Chapter Text
The metallic scent of blood still clung to the back of his throat.
A curse that never quite faded.
Rain slid down the windows of the black sedan as it glided slowly through the alley. Neon lights bled across the glass with every sweep of the wipers, smearing the city into blurred streaks of color.
The nights always smelled the same.
Liquor. Cigarettes. Blood.
And the people living in them weren’t much different.
They lied, hid, tore each other apart just to survive another day.
Jax leaned his head back against the seat and shut his eyes.
He could still feel it in his hands—the recoil of the gun, the sharp crack of the shot, the silence that always followed. The last breath before death.
Dying was quick. Getting used to it was quicker.
That was the part he hated most.
"Boss."
The man in the driver's seat glanced at him through the rearview mirror.
"You heading straight back?"
Jax didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted toward the rain streaked window instead.
They were heading in the opposite direction of the organization's headquarters. Normally, he would've gone straight back already. There was still work waiting for him. Reports to make. Loose ends to clean up.
But tonight, something sat heavy in his chest.
The scent of rust and iron from the interrogation room still lingered in his lungs like poison.
Slowly, Jax loosened his tie.
"…Drive around for a bit."
The driver blinked. "Sorry?"
"Need some air."
A brief look of confusion crossed the man's face before he nodded.
"Yes, boss."
The car rolled deeper into the rain.
Jax pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it without a word. The driver cracked the window open automatically. Cold rain drifted inside, misting across Jax's face.
He closed his eyes again.
The man he'd killed earlier wouldn't leave his head.
The trembling voice begging for mercy.
The way he talked about his family.
Jax clicked his tongue quietly.
Pathetic.
The bastard had betrayed the organization. Three men were dead because of the information he leaked.
Traitors died. That was how this world worked.
If you remembered every face, every plea, every drop of blood..
you didn't survive long.
Still, the smell lingered. No matter how much smoke filled his lungs, he could still taste blood at the back of his throat. Frowning slightly, he crushed the half finished cigarette into the ashtray.
The car slowed to a stop at a red light.
A dull headache pulsed behind his eyes as he turned his head absentmindedly toward the street.
And paused.
At the end of the alley sat a tiny flower shop. The lights were still on despite the late hour.
Warm amber light spilled through the rain streaked windows, illuminating rows of flowers packed tightly together. Behind the glass, he could see the faint silhouette of someone moving around inside.
A flower shop.
Jax let out a quiet laugh under his breath. Felt like the last place on earth someone like him belonged.
"Pull over."
"…There?"
Jax flicked his gaze toward the shop.
"The flower shop?"
"You deaf?"
"No, boss."
The sedan eased to the side of the road.
The moment Jax stepped outside, freezing rain soaked into his black coat. The driver hurried to open an umbrella, but Jax stopped him with a wave of his hand.
"Wait here."
"Boss, you shouldn't go alone—"
"I'll be back."
Without another word, Jax started walking.
His shoes splashed quietly against the rain soaked pavement. And the closer he got to the shop, the more noticeable the scent became.
Flowers.
Soft and faint.
Strangely comforting.
The tiny bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside. Rainwater dripped from his coat onto the wooden floor.
"Sorry, we're clo—"
The voice abruptly stopped.
Jax lifted his eyes slowly.
A woman stood behind the counter.
A few flower petals clung to the front of her apron. Her hair was loosely tied back, strands falling around her face like she hadn't bothered fixing them all day. Damp scissors rested loosely in her slender hand. She looked small enough that Jax thought he could block her entirely just by standing in front of her.
But it was her eyes that caught him.
Bright and strange. A mixture of blue and red beneath the warm light.
This woman just paused briefly before glancing at the clock behind him. "…We closed ten minutes ago."
Flat tone. Calm expression.
Jax tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk pulling at his lips.
"Guess my timing's terrible."
"Are you here to buy flowers?"
"Do I not look the type?"
Her gaze traveled over him once.
The soaked black coat. The loosened tie. The split skin across his knuckles.
Then her eyes paused briefly on the faint bloodstain near the cuff of his sleeve.
Instinctively, Jax slipped his hand behind his back.
The woman quietly set the scissors down.
"…You should come inside first."
"You just said you were closed."
"You're dripping water everywhere."
Most people reacted the same way when they saw him.
Fear. Unease. Caution.
Jax stared at her silently for a moment.
Weird woman.
Usually, this was where the questions started.
What happened to your hand?
Are you hurt? Is that blood?
But she didn't ask anything. She just sounded like someone letting a drenched stranger out of the rain.
Slowly, Jax stepped farther inside. The door clicked shut behind him, muting the sound of the storm outside.
Warm light. Soft music. Flowers.
None of it felt familiar.
Dried flowers hung from one wall, and somewhere nearby, soft music drifted from a speaker. Buckets filled with flowers he couldn't name lined the floor.
It felt nothing like headquarters.
That place was cold. Sharp. Suffocating. A place where everyone watched each other's backs with one hand wrapped around a weapon.
But here, It was quiet.
"Sit."
The woman gestured toward the small sofa beside the counter. Jax huffed out a soft laugh.
"You always this trusting?"
"I'm usually nice to customers."
"You think I look like a customer?"
"If you pay, you are."
That earned another laugh from him.
She handed him a towel.
"At least dry your hair. You're making a mess."
"…You worried about me?"
"I just don't want to mop the floor again."
This time, Jax actually laughed.
Not polite and fake.
Real.
She really was strange. No fear and forced friendliness.
Just, natural.
And somehow, that unsettled him more.
Jax shrugged off his coat and dropped onto the sofa, roughly drying his damp ears with the towel.
That was when her gaze settled on his hand again.
His knuckles were swollen and split open, streaked with dried blood.
"…That looks painful."
Jax glanced down lazily. "It's nothing."
"Your hands are shaking."
His expression stilled. Only slightly. Barely noticeable.
But she was right. Even he hadn't realized it. Slowly, he looked away.
"…Sharp eyes."
"When you work with flowers long enough, you get good at reading people."
She crouched down beside the counter and pulled out a small first aid kit.
"Give me your hand."
"I'm fine."
"You're still bleeding."
"I'm used to it."
Her movements paused for just a second.
I'm used to it.
For some reason, hearing the words out loud sounded wrong even to him.
The woman walked over and crouched in front of him.
"Still needs disinfecting."
Those strange eyes lifted toward his again. Something about them pulled at him before he even realized it. After a brief hesitation, Jax finally held out his hand. The moment her fingers touched him, his breath caught slightly in his throat.
…How long had it been since someone touched his wounds like this?
Carefully, she cleaned the blood from his knuckles. The antiseptic stung.
Jax found himself staring at her without meaning to.
The slight furrow between her brows.
Her lowered lashes.
The faint scent of flowers clinging to her hands as she wrapped the bandage around his knuckles.
Sometimes, people said the same thing about his hands.
That they looked terrifying. The scars. The rough skin. The crooked knuckles. They told the story of exactly what kind of man he was. Even Jax himself thought they looked disgusting.
But this woman.. She simply treated the wounds. Like they actually mattered.
"You're not scared of me?"
The question slipped out more naturally than he expected. The woman looked up from the bandage. For a moment, she just looked at him quietly. Heavy silence settled between them. Jax almost laughed it off out of habit. But then she spoke.
"Scary people usually try very hard to look scary."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "…And me?"
Her gaze softened just a little.
"You just look tired."
Something flickered in his expression.
Tired. What a strange thing to call him.
Other people called him a monster. A psychopath. Cold blooded.
But this woman looked at him like he was just exhausted. Like he wasn't a monster.
Jax lowered his eyes slowly. Something tight twisted faintly in his chest. An unfamiliar feeling.
The woman stood and walked back toward the counter as if nothing had happened.
"Want some tea?"
Jax let out a quiet breath through his nose.
"…You always this nice to strangers?"
"I have a soft spot for people who come in from the rain."
"Are you always like this?"
A small smile curved her lips. "No."
She glanced back at him over her shoulder.
"Most people are suspicious. Like you."
Jax laughed quietly under his breath.
As the tea steeped, soft music filled the flower shop once more. He leaned back against the sofa and glanced around slowly. He couldn't name a single flower. Never had a reason to. No one had ever given him flowers before. And he'd certainly never bought any for someone else.
"What's that one?"
He gestured toward a bouquet of yellow flowers near the counter. The woman turned to look.
"Freesias."
"Sounds complicated."
"The meaning's worse."
Jax raised a brow. "What's it mean?"
She placed a mug in front of him carefully.
""I'm cheering for your new beginning.'"
A quiet laugh escaped him. "Yeah. Doesn't suit me at all."
"Who says you get to decide that?"
Warm steam curled slowly into the air between them. Jax wrapped his hand around the mug.
For the first time all night, his fingers felt warm.
It was strange.
A few hours ago, he'd been standing over a corpse. Now he was sitting in a flower shop, drinking tea while rain tapped softly against the windows. It felt like someone else's life. And suddenly, Jax realized something dangerous.
He didn't want to leave.
That was the problem.
If he stayed here too long, he might start getting used to this feeling. And someone like him couldn't afford that. Slowly, he stood.
"I should go."
The woman glanced up briefly.
"Come earlier next time."
His mouth twitched.
"Sounds like an invitation."
"You're imagining things."
Jax chuckled softly as he picked up his coat and walked toward the door.
Just as his hand touched the handle,
"Wait."
He looked back.
The woman picked up a single flower from the counter.
A yellow freesia.
"…On the house."
Jax stared at it for a moment.
"You give flowers to suspicious looking customers often?"
"You looked kind of pathetic standing out there in the rain."
There it was again. Not fear. Not disgust.
Just quiet concern hidden beneath dry humor.
After a long pause, Jax finally took the flower from her hand.
"…Thanks."
And for the first time in a very long while, a real smile touched his lips. Small. Brief. But real.
***
The bell chimed softly as the door closed behind him. Rain poured endlessly onto the empty streets. When Jax slid back into the car, the driver blinked at the flower in his hand.
"…Boss?"
"What."
"…Why do you have a flower?"
Jax looked down at the yellow freesia silently.
A faint floral scent lingered between the smell of rain and blood.
"…No idea."
Leaning back against the seat, he looked out toward the flower shop one last time.
And he couldn't look away until the lights finally went out.