The Boy [mxb]

6

I don't expect to see him now, at the shelter where I'm volunteering with feeding the homeless. But there he is, amidst the thundering herd of dirty, smelly old men. A gem amongst uncouth rabble. He's still wearing my jacket. His body is jostled in the rowdy, raucous crowd, large collar askew and revealing one bony shoulder. Wild, untameable dark hair a shaggy mess, he's wearing the same pyjama pants as last time, barely clinging to his slim hips. Overall, he looks like he just rolled out of bed...all the time. It would be nice to wake up to this.

Our eyes lock across the boisterous room, a bashful smile lighting his face as he stares at me from below his lashes. I swallow, maintaining eye contact. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he looks so delicate and frail, like a strong gust of wind could blow him over. His clothes are dirty and slightly torn, with multiple holes in them. Every swatch of skin I can see is streaked with dirt and little scratches and scars.

The men notice our locked gazes and laugh raucously, pushing him forward.

"Go on, ya little shit," they urge him.

Still holding my gaze, the boy bites his lip demurely.

"Go get yer man, boy."

Unstable on his feet, he's pushed forward until he's an inch away from me, my chin to the top of his head.

"He's smitten with you, ya know," a salt-and-pepper-bearded man confides gleefully.

My smile is rueful and soft, not belying my surprise.

"Oh, really?"

"Every time them sirens go off or them popos walk by he looks for you. That's your jacket, right?"

I nod.

Vulnerable and aloof, the boy sways almost dreamily from side to side like a slender reed in the wind, propped up by the men. He looks fragile and extremely gorgeous. All shy and cute-looking with his huge, grey saucer-eyes and rosy blush... He's got the sweetest face I've ever seen. Really fucking cute.

One push and he falls forward onto my chest, cheeks flaming and gaze lowered bashfully.

His small, slender fingers seek out my palm and curl around my own. Once again I'm stunned, rooted to the spot.

"Hi there," I greet, a little breathless. "Nice running into you again."

He looks up at me and without a word takes my breath away. I'm met with the biggest prettiest eyes and the cutest smile I've ever seen. I smirk softly. "I needed to get my jacket back."

This makes the boy even more shy and he drops his head to my chest, buries his face against my shirt with his nose mashed between my pecs. "But it looks good on you. You can keep it."

The boy beams, looking so happy.

His delicate hands float around my waist, settling on my hips in a gentle hug. Not expecting the gesture, I barely suppress a gasp. I never experience soft, delicate hands like these in my line of work as a single man, and my body reacts.

"Get a room," someone catcalls, followed by more jeers and laughter. I ignore them.

"Are you hungry?" The boy doesn't say no. "Can I take you over there?" I point to the long table where other volunteers are doling out servings and homeless people are lining up for their portion. Only in California is the homeless problem worse than in New York. Shitty governors will do that.

He nods, so I wrap an arm around his waist and guide him over to the table, my jacket still clutched in his arms. I wish I could stay with him and perhaps coax him to talk to me, but I'm here to help with the food. I make sure to pile his plate to heaping, and then can do nothing more than watch as he sits down at a table all by himself and digs into his meal with gusto.