Wings Of Despair - Prologue

Chapter 7 - Unwarranted

"Never aid the weak, they'll end up using you." Greg's Grandfather started, the lit fireplace reflected off his reading glasses. "If they're too useless to do something about their life problems, who's to say they won't take advantage of your kindness?"

His Grandfather spoke from the heart. He wanted what was best for the six-year-old Greg.

"What if I do help them?" Greg asked quietly, stubby hands clutched along the hem of his Lightning McQueen pyjamas.

"You wouldn't be as much better as them, now would you?" His Grandfather answered, words almost directed towards himself. When Greg tilted his head, the sixty-year-old man continued. "You'll be the weak one. Useless, kid."

"Oh." Greg wasn't sure about the severity of the word 'useless', but he knew it wasn't in a positive light. "I won't help weak people, then."

"Atta boy." His Grandfather lovingly ruffled Greg's slicked-back hair, before he fixed it once more. The old bloke glanced towards the grandfather clock as it chimed. "It's eight o'clock, time for bed mister! Don't want to be tired for school, right?"

Greg squealed with delight when his grandfather abruptly heaved the boy into his arms – his grandfather ignored the ache in his back – as they ascended the stairs for Greg's bedroom. Once Greg was tucked in tightly, his stuffed bear beside him, his Grandfather took his leave with a hushed goodnight.

He heavily descended the stairs with a thump, his last step pointed in the living room once more. He faced the lit fireplace, as he reached for the water-filled jug beside it. Before he had the chance to hover the spout over the flame, he couldn't help but flicker his attention towards the shelf above. A singular picture frame of Greg and his parents sat afoot, as they smiled like there was no tomorrow. His Grandfather sneered, he ripped his gaze from the photograph and killed the light source. The photo vanished alongside the fire, engulfed in darkness until morning came.

If only they were here to see it.

...

Greg scoffed amusingly. He knew his Grandfather meant well, but some of his lessons were convoluted. What would have happened if Greg didn't impulsively save Yuto? – Actually, Greg would rather not know.

After he laid absentmindedly on the bed did Greg rub his eyes, he stretched from the awkward position he slept in last night. He rolled over towards his bedside table, fumbled for his glasses and checked his phone groggily.

He instantly sat up in a panic once he noticed the time. He was late for work. Greg sung every curse word under the sun as he hurried around his room. He must have forgotten to set an alarm last night. He flung fresh clothes out from his wardrobe and quickly stripped from his pyjamas, as he squirmed into his maroon dress pants. Greg finally got both his legs through the pants, but to his dismay, accidentally tripped over Yuto as he shimmied the waistband over his hips. Yuto awoke with a jolt, glanced towards the disturbance, before he covered his eyes from the intimate sight with flushed cheeks.

"Shit, sorry!" Greg squeaked an apology, face hot to the touch, as he finally looped the belt around his pants.

In his panicked haste, Greg completely forgot he had company. He broke my routine.

He slung his lime button-up shirt over his bare shoulders as he shoved his phone into his pocket. After he slipped his socked feet into his shoes, he swung the bedroom door open and ran for the kitchen. He grabbed his drink bottle and shoved it in his messenger bag, he'll have to buy himself lunch when he got there – with the little money he had.

As Greg began to button his shirt, John entered the room with a sensual whistle. "You should wear your shirt like that more often." John teased, as he got breakfast for himself in the cupboard.