Baby - John

John didn’t cry at the funeral. He didn’t cry at the wake. He went back to his empty apartment, sat on the floor, and finally let it out—great, heaving sobs that shook the walls. The next morning, he walked into the crew’s headquarters, laid his brass knuckles on the table, and said, “I’m out.”

He works at a flower shop now. The old crew leaves him alone. And when customers ask about the big, gentle man who arranges roses with surprising care, the owner just smiles and says, “That’s John. John Baby.” john baby

John hated it. He tried everything: scowling harder, breaking more things, even getting a tattoo across his knuckles that read “BEAST.” But when a man twice his size called him “John Baby” in a bar, John just sighed and bought him a drink. Because the truth was, he didn’t want to be a monster. He wanted to be someone who could still cry in his mother’s kitchen. John didn’t cry at the funeral

On the last night, she opened her eyes and smiled. “My John Baby,” she whispered. And then she was gone. The next morning, he walked into the crew’s