( Bang Chan + Hwang Hyunjin )
❝I cannot risk losing her.❞
┈┈ mistopher | 2022 ++
Pride is something that Bang Chan was forced to put aside in order to satisfy his basic needs. And he'd grown used to it for the year and a half that he'd been living o...
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F O R T U I T Y (n) /fɔːˈtjuːɪti/ ( A chance occurrence. )
┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 🏠 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈
Theme song: Half a Man by Dean Lewis.
⇒Hero's Soup Kitchen 6:30pm
FORTUITY.
"Good evening," a rather motherly tone addressed, the smile behind it radiating utmost warmth and welcome, whilst the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes clarified her middle age; an assumed lovely woman, "Would you like rice or pasta tonight? Or both? Not a lot of you tonight, so plenty to go around."
"Y-yeah," the man cleared his throat, bringing his cold thumb to his nose to rub it, and rolling his heavy shoulders to be more comfortable in the thick coat hugging his frame. "Both please," he sighed, dreading the routine of being at someone else's mercy like that.
Constantly worried about the fact that a grown and sinewy man like himself was to stoop so low from society's expectations, as to depend on a group of generous strangers for a form of daily bread.
"No problem, sugar," the old lady nodded, appearing so joyful and willing to perform her far-reaching duties.
The unnamed only looked from his stance before the counter, eyeing her familiar movements, with the thin hairnet covering the greying strands on her head, as well as the green apron that came before her kind dress.
"How was your day?" She tried to make conversation, plating the food, "I hope it was alright. Hope that you're alright. Make sure to take care of yourself, okay? And never give up."
"Thank you for your service," he took the plate before strolling up some, smiling weakly to the other faces behind him, as well as the few in front, just to appear polite. He then sighed, again, upon being greeted by another volunteer; that one, a young male.
The parting of his lips shone even brighter than the last, and the less fortunate one arched a brow, head tilted sideways.
"Are you new here?" He asked meekly, nodding when the stranger flashed a thumbs up. "Alright... Thank you for your service. All of you save lives."
"And we love what we do," the volunteer winked at the older-looking male, admiring one of the mildly prominent dimples that were positioned at the corner of his crooked lips, "Steamed vegetables for you?"
He accepted the container from over the counter, confused at the fact that it wasn't one of their own dishes, but rather a Ziploc bowl to which the owner most likely held the cover. "Taking everything to go this evening?"
"I always take everything to go," the coated one shrugged, watching as his bowl was being filled, scratching his throat; perhaps a cold coming on. "Thank you," he took it back, squinting to take note of the letters inked onto the volunteer's nametag, "Lee Minho. Thank you for your service."
