The next morning,
the flower shop was quiet—
the air warm, the soft scent of lavender drifting through the open window.
The boy was arranging a small bouquet,
his hands still trembling slightly from last night's encounter.
She stood beside him,
touching his arm gently.
"It's okay," she whispered.
"He won't hurt you again.
I won't let him."
But before he could respond—
The door swung open.
Jack stepped in.
Not angry.
Not shouting.
Not violent.
But with that same arrogant tilt of his head,
hands in his pockets,
a storm simmering behind his eyes.
The boy froze immediately—
shoulders tensing,
breath tightening.
She turned sharply toward Jack.
"You said you would apologize."
Jack rolled his eyes
as if the word itself offended him.
"I am," he muttered.
The boy blinked—
confused, scared, unsure.
Jack walked forward slowly,
each step precise… controlled.
She stepped between them instantly.
"Jack. Keep your distance."
Jack raised a brow.
"Relax. I'm not here to start anything."
He shifted his gaze to the boy
and let out a long, theatrical sigh.
"Look," he said,
voice heavy with reluctance,
"my sister wants this…"
he motioned vaguely between them,
"…peace or whatever."
She glared at him.
"Jack."
He clenched his jaw.
"Fine."
He finally looked the boy in the eye,
expression stiff with forced politeness.
"I'm… sorry," he said through gritted teeth.
"For scaring you.
For… the gun.
For losing control."
The boy stared at him,
heart pounding,
hands shaking despite himself.
Jack rolled his eyes again.
"Don't look at me like that.
I said the words, didn't I?"
She gave him a look sharper than glass.
Jack lifted both hands in surrender.
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry."
He paused, then added:
"But don't expect me to pretend we're friends.
Or that I suddenly like you.
I don't."
The boy swallowed hard.
Jack leaned closer—
not enough to terrify,
but enough to make a point.
"But she chose you," he said quietly.
"And I…"
he looked at his sister, pain flickering in his eyes,
"…won't take that away from her."
She breathed out shakily.
Jack stepped back,
straightened his jacket,
and turned toward the door.
Before leaving, he looked over his shoulder.
"But hurt her…"
his voice dropped to a low threat,
"…and apology or not—
I will finish what I started."
The boy froze.
She stepped forward immediately.
"JACK. GO."
He gave a casual half-salute.
"Fine. I'm gone."
The bell above the door jingled as he left.
The moment he was out of sight,
the boy stumbled back,
leaning against the counter,
hands clutching the wood for balance.
His breaths came fast—
too fast.
She rushed to him,
cupping his face with both hands.
"Hey… hey, look at me," she whispered.
"He's gone.
He's gone."
His breaths shook,
eyes glossy with leftover fear.
She pressed her forehead to his,
her voice soft as a promise:
"You're safe with me.
I swear it.
He won't touch you again.
Not while I'm here."
His hands trembled as he held onto her arms,
but slowly—
slowly—
the panic began to loosen.
Her thumb brushed his cheek.
"Breathe with me," she murmured.
"One breath at a time."
He closed his eyes.
And for the first time in a long time,
he believed her.
The cold air outside the flower shop bit at Jack's skin
as he stepped onto the empty street.
He shoved his hands into his pockets,
walking with no destination,
boots echoing against the pavement.
The apology he had just forced out
tasted like poison in his mouth.
He hated it.
Every syllable of it.
But worse than that…
He hated the way she had looked at him.
Not with admiration.
Not with loyalty.
Not with the blind devotion she'd always given him.
No.
She had looked at him
like he was the villain in someone else's story.
And Jack—
Jack couldn't stand that.
He stopped under a streetlamp,
exhaling a long breath that clouded in the cold air.
For the first time in his life,
the world didn't bend around him.
He wasn't the center anymore.
He wasn't the one she chose.
And that reality
hit him harder than any fist.
He ran a hand through his hair,
frustration burning in his chest.
"Damn it…" he muttered.
For a split second—
a single, fragile second—
a thought crossed his mind.
Maybe I should stop.
Maybe I should let her go.
Maybe I should try… to be better.
The idea scared him.
Made something heavy twist inside his ribs.
He leaned against the cold brick wall,
closing his eyes.
He imagined approaching her gently.
Telling her he loved her in his own broken way.
Letting her choose her own happiness.
He imagined not fighting anymore.
Not hurting anyone.
Not ruining everything he touched.
He imagined being someone
she wouldn't be ashamed to call her brother.
For one moment…
Jack felt weak enough
to consider it.
But then—
He remembered the way she leaned into the boy's arms.
The way she whispered his name.
The way she defended him.
The way that boy looked at her
like she was his whole world.
And something inside Jack snapped back into place—
cold, sharp, and merciless.
His eyes opened slowly.
Softness died.
Weakness evaporated.
The brief moment of humanity
turned to dust inside him.
A smirk curled on his lips—
but it wasn't happy.
It was bitter.
Broken.
Dark.
"No," he whispered to himself.
"I don't lose."
The streetlight flickered overhead,
casting jagged shadows across his face.
"That boy took everything from me," he growled quietly.
"My place.
My sister.
Her loyalty."
He pushed off the wall,
straightening his jacket with cold resolve.
"He thinks he can protect her…"
Jack scoffed.
"He can't even protect himself."
His footsteps grew steadier,
more determined,
as he walked away from the shop.
"I'll remind him who I am," he muttered.
"I'll take back everything he stole."
A cruel brilliance lit his eyes.
"I didn't lose my sister to him," he whispered darkly.
"I just haven't won her back yet."
Jack disappeared into the shadows of the street—
not defeated,
not softened,
but preparing.
Planning.
Waiting for his moment.
The quiet promise echoed in the night:
"This isn't over.
Not for him.
Not for her.
Not for me."