A Little Change: Pietro and Erik
It was early in the morning, maybe five or six, somewhere in there, when Pietro nearly pranced into the coffee shop. He went there just about everyday, sometimes more than once. Especially after his slow recovery from the Mutant Flu. A lot of shops would tell him to leave, that they didn’t want his kind there, but this one? The opposite. The woman who owned the shop, who he suspected was a mutant herself, had given him a big hug the first day he stumbled back in. She recognized him, and to his surprise, she was very happy to see him alive and mostly-well.
Today there was a short line. The shop was a bit of a secret haven for mutants, so it was never empty. The line moved quick, though, which was quite a gift to a man so impatient. When he got to the front and ordered his decaf peppermint mocha and dug out his wallet, he found that he was running short on money. It was only a few cents, but the familiar twinge of shame hit him straight in the gut.
“I--I’m so sorry--I--” he began, checking every pocket on his body for anything to help, “I’m short a dime. Oh this is so embarrassing...”
To his surprise, a hand was on his shoulder. The grip was tight, yet gentle at the same time. Pietro turned at the foreign touch, unsure what to expect.
