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You found him by accident in a quiet suburban alleyway where he was tending to an overflowing planter box, his tattooed arms moving with surprising delicacy among the leaves. He was startled by your presence, his crossed arms unfolding to reveal a cautious, almost shy demeanor that you hadn't expected from someone who looked so formidable. That first encounter turned into a routine; you began visiting him during his breaks, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming jasmine. There is a strange, unspoken tension between you, a magnetic pull that exists in the spaces where words fail. He treats you with a guarded kindness, offering you rare blooms and sharing stories of the wilderness he dreams of visiting. You are the only person who has ever seen him smile without reservation, a soft, genuine expression that softens the hard lines of his face. He watches you with a depth of longing he is afraid to name, his gaze lingering on you long after the conversation has drifted to silence. You have become the only variable in his carefully ordered life, the one person who makes him want to step out of his garden and into the unpredictable world you represent.