Larius woke up before the alarm.
Not gently.
More like his body decided sleep was no longer useful and just… stopped it.
He stared at the ceiling.
The crack was still there.
He was starting to respect its consistency.
"…fine," he muttered.
Then he sat up.
His body felt different today.
Not worse.
Just aware.
Like every muscle had signed a contract overnight and now wanted to be acknowledged.
He swung his legs off the bed.
Paused.
There it was again.
That faint pressure.
Not headache.
Not pain.
Just awareness.
Like something in him was watching before he even moved.
He ignored it.
For now.
Bathroom.
Water.
Mirror.
His reflection looked the same.
Tired eyes. Slight shadow under them.
Nothing dramatic.
"Good," he said quietly. "Still me."
He wasn't fully sure what that meant anymore.
He got dressed.
Simple clothes. Nothing special.
The kind of outfit that didn't argue back.
Then he stopped at the door.
He had a plan.
That was new.
Not a big plan.
Just… structure.
Something to replace drifting.
"Defend myself," he said under his breath.
Pause.
"…and don't fall apart."
That felt closer to the truth.
He left.
1 — THE BODY PROBLEM
The street was still the same version of itself.
Too normal.
Too consistent.
Like nothing inside it knew he was slowly changing.
He walked without headphones.
No distractions.
Just him and the world.
First stop: a small public park he'd noticed before but never entered properly.
It wasn't large.
Just a patch of green between buildings trying to pretend the city hadn't completely eaten everything.
There were a few people stretching.
Jogging.
Sitting.
Living.
Larius stood near the edge of the path.
"…okay," he said. "Basic fitness."
He tried jogging.
It lasted twelve seconds.
Then his lungs informed him, very politely, that they were not interested in continuing.
He stopped.
Bent over slightly.
Hands on knees.
Breathing too loud in his own ears.
"…this is humiliating," he muttered.
A man nearby gave him a quick glance.
Larius straightened immediately like nothing had happened.
"Warmup first," he reminded himself.
He tried again.
Slower.
Short walk.
Then light jog.
Then walk again.
It felt ridiculous.
No rhythm.
No flow.
Just awkward negotiation with his own stamina.
And then—
The pressure came back.
Not pain.
Not exactly.
A flicker.
He slowed without thinking.
A cyclist passed the exact space he would have stepped into.
Too close.
Larius stopped completely.
Turned his head.
Watched the cyclist continue.
"…that again," he whispered.
His stomach tightened.
He didn't like how easy it felt.
Not magic.
Not clarity.
Just… timing.
He forced himself to breathe slower.
In.
Out.
"Defend myself," he said again.
Quieter this time.
Like it mattered less when spoken softly.
He left the park earlier than planned.
Because staying longer felt like letting something grow unchecked.
2 — SOFIA PEREZ
The flower shop was not something he planned to enter.
He just… stopped in front of it.
Small storefront.
Warm colors.
Soft display of plants near the window.
A sign above the door:
"Sofia's Florals"
He stared at it for a few seconds.
Something in him relaxed slightly.
That annoyed him.
"…fine," he said.
Then went in.
A bell chimed.
Inside smelled like soil and water and something quietly alive.
It was cooler than outside.
Calmer.
Behind the counter stood a woman.
Mid-40s.
Dark hair tied back loosely.
Hands slightly stained with soil.
Focused eyes that looked like they had seen people come in and out of emotional states too many times to be surprised anymore.
She looked up.
"Hola," she said casually. "First time here?"
Larius hesitated.
"…yes."
She nodded like that answer made sense.
"I'm Sofia Perez. You look like you're not here for decoration."
"…I don't know what I'm here for," he admitted.
That made her pause for half a second.
Then she smiled slightly.
Not unkind.
Not pitying.
Just observant.
"That is usually how it starts," she said.
She wiped her hands on a cloth.
"What are you thinking? Plants? Gift? Or existential crisis disguised as shopping?"
Larius blinked.
"…plants."
"Good answer," Sofia said immediately. "Plants don't ask too many questions. They just die if you do things wrong."
That landed somewhere between comforting and alarming.
He walked closer to the counter.
Looked around.
Small flowers.
Pots.
Soil bags stacked neatly.
His eyes stopped on lilies.
"…those."
Sofia followed his gaze.
"Lily seeds or bulbs?"
"…difference?"
She laughed once.
Short.
"We are going to fix your life in stages, then."
3 — THE FAILURE OF SIMPLICITY
Thirty minutes later, Larius was sitting on a small stool near the counter.
A notebook in front of him.
A pen.
And a list.
Sofia was talking.
A lot.
"Soil drainage matters. Light matters. Watering schedule matters. Temperature stability matters—"
He raised a hand slightly.
"…why does everything matter?"
She stopped.
Looked at him.
Deadpan.
"Because plants are alive."
"…that feels unfair."
"It is," she agreed immediately.
Then pointed at the lilies.
"But you still want them."
He didn't argue.
She continued explaining.
He tried to keep up.
His brain kept trying to reduce everything into rules.
Inputs.
Outputs.
Patterns.
But plants didn't behave like that.
And it irritated him more than it should have.
"So I can't just water it?"
Sofia blinked.
"No."
"Why not."
"Because it will die."
"…that's aggressive."
She shrugged.
"That is gardening."
Something small in his chest tightened.
"This is harder than expected," he admitted.
Sofia leaned slightly on the counter.
"You are trying to control something that grows on patience. That is your first mistake."
He frowned.
"…I don't like patience."
"I noticed."
That should've sounded judgmental.
It didn't.
4 — FABIAN PEREZ
A small sound came from the back room.
Footsteps.
Light.
Quick.
A boy appeared.
About ten.
Curious eyes.
Holding a notebook.
He stopped when he saw Larius.
Sofia turned slightly.
"Fabian," she said gently. "This is Larius."
The boy tilted his head.
Then lifted his hands.
Started signing.
Larius blinked.
"…I don't know that."
Fabian paused.
Looked at him like that was mildly disappointing but acceptable.
Then pointed at the notebook.
Sofia nodded.
"He writes too."
Fabian scribbled something quickly.
Turned the notebook.
It read:
"Do you kill plants?"
Larius stared at it.
"…no."
Fabian studied him.
Then nodded like that was a good answer.
He signed something again.
Faster.
More expressive.
Larius squinted.
"…I have no idea what you're saying."
Fabian blinked.
Then sighed dramatically for a ten-year-old.
Sofia laughed quietly behind them.
"He is asking if you are good at keeping things alive."
"…I just said no."
Fabian seemed satisfied anyway.
Then smiled slightly.
That made Larius pause.
Just for a second.
He realized something.
The kid wasn't judging him.
Just… assessing.
Like data.
Simple.
Honest.
That felt easier than most adults.
"…I'll try," Larius said finally.
Fabian nodded like that was the correct outcome.
5 — SOIL, WATER, AND REALITY CHECKS
They moved to a small table.
Sofia brought out supplies.
Pot.
Soil.
Seeds.
Larius stared.
"…this is more complicated than it looks."
Sofia didn't look up.
"It always is."
He tried anyway.
Too much soil.
Too little soil.
Water too fast.
Then too slow.
He stopped.
"…this is absurd."
Sofia leaned in slightly.
"You are overthinking dirt."
"That is not helping."
Fabian laughed quietly.
Larius looked at him.
Then sighed.
"…why is this funny."
Fabian signed something.
Sofia translated:
"He says you look like math is fighting you."
Larius stared at the pot.
"…math is easier."
Sofia nodded.
"Because math does not grow roots."
That hit differently.
He stopped trying to control every step.
Just followed instructions.
Messy.
Imperfect.
Seed in.
Soil adjusted.
Water carefully added.
Done.
He stared at it.
"…that's it?"
Sofia nodded.
"That is the beginning."
He frowned.
"That feels underwhelming."
"Most beginnings are."
Fabian leaned closer.
Looked at the pot.
Then smiled again.
That smile stuck with Larius longer than expected.
6 — THE BREATHING THING
On the way out, Sofia stopped him.
"You look like someone who holds tension too long," she said.
"…is that a diagnosis."
"It is an observation."
She pointed at his chest lightly.
"Breathe slower when things feel fast. Not deeper. Slower."
He frowned.
"That sounds useless."
"It is not."
Fabian waved goodbye behind her.
Small gesture.
Simple.
Larius left with a pot of soil and a headache that was quieter than usual.
7 — BACK TO THE APARTMENT
The apartment greeted him like it always did.
Still.
Predictable.
He placed the plant carefully near the window.
Looked at it.
"…don't die," he told it.
Pause.
"…I'm not good at replacing things."
He sat down.
Opened laptop.
Tried to search LAPD again.
Stopped.
Breath.
Slower.
Sofia's words echoed slightly.
Not deeper.
Slower.
He leaned back.
Closed his eyes.
The pressure in his head flickered.
For a second—
He thought he heard something.
Not words.
Not voices.
Just… structure.
Then gone.
He opened his eyes.
The plant sat there.
Small.
Alive.
"…you better be worth this," he muttered.
Fabian's smile flashed in his memory.
Unexpectedly warm.
He didn't understand why.
But it stayed.
He exhaled.
And for the first time in days—
The silence in his head didn't feel like absence.
It felt like space.
Not empty.
Just not full yet.
And that was enough.