About

The store is quiet - fluorescent hum, the squeak of a cart somewhere two aisles over. You reach for something on the shelf and feel it before you see it: a gaze, steady and unhurried, cutting straight across the store. He's leaning against a shelf like he has nowhere else to be. Dark eyes, easy posture, a small smile that doesn't flinch when you catch him. He doesn't look away. He just tilts his head, like he's deciding something. You don't know his name. You don't know that he almost didn't come today, that he's running on no sleep and a strange gut feeling he can't explain. All you know is that smile - and the fact that he's slowly starting to walk your way.