Picked Up By a Stray

The diner was mostly quiet: a gentle song of inaudible chatter hung in the air, the generic clink of silverware and glasses, the vague noise of traffic which filtered through every time the door was opened.

The waitress moved languidly; behind the kitchen doors, the cooks were bustling half-heartedly. Everything was shining with a sticky golden tone, a painting of reds and oranges visible through the windows, the sunset slowing down time.

In one of the booths, the center one in a row by the right side of the diner, two young men sat facing each other, both anxious, nervous, in their own way: the taller one, with the dark aura of different shades of grey and self-imposed routines of strictness and diligence, was clenching every muscle he could recognize, from his bitten down jaw to his tightly curled toes - a picture of constriction, pained uncertainty; the other one, slimmer in size, fidgeted openly, freely, limbs ever-shifting with the unconscious and paradoxical confidence of energetic nerves.

They stole looks at each other, little hesitant glances, wandering eyes never quite settling. Still, they felt extremely engaged, as if in the middle of an overwhelming conversation, and each time they looked away was perfectly justifiable by the disconcerting intensity which weighed every fleeting glance.

«Know what you're ordering yet?»

Came the voice of the taller one - a bit too loud at first, and the diner rose collective eyebrows, from the tables to the curtains to the clients, until he lowered his tone accordingly.

«The pancakes. And a chocolate milkshake. I'm considering the waffles.»

The other one replied, brown eyes zooming in on the chart spread between them.

«From experience, I'd choose the pancakes.»

He advised while studying his fingers intently, brow furrowed like each word costed him.

«Oh.»

An absent hand gestured wildly at the chart, an amused twitch of lips.

«I meant, the waffles in addition to the pancakes.»

The taller man's eyes widened in surprise; then, he started laughing, a disbelieving little thing that relieved the tension set in his shoulders.

«I'm the one paying, you know?»

«I should think so. You've seen my current situation.»

His brown eyes glinted, a lopsided smile to match.

«But, since you invited me here, which means, if I know anything about the human kind, that you have some seriously weird motive up your sleeve, I'm pretty sure you can pay a bit extra.»

«I don't...»

The tension returned, wicked, snickering to itself. A second pair of brown eyes, this one darker still, turned from confused to apprehensive to terribly sincere.

«I don't have a... motive. I'm Derek, by the way. My name, I mean.»

«Yeah, got that.»

Another laugh, softer this time.

«I'm Alex.»

The diner rippled with a string of warm golden energy. The clinks of silverware and plates increased, a generic cheer of glass and ceramic.

«So»

Alex prompted as Derek shifted to call the waitress.

«Why did you start talking to me?»

Derek opened his mouth, let an instant of unbridled fear wash over his eyes, then readily, professionally, schooled his expression as the waitress, in the slow pace designed for timeless diners at sunset, approached them.

«It's a serving of pancakes, a chocolate milkshake and some waffles. Oh, and a small black coffee, please.»

The waitress flashed a smile and left in the same syrup rhythm. Derek turned his head to be promptly blinded by an incredulous smile.

«You ordered the waffles.»

Alex said with a note of awe in his voice.

«You asked.»

Derek responded, seemingly alarmed.

«Didn't answer my question, though.»

He pointed out, smile widening when Derek only sputtered, eyes flashing quickly and a flush in his neck.

«I just thought you might want a proper meal, is all.»

He answered eventually, jawline tightly set.

«I'm not starving. And I know you know that - you've seen me eating when you walk past my spot.»

«Yes, well... Must not be all that pleasant eating on the floor. The streets are getting colder.»

«Just try to think of it as a hipster picnic of sorts.»

Alex smiled, hands brushing air as if to discard the topic. Then, his face dropped, and he asked softly:

«Were you curious?»

«Curious?»

Derek repeated.

«Yes. It isn't all that uncommon, you know? I get it. Homeless people are interesting, from a voyeuristic point of view. Finding out what went so spectacularly wrong in their lives.»

A look of understanding crossed Derek's eyes, to be instantly replaced with an apologetic look.

«No, no. It wasn't- not that. It's just...»

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh of martyrdom.

«You read these books. I noticed. They- they're good books.»

«You approached a homeless guy because you have similar literary tastes?»

«I- no.»

Derek tore his eyes away from Alex's amused expression, focusing on the red and orange sky outside.

You, you have nice shoes.»

«Dude, stop.»

Alex's laugh broke the quiet of the diner.

«You're just burying yourself deeper.»

His gaze softened, then.

«I went to jail for a while.»

Derek quirked an eyebrow.

«Marijuana possession. Illegal and all that, I know, but damn it was good. Not that I was a frequent , you know? It was an... unfortunate coincidence. When I got back out, I realized there was nothing waiting for me.»

«It's not that bad. I had a job for a while - didn't stick, but got me enough money to get a subscription for a shitty gym, which gets me clean and fit. People are friendly, they give me enough money for food and blankets. I buy those books you like at a cheap shop by the street. Really not a bad life scenario, considering how bad it could have been.»

Derek nodded slowly, his eyes settling weakly on Alex's.

«Guess it's tough getting a job with the record.»

He smirked lightly.

«Yeah, not exactly a breezy affair. But it's not impossible either. I look good - someone ought to give me a chance, eventually. I'm just taking some time to figure things out, you know?»

Again, Derek only nodded, to which Alex broke in a wide grin.

«You're trying not to say anything stupid, aren't you?»

Derek laughed in return, scratching an eye with the back of his hand.

«I'm not sure what I can say that isn't awkward or somehow disrespectful.»

«This is nice, though. Thank you.»

Alex said quietly, staring at the table, flailing limbs settling nervously.

«You haven't even tried the food yet.»

An eyebrow was raised.

«No, I didn't mean the food. The company.»

«Oh. Yes. This is nice.»

The tension still snickered in his shoulders, but he batted it away stubbornly as he said:

«You're nice, too.»

To his surprise, Alex simply blushed and muttered something unintelligible under the golden clicking of the diner. With the softest smile on his lips, and instead of any other of the myriad of things he wanted to say, Derek settled for the most inconsequential one:

«So, I noticed you went through Fahrenheit 451 pretty quickly. Loved it, or dropped it?»

«Dude!- »