Larry Stylinson

Shoe Boy

This one shot is really shitty so don't let this stop you from reading the rest of these please and thank you

I inhaled the cigarette smoke, letting it fill my lungs, as I sat on the curb for my break. I stared at the skyline, which was quite boring considering the tall buildings of New York City are the skyline. I heard someone sit down in the chair behind me, meaning another asshole was waiting for this pathetic 22 year old to clean his or her shoes.

I threw the fag on the ground and smashed the cherry with the toe of my shoe. I stood and turned around to see the chair occupied by a man whose face was covered by the large newspaper in is (large) hands.

I approached the mans boots, which were quite worn, and spat in the rub that was in the container. I swiped the towel, which had been thrown over my shoulder, through the rub with two fingers and began to apply it to the man's shoes.

"I can see you wear these quite often, yeah?" I said to the man, trying to keep small talk.

"That was quite rude of you." He said with a chuckle.

I furrowed my eyebrows, "How, sir?"

He folded the newspaper in his hands downwards, revealing his gorgeous features. He had a deep, mossy shade of green eyes. His hair was styled into a messy quiff, which accentuated his sharp jaw line. His lips were nearly the color of his pink-tinted skin, and he had the cutest nose. His eyebrows were very full and were beginning to raise up.

"Well," he began, pulling me out of my trance, "When you have something for quite a while, it begins to fade or tear apart.. it begins to rip at the seams. So, you saying that my shoes look like they have been on my feet for a long while, implies that my shoes look torn.. and ugly."

I stared at the beautiful man and shook my head. "Not necessarily, sir." I said and grabbed the heel of the boot so I could add more pressure.

"Ah, enlighten me." He said with a smirk.

"Well," I said, only slightly mocking the gorgeous man, "When I say that I could see you wear these often, I was only admiring your love for these shoes."

"And how's that?" he asked.

"I was getting to that," I said sassily, but added a playful smile-for I did not want him to pay less than he should. "When you see that someone has a somewhat worn out item in their possession, you can see the love vibrating from them. Which shows, of course, that you love this item more than you should if you decide to keep it even after it's quite wore out."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

"So," he started as I moved to the other boot, "You're telling me, that.. even though my shoes are horribly worn, torn, and downright an abomination to the fashion world, it's okay because my love for them is vibrating off of them?" he asked with an amused expression on his face.

"Sure, mate." I said and laughed.

"Well, thank you, I suppose." He said and ran a hand through his hair. I nodded at him and gave a light smile. "So, why are you down on your knees in front of me right now?"

I looked up in his eyes and blinked. "Umm.. because you sat in the chair..."

"No, no! Silly lad, I meant, like, why are you doing this as a job? You are obviously from the UK, far from home, so why are you here?"

I cleared my throat, feeling uncomfortable sharing this information with a complete stranger. "I um.. just left home, and I love shoes, and people.. what could be a better job?"