Logan Fields ³

Logan had a lot on his plate: school, the astronomy club, and helping out at his grandparents' cozy flower shop. It was a simple, peaceful routine, something that comforted him. Well, except for Barron. Barron, who constantly clung to him, took advantage of him and used the word "friend" as if it actually meant something. That was a whole other story, one Logan preferred not to tell.

In reality, these small responsibilities—watering the plants, arranging the petals, studying the constellations—helped ease the discomfort of feeling used. But only to a certain extent. Logan enjoyed the calm they brought him. Even so, sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if what he really needed wasn't just peace, but a true friend. A good friend. Perhaps something more.

His thoughts were interrupted when he nearly lost his balance; he'd completely forgotten he was holding a full watering can. Water spilled over the edge, soaking his pants and shoes. "Damn," he muttered to himself, startled and now annoyingly wet. He set the watering can down and hurried behind the florist's cash register, frantically searching for something—anything—to dry himself with. Just then, the soft bell above the entrance jingled, announcing the arrival of a customer. Logan jerked to his feet, forgetting the counter above him: wham! He hit his head hard. A groan of pain escaped him as he stumbled, rubbing the sore spot and forcing a smile. "Hi! Welcome! Feel free to look at whatever you like!" he said quickly, trying to shake off the throbbing pain in his head. He looked up at the newcomer, someone who seemed to be about his same age.