The Stray

Part 2 - The Man Who Smells Like Food

The link:  https://i.pinimg.com/564x/34/62/6d/34626dc48c74142c688999e55b499401.jpg

Enjoy!

~ Nezumi

The Man Who Smells Like Food

It was a nice sunny day and the people milled about in the streets going about their business. A few children laughed as they ran by where I leaned against the side of an apartment building, drinking from a bottle of water I just bought from a stand.

I hadn't had a fight in a week, and for once I wasn't too badly bruised. My back is still a little sore from sleeping on the abandoned mattress I had claimed as mine. It was as thin as a board and hard as one but it's better than nothing. I've pretty much made it clear to any other street rats that it was mine so no one else tries and take it for their own.

Closing my eyes I let my head lean back against the warm brick behind me, taking a sip on my water. I halt my sipping when a positively heavenly smell meets my senses. Slowly I pry open my eyes and search around for the delicious scent.

My eyes quickly hone in on a man who is passing by. In his arms, under a plastic bag, I could tell something delicious resided. I don't pay attention at all to the man's looks or facial feature or anything else so unimportant, I just examine the bag that is quickly walking away.

It was walking away and I followed. I made sure to keep at least half a block between me and the man as I followed, not wanting him to catch on.

I was delighted when he headed up into his own apartment building. He lives on the first floor. It would be easy to slip in and grab it; the man shouldn't even notice.

I was even luckier when he set his bag down to go through his key chain looking for the right one. I crept up behind him, low to the ground and out of his peripheral vision.

He really shouldn't have noticed me, I've done this before and no one ever has.

I froze as my fingers, inches from the boxed meal, are stopped when a leg is put purposefully in front of the bag. Looking up I met tired eyes on a pale face.

Well, that didn't go as planned.

What also didn't go as planned is the man removing his leg to instead slide the bag across the floor in my direction with the toe of his boot.

I blinked and blinked again, looking between the bag and the man several times in confused surprise. I suddenly felt guilty for not examining the man before.

He has long black hair and black clothes and boots. He looks exhausted and also like he could see into my soul with his dark eyes.

The eyes didn't leave me for a second as I pushed aside the handles of the plastic bag and popped open the styrofoam box within. The strong, warm scent of freshly cooked chicken all seasoned up made my mouth water and eyes light up in glee.

I hadn't had a hot meal since I got kicked out.

I glanced up again sharply when I heard the rattle of keys. He was just opening his door.

Deciding I better book it before he decided he was actually hungrier than he thought I popped the lid shut and tied the plastic handles tightly shut so there was no chance of anything spilling.

"Kid."

My head jerks up again along with me flinching back full bodily.

"My doors open as long as you don't steal from me," he says, voice neither kind nor cold, just neutral. Once he had seen the message had got through to me he stepped back into his apartment and closed the door, leaving it unlocked.

Stunned, I quietly take the food and leave, thoughts swirling. Perhaps I could spare the man a visit or two.

~Time Skip~

I did spare the man visits, and more than one or two.

The first visit was two weeks later in the dark of night while I nursed a bloody nose, trying to think of some way to stop the bleeding, it occurs to me that a certain man probably has at the least, toilet paper.

And that how I ended up with toilet paper on my face, passed out on a kitchen floor with a tabby cat fast asleep on my chest. Who knew a tiled floor could be so comfy when you're tired?

It was strange to wake up to the smell of cooking. That hadn't happened since I was just a toddler and my mother was still single and happy. Giving a great yawn I rubbed open my eyes and am greeted with the sight of the man going about making breakfast, and looking positively whipped, with giant bags under his eyes that are purple and inflamed.

I don't bother to get up from my spot on the floor as the man just steps over and about me as he makes the meal. He probably had practice stepping over things anyways, from dodging the seven cats he owns.

As he goes about his business I go about mine, pealing off the toilet paper that had stuck to my blood as I slept. With careful fingers I explore my noise despite the bruising, making certain it wasn't broke.

"Kid."

This time I didn't flinch. I look up at him, expecting to be kicked out, having used up my allotted time to stay.

"If you wash off your face and hands I'll let you eat."

I feel my eyes widen. Just that to get a meal?! I'm up and in the bathroom before he can repeat himself, happily scrubbing my skin clean in the mirror. My skin had come to the point where it looked naturally brown from all the dirt and grime. But after a very thorough wash, my face is once again its pale self with a sprinkle of freckles and big green eyes gazing out. My hair, that should be green, is a grubby shade of black from the dirt and I wish I had the time to wash it.

I look down at my clothes and suddenly feel like I've gotten my dirt all across the man's things. I look revolting, and I probably stink too.

Returning from the bathroom I see a plate sitting on the ground where I had lain, a plastic top over it keeping it from the cat's. The man himself is leaning against the counter, plate in one hand chopsticks in the other.

I sat myself down crosslegged, taking up the plate in one hand chopsticks in the other as the man had. I wish I could have scrambled eggs every day. Warm, fluffy, and with a little salt, it sent my tastebuds on a flavour induced high.

"Slow down, kid," the man grunts at me after swallowing a bite. "You're going to choke."

Not wanting to risk him taking away my food I do so, though only by a bit. I could hear him rolling his eyes from where I sat.

Once the man was finished with the food he put in the sink, saying, "Put your plate in here when you're done." I just nod, mouth too full to respond with words.

The man goes into the small living room and plops down on a beige couch and opens up a laptop on his legs, starting to click away on the keyboard. Ignoring him I continue to eat, enjoying the sensation of a full stomach. I felt disappointment fill my chest though when I realized I was struggling to fit in the last bites of my portion. My stomach had shrunk a lot and now I felt overstuffed for eating so much.

I comforted myself by thinking that while I felt slightly sick now I wouldn't be hungry for a long while.

I carefully deposited the plate where the man that already had several dishes stacking up. Seems he hasn't had time to do them lately. 

The thought made me pause. The nice man had welcomed me into his home at any time and had just fed me. Cleaning his dishes is the least I could do, and it's not like I haven't done dishes before.

Motivation in mind I turned on the tap and began. It took just minutes for me to efficiently wash and dry them and set them on the counter in stacks and groups. Akashi had never liked the noise of loud running water so I've mastered the skill of doing them speedily.

Finished with my small token of gratitude I wiped my wet hands on my shirt before I turned and walked out the front door. I didn't spare the man a glance nor did I say a word in parting or thanks. I was silently afraid he wouldn't except the words or I would see something I didn't want to if I looked at him, like disgust, pique, or ire.

So walked out the door and didn't look back, even though I knew I would return.