Tangent 1

A faint haze of dull light seeps through the buildings and walkways above; it is not quite night, but far from morning. The air is still and cold, with barely a noise in it except the faint rushing of water far below and the intermittent rumbling of a train in the distance. This city hardly sleeps, but at this time of day it is almost restful.
It is hardly unusual for me to be walking home at this time of day, but this route is still unfamiliar. The small footbridge I would usually walk across finally collapsed last week - years of rust and wear had taken its toll, so when a car veered off course and slammed into its side it ended up taking the whole bridge with it. Now I have to take the next bridge along, adding almost ten minutes to my walk and turning it from inconvenient to tedious. The new bridge itself wasn't even for pedestrians; it was a big rail bridge high above the river, with a tiny walkway barely one person wide to one side. I was honestly unsure if I should even be allowed to walk on it, but there were no signs or locked gates, and the next bridge was another ten minutes along, so this would have to do.
I walk across this wretched bridge, hoping no train would cross at the same time and shake it unnervingly like one did last night, listening to my headphones and pacing quickly, when I spot a figure on the side of the bridge; frozen, leaning over the rail. I pull off my headphones.
"Excuse me? I'm trying to get through." The path is narrow, too narrow for me to wriggle past them. "I don't want to knock you over the side or something."
"Oh," they reply in an awkward, scratchy voice, "sure, I'm sorry."
They get down from the rail and stand sideways, giving me enough space to hastily walk past. How odd, I think, I've never seen somebody else on this bridge, and at this time of night too. They can't have been in a rush anywhere, and it's not like they were admiring the view, what with how this place looks like shit even when it's not too dark to see anything. Ah well, it's not like it's my business what strangers are up to alone leaning over a bridge in the middle of the night...
Immediately I turn back and see them leaning over the rail again, this time further, one leg over the side and another following when I grab their arm and rip them back onto the path.
"Are you fucking stupid?"
They don't respond, they just blink, their eyes wide and breath ragged.
"At least wait for me to be out of sight before you do something like that, you selfish weirdo."
They start crying, which feels rather pitiful and ridiculous given what they could have just put me through, but I suppose I am being a bit harsh with my words. I kneel down next to them, and get a real look at them for the first time under the dim twilight and distant glow of streetlamps. He looks like a boy, about my age, with tan skin and messy brown hair that goes down to his shoulders. There's something horribly familiar about that, which gives me an unwelcome twang of empathy. He just stares down as his tears fall to the ground.
"What's your name?" I can't think of anything better to ask. The boy shakes his head. "Do you have family here?"
"Yes- no, they..." he trails off, then shakes his head again. He clearly didn't like that question.
"Do you live near here?"
"No. I... I don't really have anywhere, right now."
"What about your friends, do you have anyone you can stay with?"
"No." He still hasn't looked up at me, his voice is getting weaker. "Are you going to take me to the police now?"
"God no, no." I could never, I'd rather leave him on the street than have him taken there, probably dragged into some cell and given scraps to eat before they let him out without the slightest support. This subject is just upsetting him more. I change the topic. "Have you eaten today?"
He looks up for the first time, and shakes his head. There might be some places to get food open even at this time, we'd have to walk a bit but we could find somewhere, but I don't want to do that. I'm exhausted, I'm hungry myself, and I want to go to bed, not pace around town for an hour or two. It is for this reason, and probably some kind of misplaced and egotistical protective instinct, that I say to him "you can stay at mine, for a night, no more. I have food though."
"Really?"
"Yes. I won't ask again."
"Please." He says, meekly.
And so, I walk back with this sad, wretched boy trailing quietly behind me. From that point it almost feels like a normal walk home, down the quiet streets and into the lobby of my apartment, right until the moment I'm outside my door. I feel weirdly self conscious. I haven't had anyone visiting in months, and it's definitely a mess in here. I think I'm worrying over nothing though, this boy was probably trying to kill himself, I don't think he'll be particularly bothered by some clothes on the ground or dishes on the side.
I gingerly twist the handle open and step inside. He doesn't follow though, he just stands outside awkwardly, like a stray cat or something.
"You can come in."
He looks down, maybe a bit embarrassed, and follows me inside. It's not a big place, just a bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen. I suppose that's more rooms than some people have, and the view out the window isn't terrible, I even get enough sunlight to be growing some houseplants. 'Growing' might be a strong word, given the neglect I've been giving them, I don't want to think about it right now.
"You can sit down if you want." I say, gesturing at the tiny excuse for a sofa I have. Gingerly, he sits down, still very quiet. I rummage through the fridge for some food, there's a bit of vegetables and beancurd in sauce, I'd been making large batches recently to save time. Pulling a box out of the fridge, I get to work boiling some water to cook noodles in. As I wait for the water to heat, I look behind to see the boy peering over at my bookshelf.
"See something you like?" I ask.
"I read those when I was a kid." He says, gesturing at a row of a dozen or so books, the 'Master of the Abyss' series which I had thoroughly enjoyed a couple of years ago, enough to keep the whole collection. "I used to have a few of the toys too."
I suddenly feel a little immature. It's not something I usually care about, but I am probably a little old for these books.
"Oh really, what did you think of them?"
"They have a really good premise, I love the whole naval thing, but I feel like the ending didn't quite stick it."
"Right? I was kind of shocked when I got to the last book, it's like the writer didn't have a plan going in."
"I didn't even realise it was the finale at the time, I thought 'there's no way it ends like that, there has to be more'." He giggles a bit, then sighs. "The first half is amazing though, really good character writing."
"Oh my god, yes, the captain?"
"Incredible, she's so callous, but I could never hate her. My favourite was Eliot though."
"From the third book righ? That bounty hunter, the one that always dresses like a girl?"
"He's really cute." The boy looks upwards and squirms a bit.
"Exactly!" I let my excitement get the better of me for a moment. "Everyone I've talked to always says he's really annoying, but I never got why."
When I check the noodles they are soft and limp. Promptly I drain them and put them back into the pan, emptying the box of sauce and vegetables into it. Only a couple of minutes pass before it's ready. I take a pair of my nicer bowls and fill them up before passing one to the boy. He takes a sniff, then cautiously places a mushroom into his mouth, chews for a bit, and takes another mouthful. There's something I want to ask him, but he actually seems to be enjoying my mediocre cooking, which is a rare phenomenon that I do not want to disturb.
Once he's slowed down a bit, I say to him "sorry, I don't think I caught it earlier, what did you say your name was?"
"I didn't say."
"Oh, is it alright if I ask?" A cold look grows over the boy's face when I ask him.
"I don't have one."
"Your parents never gave you one?"
"They did, but it's not mine anymore. I don't want it." I can't claim to understand, but I don't want to probe. How strange.
"What's your name?" He asks.
"Gray."
"Thank you for feeding me, Gray." I feel somewhat patronised, it's not like I did much, just the bare minimum. He must have such low standards.
Once we've both eaten I take the dishes to the side, I don't really feel like cleaning right now. It's very late and I want to sleep, so I bring a sheet and a pillow into the front room.
"You okay sleeping on the sofa?"
"You're letting me sleep here?"
"What, did you think I was going to kick you back out?" When I say this he looks down with a slightly shameful expression. "I'm not that bad, come on."
"Wait," he says just as I'm putting the pillow down, "can I- um... use your shower?"
"Right now?"
"I'm real dirty, I don't want to mess up your sheets." He's not wrong, he does smell like death. I sigh.
"Sure, it's just through that door. Use any of the towels on the rack. Try to be quick though?"
"Thank you, I will." He quickly bounds out of the room.
As the boy went he left behind a coat and jumper, he must have taken them off while I was cooking. He's right, the stink. And they're all ragged. Against my better judgement, I take pity on him again. In my wardrobe I find a shirt I don't particularly care for, and some pyjama bottoms. When I hear the water shut off I knock on the bathroom door.
"I have some fresh clothes here, if you want them?"
"What?" I hear; his voice is ragged, like he's been crying.
"I've got some clothes for you, I'll leave them outside the door."
After a moment he cracks the door open and pulls the clothes through. I'm in the living room when he walks in. I'd tried to find something small but the shirt still looks totally oversized on him. It's a bit cute. He sits next to me on the sofa with his knees cuddled up to his chest.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, thank you."
He looks at me, hiding his hazel eyes behind his long, damp fringe, with an expression that is either grateful or pitiful. I want to be annoyed with him, coming along and ruining my evening like this, but he's definitely having a worse time than me. At the end of his rope, at the mercy of some stranger.
"Gray?"
"Yes?"
"Can..." He looks away again. "Can I hug you?"
I don't think to answer, I don't think at all. My arms just wrap around him and drag him into my chest. He smells nice. At first he seems afraid to reciprocate, but he eventually puts one arm around my back, then another on my waist, and he sobs quietly into my shoulder.