the type to share anything personal.

One evening, as they worked together in the shop, Leo found himself unable to hold back any longer. "Elias, why does Zane come by so often?" he asked, his voice filled with a curiosity that had been building inside him for weeks.

Elias paused for a moment, his hands stilling as he arranged the flowers in front of him. His gaze lifted from the bouquet, meeting Leo's with a quiet intensity. For a brief moment, his expression was unreadable, but Leo could tell that Elias was weighing whether to share his thoughts. After a beat, Elias spoke, his voice low and thoughtful.

"Zane's been through a lot, Leo," he began, his eyes distant for a moment as though he were seeing something far beyond the florist shop. "He came from the slums. Raised by people who didn't care much for him. He had to grow up fast, and he learned to keep people at a distance. He's tough on the outside because that's the only way he's survived. But inside…" Elias's voice softened, and for a fleeting second, Leo could see a tenderness in his eyes. "…He's not as cold as he lets on."

Leo's brow furrowed in surprise. "You mean he really cares?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the idea foreign to him.

Elias smiled softly, his expression warm with understanding. "He does. He just doesn't know how to show it."

The words lingered in the air, echoing in Leo's mind as he continued to work. Zane cared? The idea seemed so impossible at first, especially considering how distant and guarded Zane appeared every time they crossed paths. But Elias's words brought a new light to Leo's perception of him. Maybe there was more to Zane than met the eye. Maybe his gruffness and cold demeanor weren't signs of disinterest, but rather a reflection of a life that had hardened him, a life where showing weakness could lead to survival's end.

Leo found himself watching Zane's visits in a new light. The moments when Zane lingered at the doorway, the rare times his eyes softened when Leo spoke—these small gestures now seemed to mean something more. The idea that Zane might have a softer side, that he might care for Leo in his own, quiet way, brought a sense of comfort to Leo's heart. It made him feel less alone in this complicated world.

After a few more visits, Leo couldn't help himself. One afternoon, as Zane was about to leave the shop, Leo turned to him, his curiosity bubbling over. "You know, you never tell me why you come here so often. What's the deal with you and flowers, anyway?"

Zane hesitated, and for a second, Leo thought he might just walk out without saying a word, like usual. But then, unexpectedly, Zane spoke. "Flowers... They're just quiet. No pressure." He didn't elaborate further, but the hint of something deeper in his voice made Leo's heart race.

"You don't have to say anything," Leo said quickly, trying to smooth over his sudden boldness. "But I think... I think maybe you like them more than you let on."

Zane's eyes flicked to him for a brief moment, as if considering the idea. Then he simply nodded, gruff as ever. "Maybe."

Leo watched him leave with a sense of something unspoken hanging between them. Despite the silence, there was a connection forming, one that felt more solid with each exchange, even if neither of them said much.

And so, Leo's curiosity grew. He wondered about Zane's past—what had he been through? What had made him the way he was? Zane was always so guarded, but Leo couldn't help feeling like there were pieces of him that Zane didn't show. It made Leo more determined to understand him, to uncover the layers beneath that tough exterior. Maybe, just maybe, Zane wasn't as unreachable as he appeared.

As the days passed, Leo watched for any signs—any small clues that might reveal more about the boy from the slums. He noticed the way Zane's eyes lingered a little longer when they spoke, how his shoulders would relax just a fraction when Leo smiled, as though he was allowing himself to believe that perhaps it was safe to let down his guard, even just for a moment.

In those moments, Leo could sense a growing connection, something unspoken but real. He knew he was slowly beginning to understand Zane, and that thought, comforting and exciting all at once, made Leo feel a little less uncertain about the road ahead.

One usual evening,

The door to the floral shop opened with a soft chime, and Zane stepped inside, his usual confidence somewhat absent. Leo, bent over a bouquet of freshly cut lavender, glanced up—and immediately froze.

Zane's face was a mess. His left cheek was swollen and bruised, a dark purplish-blue mark already forming beneath his eye. His hand was scraped, bloodied, and the sleeve of his jacket was torn, as if he'd been in a struggle. Leo could feel his pulse quicken with concern.

"Zane?" Leo's voice was soft, a mix of confusion and worry. "What happened to you?"

Zane's posture remained stiff, but there was a slight hesitation in his step, something Leo had never seen before. He offered his usual gruff nod, as if he were trying to brush it off.

"Nothing." Zane's voice was tight, his usual indifference masking the discomfort in his face. "I'm fine."

Leo didn't buy it for a second. His heart raced as he set down the flowers and stepped toward Zane. "No, you're not. You're hurt," he said, his words more insistent now. "Let me take a look at you."

Zane hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the offer, but after a long, tense moment, he finally relented. "Fine. But make it quick."

Leo led him to the back of the shop where the first-aid kit was stored, not saying anything, but his mind was racing. Zane was always tough—he didn't show any weakness, not ever. Seeing him like this, wounded, opened something inside Leo that he hadn't expected.

Sitting Zane down on a nearby chair, Leo gently cupped his chin to examine his swollen cheek. "You really need to take better care of yourself," he muttered, more to himself than Zane. He was tender with his touch, trying to assess how much damage had been done.

Zane flinched slightly as Leo's fingers grazed over the bruise. "It's nothing," Zane muttered again, but his voice lacked the usual conviction. There was something in the air, a shift in him that Leo couldn't quite pinpoint.

"Who did this?" Leo asked quietly, his hands moving to gently clean the cut on Zane's hand. It wasn't deep, but it was enough to draw blood.

Zane was silent for a moment, his eyes distant. He looked as if he were struggling with whether to say something. Finally, in a voice that was almost too quiet to hear, he spoke.

"Some adults. I was coming back from the forest... with my catch." He let out a short, bitter laugh. "They saw me and decided it was their turn to eat. Took my prey. The damn rabbits and a goose... took it all."

Leo froze, his fingers stilling in the middle of wrapping Zane's hand. "They... took your food?"

Zane nodded sharply, his jaw clenched. "Yeah. And kicked me around a bit while they were at it. Didn't matter to them. They got what they wanted." His eyes hardened, though there was an undercurrent of something vulnerable in them. "Doesn't matter. They always do."

The anger in Zane's words hung in the air for a moment, raw and unfiltered, before it faded into an uncomfortable silence. Leo could feel his heart pounding, the injustice of it all sinking deep in his chest.

"What's the point of fighting back?" Zane muttered, almost to himself. "They'd just come again. It's easier to just let them take it. Save myself the trouble."

Leo couldn't stop himself from shaking his head, a surge of empathy flooding through him. He gently placed a hand on Zane's arm. "That's not right," he said, his voice firm despite the trembling of his hands. "You deserve better than that."

Zane met Leo's eyes, his expression guarded, yet there was something there, something he hadn't shown before. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound in the room was the quiet rustling of the first-aid kit as Leo continued to tend to Zane's wounds.

Finally, Zane's voice broke the silence again, softer this time. "I don't have anyone, Leo," he said, his words quiet but heavy with meaning. "No parents. I'm... I'm not some poor kid who lost his family. I never had one."

Leo's hands stilled again. The confession landed in his chest like a heavy stone. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Zane swallowed, looking down at his hands as if they were the only things he could control in that moment. "Orphanages don't want kids like me. I was too old, too... difficult. They never took me in." He laughed, but it was hollow, like he didn't even believe it himself. "I've been on my own for as long as I can remember."

A chill ran down Leo's spine, and he instinctively reached for Zane's shoulder, squeezing it in a way that he hoped felt comforting. "So... you've been living like this? On your own? In the streets?"

Zane nodded. "Yeah. I've got no choice. I hunt for my food. Fruits, rabbits, wild geese... if I'm lucky, I find something decent. It's never enough, but it's what I can manage." He seemed to shrink into himself as he spoke, the pride in his words undermined by the sadness that clung to his voice.

"And where do you sleep?" Leo asked, his heart aching for the boy who had always seemed so untouchable.

Zane's eyes flickered to the ground. "There's a broken-down shack, near the edge of the city. It's abandoned. No owner. I... I stay there. It's not much, but it's mine."

Leo's mind reeled, the reality of Zane's situation hitting him like a freight train. All this time, Zane had been carrying this weight, living in the shadows of survival, and Leo had never known. Never even imagined.

"You don't have to do this alone," Leo said quietly, his voice laced with an emotion he couldn't quite name. "You don't have to stay there. You... you can stay here, if you want. I can help. You don't have to keep fighting like this."

Zane's eyes darted to him, his guard up again, but this time, it was different. There was something raw and vulnerable in his expression, something Leo had never seen before. Zane opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, and for a long, painful moment, neither of them said anything.

Finally, Zane spoke, his voice softer, more uncertain. "I don't know how to... accept help," he admitted, his eyes flicking to the floor. "But... thanks."

Leo just nodded, not knowing what more to say, but feeling something shift between them—an unspoken promise that, despite everything, Zane wasn't truly alone.