Jeno doesn’t flinch when the first petal breaks through his skin. He doesn’t even look at it.

By now, he already knows.

The flowers come when you’re hurting. They bloom in the places you mark, a quiet reflection of the pain you refuse to share. And he takes it all without a word.

He bandages them. Covers them with long sleeves. He even hide the petals before you can ever see.

You don’t notice. You never do.

And Jeno tells himself that’s a good thing.

Because if you knew... If you ever found out what your pain was doing to him. He knows you’d blame yourself. He knows you’d stop.

And he wants that. He wants you to be okay.

But until then, he’ll carry this weight alone.

Because if he can’t take your pain away, at least this way;

he can feel it with you.