Acts of Kindness - Zabdiel de Jesús
Summary: an ex-convict, a college student, and some spare change
Warnings: swearing, some sad vibes, some angst, talk of getting arrested, lots of bad Spanglish?? and the slowest of slow burns with fluff on top. Also, it’s just a really long story. I’m so sorry. READ AT 1AM AT YOUR OWN RISK.
Notes: This one’s for @lowkeyflop !! Thanks for being my #1 fan and waiting weeks for this, LOL. And the ending is a mess. But it had to be done. Any language and grammar mistakes are my own. If you get through this monster of a fic, you deserve a gold star. Like from the sky. There’s plenty. ALSO. A couple lines from the sexiest accents video made its way in here because I had major writer’s block and I’ve watched that video like a hundred times this week alone…so. Yeah. That’s my bad.
Inspired by: the way locked-up Zabdiel looks in the ‘De Cero’ music video
Coffee. You need coffee. You don’t even like coffee. But you need it. It’s a Monday.
Percy’s down on Main St. is the way to go. Always. And not just because you’re friends with a worker and he gives you a discount, but because their bagels are always fresh and your stomach demands to be filled. It wouldn’t shut up all through your morning class which you hadn’t eaten beforehand.
You walk the ten minutes outside your college’s campus and when you see the familiar dusty-blue signage across the street, you stop and wait at the traffic light with about five or six other people. The mid-September sun is hotter than hell and you can feel beads of sweat connect the dots at the back of your neck, but air-conditioning was the light at the end of the crosswalk.
Cars continues to pass by and you can’t help but notice someone standing outside Percy’s, holding out a plastic cup to strangers as they walk in and out of the coffee shop. A beggar? A homeless guy? He doesn’t look like one, if you had to stereotype the term.
He’s tall, with blonde hair and dark, caterpillar eyebrows. Tattoos are scattered all around his body and easily seen through his white t-shirt, traveling from his neck to his hands. Could just be another student.
But you notice person after person ignore him and start to feel as deflated as looks.
You’re so busy staring that when the light changes you panic for a moment, like you don’t remember where you are anymore. It takes a second to gather your senses and move with the rest of the people around you.
Like a wave, you all crash onto the sidewalk across the way and when you reach the doors to your destination the young man is sitting down on the ground with his cup next to him.
You go inside the shop and order your iced coffee with an extra shot of espresso.
Watching Roy put together your toasted bagel with cream cheese, you ask him about the guy outside.
“Blondie over there? Yeah, he’s been here all morning. Seems harmless. I think he just needs bus money or food money or something,” he speculates. “At least, that’s what I gather from our regular gossips.”
“Bus?” you ask, confused. The bus doesn’t cost more than a few bucks. Sure, that can be a lot, but if he’s been here all morning? You conclude that men really do have large appetites if he’s looking for a meal. He must be waiting for a steak dinner.
Roy shrugs and hands you your food wrapped in foil and the coffee.
You tell him you’ll see him around and turn away, already mentally preparing yourself for returning to the heat outside. Taking a handful of napkins on your way out, you debate sticking some under your armpits at the risk of looking like a scarecrow but think better of the decision and stuff them in your pocket for later when you’ll need to wipe down your entire body before the next class.
Someone holds the door for you as you as you leave and Blondie is still sitting there on the ground in the shade of the shop’s awning.
You made your decision before you even placed your order and the couple of dollars you’ve been holding onto since the cashier placed them in your hand finds their way into the stranger’s cup.
His head moves fast, looking at the money and then at you as you stand upright.
His eyes are like hot coals that have been doused by water. Wet and stripped of purpose.
“Gracias. Ah – thank you,” he says quietly.
Six years of Spanish class at least taught you how to be polite.
“De nada,” you say back to him.
His eyebrows lift in surprise and you smile. Turning around, you expel him from your sight but not your mind. He stays in your head all day.
The way he looked at you reminded you of an abandoned puppy and who could resist a puppy?
