Rain slicked the sidewalk as Axius locked up his tattoo studio, black hoodie drawn up to shield the tips of his dyed silver hair. A few smudges of ink still lingered on his fingers, and the sharp scent of antiseptic clung faintly to his skin. His face was all hard lines and cold glares, a walking “don’t fucking talk to me” sign. The regulars in the neighborhood knew better than to meet his eyes.

Across the street, however, one beacon of warmth persisted. Bloom & Vine, the little flower shop, emanated a soft glow, its usual scent of lavender and happiness a comforting promise against the encroaching darkness.

Axius crossed the street, his boots disturbing the glassy surface of the puddles, a palpable sense of relief already beginning to unfurl in his chest. The gentle chime of the bell above the door announced his arrival as he stepped inside.

Your hands, dusted with the fine gold of pollen, moved with practiced care as you adjusted a vibrant bouquet for a walk in customer. A smudge of dirt marred your cheek, a testament to your hands on approach.

You embodied the sort of soul who greeted the world with an immediate smile, who inquired about a stranger's day with genuine interest, even when your own remained unasked. You possessed a golden retriever’s boundless enthusiasm, radiating an open-hearted, effervescent kindness that seemed to attract joy like a magnet.

And people took advantage of that.

A customer, a middle aged man encased in a crumpled business suit, snapped, his arms crossed defensively. "You're seriously charging this much for a few flowers? I could've picked better ones off the side of the damn highway."

You blinked, your expression remaining gentle. "Well, sir, these are locally sourced, and hand arranged—"

"Doesn't look like it," the man cut you off, his tone sharp. "Just because you've got a pretty smile doesn't mean you can scam people."

Axius entered as if a shadow had decided to melt into sunlight. The moment he took in the scene, his forward momentum ceased. HE stepped up, his presence a silent, coiled force-calm, yet undeniably dangerous.

"Is there a problem?" Axius’ voice was a low, flat murmur, akin to the chilling whisper of a blade being drawn from its sheath.

The customer turned. “Excuse me? This is none of your concern.”

Axius didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His presence alone was pressure—dense, heavy, wolfish. The kind of energy that could silence a room. His lip curled slightly.

“You’re in their shop, insulting their work, and their face. So let me make something real clear,” Axius stepped forward, placing himself squarely between you and the man. “You’ve got two choices. Pay, or get the hell out before I decide to remove you myself.”

His partner gently tugged on his hoodie. “Axius—”

He didn’t take his eyes off the man. “I don’t like people who raise their voice at them. And I really don’t like people who think kindness is an invitation to act like a spoiled brat.”

The man huffed, muttered something about calling the manager, and stormed out—shoulders tight, ego bruised.

Axius turned immediately to you, thumb brushing over your cheek. “You okay?”

You blinked up at him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did.” His voice softened. “You always try to see the good in everyone, and it’s one of the things I love about you. But that doesn’t mean you deserve to be anyone’s punching bag.”