Chapter Text
Tommy nervously fiddled with the newspaper article in his hands.
The thin paper had definitely seen better days – in fact, between soot stains, water and wrinkles it was nearly impossible to make out the printed letters anymore. Not that it mattered much, since Tommy couldn’t read. He had the words imprinted in his mind, though: ‘Hard-working young man wanted as stable boy. Work includes feeding and grooming horses, also cleaning. Room and board included. Apply to Mrs Harrison at Clayton Estate, Logstedshire.’
Sam had read the ad to him several times, until Tommy could recite the words in his sleep. They were his ticket to a better future, his only chance after he’d lost his employment at the factory. This had to work, it just had to. Tommy didn’t have an alternative if he didn’t get the job. He didn’t even have the money for a train ride back to L’manburg, having spent every penny he owned on the ticket to Logstedshire.
Beneath him, the carriage rumbled on the train tracks. The hard wooden bench let him feel every little bump and he was sure his bottom was one giant bruise at this point. The pain was nothing he wasn’t accustomed to but he still couldn’t help envying the second and first class passengers. It was his only pastime while sitting here for hours on end – imagining having a cushioned seat, a roof over his head and being sheltered from the harsh wind and rain. Well, that and dreaming about getting the job, working as a stable boy in a manor surrounded by nature, even getting guaranteed meals and somewhere to sleep. Tommy hadn’t eaten in two days and he’d certainly never seen real nature. He’d also lost his place in the room he’d shared with Sam and three others after not being able to pay his part of the rent anymore, sleeping on the street the last few days until the train was scheduled to depart.
A particularly thick bout of smoke from the locomotive suddenly forced him and the dozen other passengers of the third class coach to descend into hacking coughs. Fuck. Tommy’s eyes began to water and his lungs felt like they were on fire. He desperately leaned forward, instinctively hoping that the air was cleaner near the floor, but to no avail. Black surrounded them and he couldn’t see anything while he heaved for air, only to get more ash into his mouth.
The smoke was definitely the worst part of taking the train, he decided. He hated it. It reminded him of his childhood, when he’d been forced to work as a chimney sweep by the orphanage to pay for his stay there. He still had nightmares about the steep, narrow shafts he’d had to climb up, the sweep master sometimes lighting a fire under him if he wasn’t fast enough or froze in panic. There had always been the fear of getting stuck, the fear of suffocating in the dark, all alone. He’d been present several times when it had happened to others, the adults simply getting the body of the boy out after he hadn’t come back down.
Tommy balled his hands to fists, nails digging into his palms, still coughing. The newspaper clipping crinkled even more but he didn’t pay it any mind. It was fine. He was fine. He wasn’t there anymore, he wasn’t stuck, he hadn’t worked as a chimney sweep for years. He was on the train to Logstedshire. He wouldn’t die, he was on his way to a glorious future! Everything would be alright. He was Tommy Big Man Innit, the people at the estate should be grateful he decided to grace them with his awesome presence. Definitely. Everything would be fine.
After a few minutes, the smoke finally cleared a bit, though not enough to see more of the surrounding scenery than blurry schemes – which was as good as the air would get here. Tommy righted himself after his coughing fit slowly abated, arms around his middle. His chest burned and there might be blood on his trousers, though that could also be soot. They were so dirty it was hard to tell in the dim light. It wouldn’t the first time he’d hacked up blood, in fact, he’d fought with aching lungs and breathlessness as long as he could remember, though it had gotten worse in the past few years. He was pretty sure it was due to inhaling so much soot in the chimneys and cotton dust at the factory, and he couldn’t change that, so he just chose to ignore it. Another thing he was a master at after doing it his whole life. Sadly, it was nothing special, just the coping mechanism of every labouring child out there, so it wouldn’t get him any extra credit with his potential employer.
The train made a sharp turn without warning and Tommy was roughly thrown against his neighbour, a tired looking woman with a baby in her lap. He wheezed but said nothing as the same thing had happened the countless other instances they changed direction and apologizing had gotten old after the fourth time. The baby had been wailing for the whole journey, anyways – seriously, the thing must have lungs the size of a house, was it even breathing in air? – so him landing on top of it didn’t make anything worse. The woman didn’t even bat an eye and he was able to heave himself back after a few seconds, same as the others who had been thrown around. No one spoke. They were all simply too exhausted.
Tommy tried to make himself as comfortable as possible again, which didn’t mean much, and continued to fiddle with the paper, staring out into the smoke-covered landscape. Would there be trees? Clean rivers? Colourful flowers? Hills covered in green grass? It sounded like a fairytale. He’d only ever known the dirt-filled streets and factories of the city, being an orphan among hundreds of others, working since he could walk, stumbling along in a state of perpetual exhaustion, clothes ripped and filthy. That was reality.
But Sam had told him stories of the time when he’d worked as a groom at one of the country manors, before he’d lost his arm to an inflamed wound. Apparently, the air was always clean there, the sky blue and there would be stars at night, too many to count. Tommy had never seen the stars. There were no open sewers running down the streets, no beggars slumped over in corners, no soot-stained houses. Instead, forests and fields and meadows and pastures dotted the landscape as far as you could see. There would be butterflies and majestic birds and deer and sheep and cows. Tommy couldn’t wait to get off the train, to see all these things for himself, to finally realise he’d actually escaped the death trap that was the city.
Sam had also been the one to find the newspaper ad. He’d been lucky enough to receive basic education as a child, having been taught to read and write by his father. When they were on their way back from church on Sundays, Tommy would always steal a newspaper and they would settle down on the bed they shared and Sam would read interesting articles to him. It was Tommy’s favourite time of the week.
Or it had been.
The day Sam gave him the ripped out article was also the last day he saw the man. Tommy had lost his job a week prior and been unable to pay his due for the room, not having found new employment that fast. He’d just been kicked out, having nothing to take with him except the clothes he was wearing, and had tried to ignore the sad, pitying expression Sam regarded him with. He’d been close to tears but kept them back – he was a big man, almost thirteen, and big men didn’t cry, no matter how desperate their situation was.
Sam, who worked at the same factory as Tommy and earned the same wage as him – children and disabled people being paid less than normal adults – hadn’t been able to help him, even if he wanted to. The weekly money was barely enough for rent on good days and it was impossible for him to pay Tommy’s part as well. Instead, he’d hugged him and gave him a few scraps of bread (Tommy knew Sam had gone to bed hungry that night) as well as the newspaper ad, reading it out for him. “I know you can do it, Tommy,” he’d said as a farewell afterwards, “Just apply there. Find a better life. You’re tough and smart, you’ll make it. I believe in you.”
Tommy would deny it forever, but maybe, just maybe, he had cried at that. No one had ever told him they believed in him, like Tommy was worth more than the cheap labour he could do. He hadn’t wanted to leave Sam; had maybe even thought of him as a father in some hidden, repressed part of his mind. It had probably been the worst day of his life and Tommy had had many shitty days, so that really said something.
In the end, though, he’d had no choice, leaving Sam and newspapers on Sundays and the cramped room that was home behind.
An especially chilly blast of wind swept over the carriage and Tommy shivered, ripped out of his thoughts. His thin shirt did nothing against the cold and rain and he’d been drenched after the first hour. Tommy would really like to kill the fucker that thought it was a good idea to build the third class carriages without walls and a roof. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to afford it otherwise, but he ignored that fact. Stupid motherfucker. Bitch. Asshole. Son of a-
A shrill whistle sounded out over the noise of the train. Tommy instantly perked up, as well as a few others. He knew what that meant, having experienced it a few times now over the duration of the journey: The next stop was near. And if he was to believe the worker at the train station back in L’manburg, this was his stop, seeing as a town called Pogtopia had been the last one. Finally. He couldn’t really feel his toes and fingers anymore and his ass hurt like hell. Being on steady ground, maybe even sitting down on soft, real grass, sounded like heaven. Though he couldn’t afford to take a too long break after getting off the carriage – he had to find the Clayton estate as fast as possible and hope that they would take him in. Hopefully this Mrs Harrison didn’t mind soot as his clothes were black at this point and he didn’t own any spare ones. Maybe he’d find a creek to at least wash it off a bit before he went there? Tommy really hoped so. And his sore and scratchy throat wouldn’t mind a drink either.
A few minutes later, the train began to slow down, metal groaning, breaks squeaking and sparks lighting up the smoke at the carriage’s sides. Tommy carefully leaned away from them as he’d learned to do after his shirt almost caught fire the first time it happened. He’d like to arrive in Logstedshire untoasted, thank you very much.
Although he was glad to get off this metal contraption, now that they were almost there his heartbeat picked up. Suddenly, the nervousness he’d successfully ignored until now returned tenfold. What- what if it didn’t work? What if they chose someone else? What if he didn’t look clean or strong enough? Oh Prime, what if he got stuck here with no way back? Would he starve? Freeze to death? Get robbed by wood bandits like in the stories, left to bleed out on some dirt path? Get eaten by werewolves?
No. Tommy refused to think about that. It wouldn’t happen. The Claytons would hire him and all would be fine. He was a young man (though that didn’t mean he wasn’t a big one, too, of course), he was hard-working and even though he’d never cared for a horse in his life, he was sure it couldn’t be that hard. If anything, he was willing to learn fast. Really, he was willing to do anything if it meant having a job again. Even the thought of bread made his stomach ache, and he yearned for a place to sleep that wasn’t a dirty alley where he had to be afraid of getting mugged (or worse) every damn second.
The train came to a stop with a final squeak, more smoke sweeping over them. Tommy was sent into yet another coughing fit. And yep, that was blood on his hand right there. Fuck this shit. He was stronger than some dumb illness, though the sooty air really wasn’t helping. Looking away from the red drops he wiped his hand on his trousers quickly. Maybe it would go away if he refused to acknowledge it. (Tommy had much experience with this approach. It was the standard cure for everything in the slums of L’manburg.)
Another thrilling sound told them it was time to depart. Tommy shoved all negative thoughts away and got up on unsteady legs.
Everything would work out. Sam believed in him, after all.
Tommy stared in awe at the landscape around him while he walked. His neck had even started to hurt with how much he turned it this and that way, soaking in the sight. He couldn’t believe how much plants there were, how much green. Sure, the weather wasn’t that great – it still hadn’t stopped raining, the sky was grey instead of blue and every other minute a gust of wind would blow his wet clothes against his skin, making him shiver even more – but he was too engrossed in the scenery to really take note of it. There was just so much to see. So many new things.
Just as Sam had told him, there were countless fields with plants Tommy couldn’t name, interspersed by grassland on rolling hills. The harsh wind made it look like water sometimes, sending ripples across it. And the air. Holy shit, Tommy hadn’t known how shitty the air in L’manburg was until he’d arrived here. There wasn’t a trace of soot in it, instead it tasted fresh and clean. It smelled like earth and grass. (And also a bit like shit – Sam had told him once that farmers distributed animal excrements on the fields to make them grow better, but that sounded ridiculous. Tommy was convinced at this point that it was just standard for air to smell like that.) His lungs felt better than they had in months. He took deep breaths to savour it, spirits high despite his exhaustion. He’d made it to Logstedshire! Now he just had to find the estate and get the job.
It hadn’t been easy to get directions. The man working at the local train station had closed up right after the train departed as the next train would not come by until next week, Logstedshire being too small for anything else. The few people who’d departed with him didn’t know the way either or ignored him, and he wouldn’t even start on the pricks in the village. Most had only taken one glance at his skinny form, dirty face and torn clothes and turned away, some even glared outright. No one had talked to him. It was something he was accustomed to, the city was the same, but it had still stung as he’d hoped the countryside would be different.
Thankfully, after an hour of aimlessly walking around, he’d met a boy his age that took pity on him. He’d set the buckets of water he was carrying to the ground, introduced himself as Tubbo and not only explained how to get to the manor but also were Tommy could find a stream to clean up a bit and drink from. Tommy would have hugged him right then and there but he’d been sure Tubbo wouldn’t appreciate getting soot on his clothes, so he’d settled on thanking him profusely. The other had only waved him off, then gripped the buckets again and said his goodbyes, apparently not having much time. Tommy really hoped he hadn’t been punished for being late.
So, here he was, a bit cleaner than before, not as thirsty and on his way to the awesome Mrs Harrison who would surely hire him. He’d even washed his hair as good as possible, the blonde colour visible again, and tried to get the tangles out with his fingers. The newspaper article was in his pocket though it was likely just mush at this point. It didn’t matter, he was almost there! Tubbo had said to follow the dirt road until he came to an intersection with a big tree on the side, where he had to veer left. From then on it shouldn’t take long until the manor came into view. As Tommy had reached that crossing a few minutes ago, he was in high hopes of getting out of the rain soon. The thought helped in ignoring his stinging feet and urge to just lay down where he was and sleep for a bit.
Thankfully, Tubbo had been right. After Tommy had dragged himself up a slightly steeper hill, the Clayton’s house became visible in the distance. And what a house it was. Tommy had seen great buildings in the city before, of course, if only from a distance (filth like him wasn’t allowed near the richer districts), but this- this was another league entirely. Holy fucking shit.
He stood there for a second, openly gaping at the giant manor with its broad stone facade. Even in the low, dreary light it was an impressive sight: Turrets and huge windows and stone patterns created a beautiful image completed by dark, towering double doors that must be the main entrance. In front of it a beautiful fountain spewed water into the air, though Tommy was unable to make out any details from his vantage point. (Why the hell would you want even more water around during this fucking downpour? Rich people.) Emerging from behind the main house, stone walls in the same light colour enclosed a large area in front of it that did not only house a perfectly kept and immaculate green lawn (it was so perfectly green and flawless that Tommy wondered if it was even real grass) but also smaller side buildings of which one was probably the stable. A broad gravel road reached from an iron-wrought gate in the middle of the wall to the entrance doors. It was lined by (of course perfectly uniform looking) bushes and split in two around the fountain before coming back together, thus forming a (perfect, what else?) circle around it.
In short: It was opulent, extravagant and fucking excessive. Tommy – who’d shared a tiny room and two beds with four other people, not to mention the situation in the orphanage before that – couldn’t even imagine how much space must be in there. And it all belonged to one family. What the hell did you even do with so many rooms? Sure, the house staff had to live somewhere as well, but there still would be so much empty space left. Rich people really were crazy. Not for the first time, Tommy wondered if too much money made you lose it. What did you need all that for? It was so ... wasteful. Unnecessary. (Of course, Tommy would never admit that out loud where the Claytons or Mrs Harrison could possibly hear him.)
Still, it would be nice working there for sure. Tommy would be part of this estate, part of the opulence. He would live there, seeing the perfect green grass everyday, hearing birds chirping and bees buzzing and breathing in the clean air. Instead of deadly machines he’d be working with real animals – majestic horses! – and caring for those and cleaning out the stables couldn’t be more taxing than standing in front of a weaving machine for fourteen hours straight. Also, being inattentive for a few seconds due to exhaustion probably wouldn’t cost you a finger. Tommy glanced down at the stump on his hand. He’d lost his right pinkie during his second week at the factory, having involuntarily fallen asleep for a moment. What came after that was blurry in his memory due to pain and shock. There had been so much blood, though. He shuddered, balling the hand to a fist and hiding the old injury. He didn’t like to think about it. He really, really hoped he’d never have to work in a factory again.
His excitement and nervousness didn’t get better from then on. The closer the manor came, the more anxious Tommy got. That paired with the cold and his wet clothes meant he was badly shaking when he finally arrived at the embellished iron gate. There wasn’t a dry spot on him as the rain hadn’t ceased and every gust of wind felt like knives of ice slicing over his skin. Hopefully he would be allowed to dry in front of a fireplace before he had to start working. And maybe even a small bite to eat? He was so hungry and the water he’d drunk had only slightly stalled the feeling.
Tommy came to a halt directly in front of the gate, suddenly uncertain how to proceed. There was no one there, the lawn behind it empty, probably due to the bad weather. He hugged himself while looking around. Should he ... just open it? Or wait until someone came by? What if he wasn’t even supposed to enter through here and the servants had another entrance? What if he already fucked up here? Was he supposed to know where to go? Prime, he felt so out of place. He repressed the sudden urge to cry. He’d come this far, a stupid gate wouldn’t break him down now. Tommy took another deep breath of clean air, trying to think.
Surely, there was another entrance at the back for the workers? Tommy didn’t really know how rich people’s houses worked but this gate seemed too fancy for normal servants. His bones ached at the thought of having to walk around the whole structure, but he was too afraid to just enter through here unprompted. So, looking for another way in it was. He swallowed, grit his teeth and began walking again. Sam believed in him.
The woman in front of Tommy looked like she hadn’t laughed in decades. Deep wrinkles lined her tight face as she stood in the open back door, looking down at him with open disdain. Her left hand never left the door like she was prepared to shut it any second. The long, black dress she was wearing under a white apron only strengthened the strict impression she was giving off; her hair firmly bound back under an equally white cap.
Tommy stood in front of her like a scolded child, gaze fixed on the ground. He was close to tears, hands wringing in front of him, palms sweaty despite the cold. He felt horrible, tired and sore and hopeless. Pathetic. He’d been so hopeful when he’d found the servant’s entrance and the maid opening it after he’d knocked had been so nice, but now ...
“-look like a dirty, drowned raccoon! I really don’t know what Clementine was thinking, getting me instead of just sending you back to the gutter you came from! I’ll have to have words with her about that,” Mrs Harrison continued her tirade, tone dripping with disgust. Tommy’s eyes burned, the muddy ground blurring slightly. He should never have come here. What had he been thinking? He was good for nothing, certainly not fit to work at such an estate. Sam had been wrong. Tommy was worthless and would never get anywhere in life.
“Now scram, before I call for someone to make you! We’re not a charity here!”
Tommy swallowed before daring to look up, quickly wiping away the tears. He’d never felt so horrible in his whole life. “Ma’am, please, I’m a strong and reliable worker, I promise! I don’t even need to be paid, room and board is enough for me! I don’t need much sleep and I-“
“Boy, let me make this clear to you,” Mrs Harrison interrupted him sharply, “Nothing you say will make me reconsider hiring you. Prime! It’s obvious you’re some street rat from the city and we have standards here! What, did you really think someone like you could work here?” She laughed, short and harsh. Tommy bit his tongue so hard it started to bleed, blinking fast to stop crying. “The position is already taken, anyway, but even if it wasn’t, I’d do it myself before I let some dirty urchin sully the reputation of the Claytons!”
It was like a blow to the chest. Tommy staggered backwards, looking at her in shock. Despite the woman’s words, there’d still been the small, small hope somewhere within him that he could somehow change her mind. “What?” The position was already taken? He felt like breaking down and never getting up. “But I- I was on the train! It only stops here once a week and the ad is only five days old! And I didn’t see anyone else walking from the train station to here! How-“
Mrs Harrison snorted, cutting him off. “Stupid boy. The train isn’t the only way to get here. We hired a fine, reliable and clean young man two days ago. He’s from Pogtopia and came here by foot. His father is a farmer there who delivers his produce to us once in a while. He also has experience with horses. That is the kind of person we want for the job. Not a poor orphan from the city slums! And now, go, or I will have someone do it! I don’t like to repeat myself!”
It was over. Tommy felt like he was falling. He desperately searched his mind for anything, anything to say. He would die if he didn’t get hired here. He didn’t have the money to return to the city, to find work there. And the villagers had made it clear that they didn’t want anything to do with him, though he doubted they had the resources to hire him, anyways.
“Please, ma’am, I understand, but I came here with my last money. If I could only work here for a few days, to earn enough to go back to L’manburg, I’ll do anything, I don’t care what-“
“Now, you should have thought about that before coming here! It’s certainly not my problem! As I said, I’d sooner die than letting someone like you step any further onto this property! We’re not a charity for street rats! Prime knows they would start to swarm us like locusts if I gave you anything, wanting more and more and draining us dry!” She lifted her free arm – the other still on the door – and pointed into the direction of Logstedshire, “And now – go! I won’t say it again!”
And the door was shut in his face with a loud bang.
Tommy stood there for a moment, staring at the painted wood. His mind was blank. Desperation and anger and fear and self-loathing all warred within him, making him unable to move. This- this was it? His last hope, gone, just like that? He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe it. A few sentences were all it took to crush his whole world? It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair!
“Stupid cow!” Tommy suddenly whispered as anger won out, then, louder, “Stupid cow! Bitch! I hope you die!” His hands balled into fists, his sight blurring even more. It just wasn’t fair. Everyone had looked at him with disdain or disgust for his whole life, the exception being Sam, and why? Because he had no parents? Because he had no real home? Because he was all alone? Well, that wasn’t his fault! If anything, he had it harder than the stupid kids with parents! He needed the job more! He also bet that the asshole who got the job as stable boy had never worked as hard as him, had never even set foot into a chimney or factory. He probably had all fingers, too, and if he lost his job he wouldn’t end up on the street but at his parents’ home where he would be fed and clothed and cared for.
Meanwhile, Tommy would starve or freeze or worse, and they would throw his body in an unmarked grave and no one would care.
His fingernails left indents in his palms due to how hard he was clenching his hands, glaring at the closed door with tears running down his cheeks. “I hope your stupid manor burns down! And your stupid lawn with it! I wouldn’t have wanted to work here anyways, it’s too ugly! When I’m rich, I’ll buy this shitty building and everything in it and then I’ll fire you! Everyone!” Well, everyone but the nice maid, Clementine. She’d treated him like a real person, like he was worth something. But everyone else could choke on their fancy daily meals.
Suddenly, there were heavy footsteps behind the door, quickly coming closer. Tommy winced and took a step backwards. Fuck. Mrs Harrison probably stayed true to her word and told someone to chase him off. Tommy was a big man, but he was starving and exhausted. He wasn’t sure if he would survive being beaten to a pulp right now. He’d rather not find out, no matter how angry he was.
So, he did what everyone with an ounce of common sense would have done in his position – he fucking booked it. Whirled around and sped in the direction of the street. His panic gave him a sudden bout of strength but he didn’t know how long that would last. Would they follow him? Should he hide somewhere? Could he hide somewhere? Tommy looked wildly around while running, hoping for a stack of crates or an open door-
“Hey! Here! Come, quick!” A low voice suddenly sounded from Tommy’s right. He almost stumbled but could catch his balance while he turned into its direction. It was a boy, maybe a bit older than him, and he looked out of a doorway Tommy hadn’t noticed before, holding it slightly open. He didn’t even think before changing his course, shoes squelching in the mud, and running to him.
The wooden door was quickly shut behind Tommy after he’d entered, the other boy turning to him while he tried to catch his breath, hands on his knees. There was a shout from outside not a moment later, followed by the same heavy steps he’d heard before, though they didn’t come closer. It seemed Tommy had escaped a beating for now. Fuck. That had been close.
Tommy stayed in his bent over position for a moment longer, breathing heavily, before somehow finding the energy to right himself and fully turn to his rescuer. Now that the immediate danger was gone, his body seemed to remember the sorry state it was in, and he felt close to collapsing right where he stood. He grit his teeth and ignored it, instead inspecting the other, who was doing the same with him. He was fucking tall (though Tommy would surely be even taller once he was all grown up, yup, definitely) and had dark hair that surrounded his head in a wild manner, covering his forehead and ears. And his eyes- Tommy sucked in a breath. He’d never seen anything like it. The boy’s eyes were differently coloured, one green and the other a deep brown, almost looking red in the low light. It was eerie.
“Are you- are you cursed?” The question tumbled from his lips before he could think better of it, his voice rough from crying and running. He winced. Maybe he should have started with something more polite, seeing as the other had just helped him. Well. Too late now.
The boy just scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I should have expected that, I suppose. No, I’m not cursed. I was born like this and the doctor said it just happens sometimes, there are others with eyes like mine, though it’s rare. And before you ask-“ he interrupted Tommy as he was opening his mouth, “I can see just fine.”
“Oh.” Tommy didn’t quite know what to say to that. Also, he was exhausted. He looked around the room they were in while trying to come up with something to say. It seemed they were in a shack of sorts, made up of wooden boards and an earthen floor. Shelves lined the walls, the only exception being a tiny window which also served as the only light source, thus making the small room very dim. All sorts of clutter laid around, mostly tools but also a few burlap sacks. It seemed like he’d landed himself in a tool shed. At least it wasn’t a prison cell or a ditch next to the road.
“I ... thank you,” he finally settled on, looking back at the boy, and then decided that the other was not threatening enough to remain standing. He plopped to the ground and groaned as his abused muscles finally got a break. Fuck. Everything hurt.
The boy sighed. “You’re welcome. I thought you didn’t deserve to get beaten after everything.” He shuffled with his feet, not looking directly at Tommy, hesitating before continuing. “I ... I heard you talking with Mrs Harrison. I just wanted to say ... I’m sorry. I wish there was a job for you too. She’s really horrible sometimes, and I haven’t even been here for long.” He still refused to look Tommy in the eye. Instead, he suddenly reached into his pocket and took something out, handing it to Tommy. “Here. I got it for lunch, but I think you need it more than me.”
Tommy blinked, stupefied for a moment, as he looked at the boy’s stretched out hand. Or specifically, what was in it. It was slightly bruised and shrivelled up but it looked like-
“An apple?” he breathed, slightly in awe. He’d had a bite of the fruit once before, having stolen one from a stall with other kids from the orphanage, and even though it’d been long ago, he still remembered the sweet, fresh taste. It had been like nothing he’d ever tasted before or after that. Sadly, the street sellers usually guarded their produce like hawks and were especially distrustful of poor looking children. An apple was not worth getting flogged or – even worse – sent to prison. (He shuddered when he thought about the tales others had told him about the cramped, stinking cells they’d had to share with adults and the excruciating ‘hard labour’ they’d been forced to do there. Eating mouldy bread or watery porridge seemed preferable.)
But now, this boy was offering him a whole fruit, seemingly without expecting anything back. Tommy’s empty stomach cramped and his mouth flooded with saliva as he looked at the apple. Still, he held himself back, albeit with great effort.
“Are you sure ...?” he forced out, looking up at the other with narrowed eyes, trying to find an ulterior motive, “I can’t pay you. I have nothing I could give you for it.”
The boy nodded, still holding out the apple. “Yes, I don’t want anything, I’ll get supper in a few hours. Just take it, please. I’d feel bad letting you go without even something to eat.”
Normally, Tommy would’ve protested at such an offering, arguing he didn’t need handouts or pity. But at the moment he was too hungry and desperate to care. The boy’s words were all the convincing he needed before he practically snatched the fruit out of his hand and bit into it without further hesitation.
It would probably be the only meal he’d get for a long time.