Fighter (Lookism X Reader)

71 - Daniel Park. [Part III]

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Daniel's POV

I stared up at the sky, numbly. My lucky charm... it's gone.

Everything i owned-- my phone, my wallet, my backpack-- it was all stolen! The mole... a famed thief around these areas. He must've stolen my stuff. I sat in a cold, quiet hallway at the subway. I sniffed. I'm cold... and hungry. What should i do...?

While the city sleeps, the underworld stays awake. And i was slowly... introduced to their world.

I looked to my sides. Both sides were bustling with homeless people sleeping in carboard boxes, eating who knows what, and rustling around a home-made bathroom stall out of cardboard boxes. I gaged as the man across from me struggled to do his business.

I'm... scared. Should is just... go home? No-! I can't be a burden to Mom! I shook my head.

Suddenly, i heard a racket. People arguing amongst each other, throwing an item back and forward between them. I spotted the item, getting to my feet with shock. Its... MY WALLET!

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"So... you found my bag?" I asked, wearily. I looked at the three homeless men that sat in front of me against the wall, sheepishly.

The middle man spoke up. "Uh... yeah, we did. It was lying on the ground. We thought someone had thrown it away." He responded.

I felt angry. I stuck a finger in the man's face. "D-Don't lie to me!! You're the mole!! You have a mole on your face!" I said, spotting the mark on his cheek. The homeless man gave me a quizzical look before wiping his cheek, sweat taking the "mole" with it. I gaped.

"Ew, sorry about that. I'm all about hygiene." He says.

He's... not the mole!

I stare at my empty wallet. "It's all gone. Even my phone..." I spoke quietly to myself. They took everything worth money... then tossed my wallet.

"Hey. What're you waiting for? Sit down, it'll get cold." The homeless man said to me, gesturing the cup of ramen in front of him.

I walked over to where he sat, sitting across from him, i grabbed the cup of ramen and began to eat. He stared at me, slurping up the soup.

"I bought it... because you reminded me of my kid." He said through heaving chewing. "Eat up."

I desperately ate the food quickly. The mister looked at me. "Slow down, kid. You ain't a bum." I obediently slowed down, looking up at him. "Mister, how can you afford this? This is my money, isn't it?"

He scowled. "You little brat. Is that what i get for feeding you?" He slapped me over the head. "I'm homeless, not poor!!"

He placed his bowl down, taking out a picture from his pocket. He smiled. "We all got our stories. I used to be a big shot." He said. "I got a place to go back to. I'm just taking the long way back. So don't call me a bum."

His tone surprised me. He spoke so calmly despite his situation. I watched him stand up, dizzily. "It'll rain here tonight so i'll make you a house in a moment!!" He sung, drunkenly. I deadpanned. He says not to call him a bum... yet he acts like one, drunk and all. I smiled, getting up to help him make my shelter for the night.

Then daylight came...

"kid.... Kid! KID! Wake up!" I heard.

I jolted awake, watching civilized people walk past me, throwing me judgmental looks. The person who woke me up wore a badge. He was an officer. In the mornings, city hall would send people to locations like these to wash out the homeless people. Their world disappearing when the sun came up.