Chapter Text
A soft chime rang through the small bakery’s interior as glass doors slid shut, sealing in the warmth from another frigid January night. “A cold snap is predicted tonight.” The small lady at the counter lectured, as her employee worked in the back, counting inventory for the day.
“That’s what I heard.” Came a muffled reply from the storeroom.
“I suppose it’s about time though. It’s been an unusually warm winter this year.” Cold rolls were place on the counter, as she removed them from inside their display cases, one after the other. The day old bread would be thrown away that evening along with the trash. “I think the coldest we’ve had so far has been only eight degrees below zero!”
The boy taking stock smiled to himself as he weighed the last bag of raisins. Jotting down the number on his spreadsheet and emerging from the dry storage. “It was bound to happen eventually, I guess…” eyes gazing over the wooden bench, running his had across its smooth surface to check for any residual flour from the day’s production. “I mean; we do live in the North. It’s almost mandatory that we freeze to death each year.”
That received a laugh from the older woman in the front as she finished setting out the day’s leftovers. “I’m about to take out the trash, Marco, dear. Is there anything you would like to take home?”
As if on cue, the boy’s eyes rose to the shop window, picking up the faint outline of a figure, leaning casually on a wall across the street. “Definitely.”
It had been a little over two months ago that this routine had started. In early November, Marco had noticed a young man lingering outside the bakery come closing hours each night. He had thought nothing of it at the time; simply assuming the stranger was using the spot as a rendezvous point and walking casually by without discern. It was only after a few consecutive visits, that Marco had begun to pick up on the other’s almost gaunt palidity. He stood on the opposite side of the street, always. Always shifting uneasily from one foot to the other and shooting wary glances up and down the street. His posture seemed defeated, almost, and he had a glazed look to his eyes that vaguely resembled that of an abandoned puppy’s. It was then that Marco began noticing his apparent lack of alternative apparel, and rather disheveled demeanor. As the days went by, Marco’s curiosity grew. Often times he found his mind wandering to that man- wrapped up in a baggy military jacket and holey combat boots, hood pulled forcefully over his unshaven face- as he worked in the back, kneading dough absently, almost anticipating the end of his shift. Eventually he had worked up the nerve, crossing the street one evening, and addressing the man, albeit, nervously.
‘Hey, uh, I work at that bakery, over there…’ he gestured vaguely; aware of the other’s intense stare as he continued anxiously- in all attempts to avoid an awkward silence. ‘-A-anyway… I noticed you kind of come around here a lot in the evenings, and I was uh…’ at that point Marco had felt himself rapidly losing his nerve under the sharp eyes of the other and thrust a box of leftover rolls in his arms. The man’s eyes had widened in surprise as he automatically made to hold the item he had just been given, having no time to reply, as Marco had immediately fled the scene with a hurried ‘Here.’
Somehow that had spurred the beginning of a routine, if Marco could call it that. Every evening, come closing, he would cross the street, box of leftovers in arm and pass it off to the stranger, who mumbled a muted ‘thank you’ in a voice that didn’t quite suit his apparent age. He didn’t know why, but Marco had begun to look forward to these small exchanges with the stranger. He was interesting, he was, different, he was somebody from a world that was not his own. And for some reason Marco found that simple interaction growing to become the highlight of his day. Whoever this destitute transient was had no idea how much of an impact he was making on Marco Bodt’s life.
“Good night, see you tomorrow morning.” Marco smiled, as he stepped out into the steadily cooling air, bracing himself to the cold. It often took a few minutes to adjust to the chill each evening as the days grew cooler, foreshadowing the cold snap predicted in that morning’s forecast. Glancing down the road, Marco’s grip tightened on the cardboard box in his hands, and he stepped out into traffic, crossing the street in a few short strides. His eyes fell on the figure, crouching and huddled in the doorframe of an adjacent shop, grey toque pulled down over his ears, the other half of his face buried beneath the collar of his worn jacket. ‘That will hardly keep him warm through the night.’ Marco thought, as his attention fell on the thin combat boots and ripped denim jeans the stranger was haphazardly sporting. The other had obviously not noticed him, as he was too busy trying to keep from exposing too much skin to the elements, clenching his teeth to the shivers that persistently shook his body. Marco could tell, simply by looking, that he was frozen. The sight tugged at his conscience, and he glanced down at the white cardboard box in his hands. Was this really all he could do? “Hey.” He called softly, earning an edgy jump from the other.
“Fuck, what the hell?” The man snarled, before glancing up, a scowl resting comfortably on his obscured face before flickering quickly into surprise at the identity of his visitor. “Oh, it’s you… sorry, I didn’t…” He muttered his voice trailing off abjectly as he averted his eyes once again to the pavement at his feet. His voice, it didn’t suit him.
“No! No, it’s alright!” Marco laughed, holding up his hands apologetically. “I should have been a little more thoughtful before just sneaking up on you like that. You seemed a little preoccupied.”
The stranger just shot him a sort of questioning look as Marco continued to prattle on nervously, smile still plastered to his face.
“-I mean, even I would be surprised if somebody-“
“I get it.” The other interrupted shortly, cutting the rambling brunette off mid sentence.
Marco snapped his mouth shut, blinking absently a few times as the silence stretched heavily between them. They had rarely ever exchanged much more than a simple ‘thanks.’ before this, and Marco felt himself becoming increasingly embarrassed at his apparent lack of social grace. Marco shifted nervously, glancing down at the frozen pavement, his eyes landing on the pastry box, still clutched in his gloved hands. “Anyway, uh, here.” He held the box towards the other, hoping the offering would buffer the next series of words out of his mouth; “It’s supposed to be getting really cold tonight. Like, really cold… and, you don’t really look like you’re all that prepared. So I was, well, thinking, that maybe- if you wanted- you could stay at my place?” He paused, examining the other’s reaction before continuing, anxiously. “I mean- it’s just- I would feel really bad if you froze to death out here or something…” Marco trailed off, feeling his face grow warm with embarrassment as he ducked his head, feebly glancing towards the other boy.
His eyes were met with a dismayed gape, as it seemed the other took a moment to process the barrage of words that had just been simultaneously dumped at his feet, accompanying his nightly meal of day-old bread. “Excuse me?” He replied weakly, clearly not wanting to believe the words he thought he heard with the ones that were actually spoken.
Marco reddened, and glanced self-consciously down the deserted sidewalk. “I just thought that maybe you’d want somewhere warmer to sleep, seeing as the temperature is already starting to drop. And, well, I just don’t think I could be okay with knowing you were out here freezing if I could do something about it- you know?”
Nodding feebly, the other glanced down at his un-gloved hands, shaking rather violently in the cold, seemingly considering his options. As the silence stretched into what felt, to Marco, like an endless series of weekends, he rapidly became aware of the nagging uncertainty in the back of his mind. ‘What if he’s a mass murderer, or some kind of serial killer? Does he hate you now? Is he going to tell you to get the hell away from him? What if he thinks you’re crazy?’ Marco was pretty certain the first two were unlikely; he didn’t look like a crazy killer. If anything, the concealed stranger crouching on the ground before him looked a little lost and defeated. He looked like he needed and friend, Marco observed. For some reason the thought made his heart beat just a little bit faster, and he didn’t know why.
“So… is that a yes?” He pressed nervously, shoving his hands into jacket pockets and tentatively biting down on his lower lip.