𝒐𝒏𝒆 ━━ until you give me a reason
₊ ⊹☕˚୨

❝ thank you ❞

❝ for what? ❞

Klaus stumbles down the street, his clothes wrinkled and his hair disheveled. His eyes are bloodshot and his movements are erratic, a testament to the week of bender he's just ended. The streets are empty, a few people still awake and going about their business, but for the most part the city is quiet. Klaus doesn't seem to mind or notice, his mind still foggy from the drugs and alcohol coursing through his system.

He takes a detour down an alley, leaning against the wall for support as he glances around. The shadows seem to swirl around him, shifting and changing in a way that makes him uneasy. He can almost feel the presence of the dead around him, their murmurs and whispers just barely audible over the sound of his own ragged breathing.

But even as he tries to hear the voices of the dead, he can't quite focus on them. His mind is too muddled, his thoughts swirling in an incoherent mess. He closes his eyes, hoping that it will help him clear his mind, but all he sees are images of past memories and distorted visions of the dead.

A car horn shatters the silence of the night. His eyes strain against the light of the street. Across the mostly empty road, warm lights from a café flood out, glistening off the puddles of rainwater along the cement. His mouth waters at the sight of the warm lights and the smell of coffee wafting towards him. His mind zeroes in on the comfort and warmth the café offers, and without thinking he starts crossing the street.

Klaus' steps quicken as he sees a shadow move inside the café, his mind focused solely on the idea of warmth and shelter. As he gets closer to the café, he can see the man inside, sweeping the floor with a methodical and almost mindless precision.

The sign on the door announces the café is closed, it must be after hours. What time was it? He doesn't remember. Klaus pays no mind to the sign on the door. It doesn't matter that the café is closed, he needs a place to shelter, somewhere warm and away from the whispers of the dead.

He tries the door, but it's locked. He bangs his fist against the glass, trying to catch the man's attention.

The man's eyes lock on Klaus as he leaned against the door, his gaze assessing and curious. Klaus' heart pounds in his chest as the man's eyes roam over him, taking in his disheveled appearance and wild eyes.

"Hey," Klaus rasps, his voice hoarse and shaky.

The man hesitates for a moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching like he's weighing the pros and cons of opening the door. But something in Klaus' eyes, a hint of vulnerability and desperation, makes him reach for the keys and unlock the door.

The café door swings open, and the man stands in the doorway, watching Klaus with a mix of caution and curiosity. Klaus stumbles inside, the warm air of the café hitting him like a welcome embrace. He sways on his feet, his body still feeling the effects of the drugs and alcohol coursing through his system.

"Sit." the man says, his voice surprisingly warm.

Klaus nods shakily, and slowly makes his way to one of the nearest tables. The feeling of being inside, away from the cold and the whispers, is a relief, and he slumps down into one of the chairs. The exhaustion hits him all at once, his shoulders sagging and his eyes drooping. He can feel the man's gaze on him, steady and thoughtful.

He moves away, behind the counter, and picks out a mug. When he comes back, he places a cup of steaming coffee on the table in front of him. Klaus stares at the cup of coffee, eyes wide. The smell of the coffee is enough to make his mouth water, and the warmth radiating from the mug is a welcome sensation. He wraps his hands around the mug, relishing the heat.

He takes a small, tentative sip. The coffee is hot and bitter, but the warmth spreads through his body like a comforting blanket.

The man stands beside the table, watching him with a quiet intensity. Klaus can feel his gaze on him, but it doesn't feel intrusive. It feels like the man is trying to figure him out, to understand what's going on inside his head.

"Hungry?" he speaks up again, already moving back to the counter.

Klaus' stomach growls at the question. He nods, the realization that he hasn't eaten in days suddenly hitting him. The man disappears behind the counter, and soon the sounds and smells of food being prepared fill the air. Klaus takes another sip of his coffee as he waits, his eyes wandering around the empty cafe. It's a cozy little place, with warm lighting and a homey atmosphere. It's a stark contrast to the cold, empty streets outside.

The man returns, a steaming plate of food in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He sets both items down on the table, and Klaus can't help but stare at the food. It looks like a simple meal, but to his starved body, it looks like a feast.

Klaus grabs the fork, his hands shaking slightly as he stabs a piece of the meal with it. He shoves the bite into his mouth, and the flavors explode across his tongue. It's simple, but to his starved senses, it's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted.

The man smiles slightly, before standing again, and returning to his sweeping. Klaus is too absorbed in his food to pay much attention, shoveling mouthfuls of food into his mouth like a man possessed. The food is warm and filling, and the caffeine from the coffee is slowly bringing his mind back to clarity.

The sounds of the sweeping and the quiet clinking of the man tidying up in the kitchen are oddly soothing.

Klaus forces himself to slow down, the hunger gradually giving way to a feeling of comfort and warmth. He washes each bite down with a sip of water, relishing the taste and the feeling of his stomach slowly filling up.

The man continues to sweep, the sound of the broom moving across the floor mingling with the clink of dishes from the kitchen. Klaus watches him for a moment, his mind still clouded by alcohol and drugs, and yet there's something about the man's presence that soothes him.

He seemed to be a few years older than him, with warm honey coloured skin and a short stubble of a beard, his hair dyed white and short. The sharp jawline and strong nose accentuated by the cafe's warm lighting. His short hair and the stubble on his chin give him a rugged, almost dangerous look, but the warmth in his eyes betrays his nature.

He moves with a quiet intensity, his every movement precise and efficient. Klaus can't help but be drawn to the man's presence, his eyes following each shift of his muscles under the fabric of his T-shirt.

The man catches him staring, and for a moment their eyes meet. Klaus swallows, his throat suddenly dry. The man holds his gaze for a few seconds, then turns away, resuming his sweeping as if nothing happened. Klaus looks away quickly, feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He takes a sip of his coffee, hoping it will cool the heat in his face. He wonders what the man must think of him, wild eyed and disheveled, stumbling into his café at some unholy hour.

The man's footsteps approach again, and Klaus glances up only to see him walking into the kitchen area, presumably to wash the dishes. Klaus lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, the moment of vulnerability and embarrassment passed.

He continues to eat, taking his time now that the worst of his hunger is satisfied. The coffee has helped to clear his mind, the fog of drugs and alcohol starting to clear, leaving only a throbbing headache in its place. The sound of running water and the clinking of dishes drift from the kitchen, and Klaus finds himself listening to it like a soothing lullaby. He takes another sip of water, his eyes drifting closed for a moment.

For the first time in a long time, he feels oddly... comfortable. The whispers of the dead are faded, almost drowned out by the sounds of the man in the kitchen. The warm, intimate space of the café feels like a safe haven, a shelter against the dark, deserted streets outside.

Klaus finishes the last of the food, and pushes the empty plate away. He feels full and satisfied, the warmth of the meal spreading through him like a comforting blanket. He rubs a hand across his face, feeling the grit and grime of days without sleep, and wishes he could take a hot shower.

The man returns to the main dining area of the café, a damp cloth in his hands as he starts wiping down tables. Klaus watches the man work, the way his muscles move beneath his shirt, the way his eyes focus on each task with a quiet intensity. The man catches him staring again, and this time he doesn't look away. Instead he holds the man's gaze, feeling a strange mix of shame and fascination.

The man holds his gaze for a few seconds, his expression unreadable. Then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth quirks up in a small smile. The sight sends a strange jolt through Klaus' chest, and he can't tear his eyes away.

"Thank you," Klaus blurts out before he can stop himself.

The man blinks, the small smile on his lips widening just a fraction. His eyes soften, the corners of them crinkling as the smile grows. "For what?" he asks, his voice warm like honey.

Klaus flushes, suddenly feeling embarrassed. He hadn't planned on saying anything, the words just slipped out before he could stop them. "For, um, letting me in?" he stutters, feeling like an idiot. He swallows, trying to will the flush from his cheeks.

The man folds up the cloth and glances down. "No need to thank me."

Klaus nods, his throat dry. There's something about the man's tone that leaves no room for argument, and yet it's not cold or dismissive. It's firm, but kind. He looks away, fiddling with the handle of the coffee mug just to give his hands something to do. He can feel the man's gaze on him again, like a gentle, steady weight.

The silence between them isn't uncomfortable, but it's far from companionable either. Klaus feels like he's being studied, and he can't help but wonder what the man is thinking. The man continues tidying up, but Klaus notices him glancing over more often now, his eyes lingering on him for a few moments longer than necessary.

"What's your name?" Klaus blurts again, and mentally kicks himself. He wasn't usually this talkative with people he just met, but he couldn't help it.

The man looks up from his work, surprise flicking across his features for a moment before being replaced by a warm, almost amused smile. "Shayan." he says, setting the cloth aside. "And yours?"

"Klaus." he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. He can feel his heartbeat quicken as the man's name passes his lips, his mind struggling to catch up with his words. It's a simple name, yet there's something about it, the way it rolls off his tongue, that makes it feel strangely intimate.

Klaus watches as the smile makes Shayan's eyes crinkle in a way that makes his heart thud a little faster in his chest. There's something about Shayan's smile, something warm and genuine that's infectious, making Klaus want to return the smile even though he's not entirely sure why.

Shayan walks over and clears the dishes from his table. "More?" he asks.

Klaus nods, his heart still beating a little too fast. The sight of Shayan so close, his strong arms carrying the dirty dishes away, is enough to make him feel strangely fluttery. He takes another sip of his water, trying to gather his thoughts.

"Um," he begins, clearing his throat, "Can I... ask you a question?"

Shayan glances up at him as he walks around the counter and nods. Klaus takes a deep breath, bracing himself. He doesn't know why he wants to ask this, why suddenly he needs to know, but the words slip out before he can stop them.

"Why... why are you being so nice to me?" he asks, his voice suddenly vulnerable.

Shayan almost frowns at this. He focuses on the food as he dishes more. "I take it you don't meet a lot of nice people."

Klaus huffs a dry laugh, a mixture of humor and bitterness. "Yeah, you could say that." he mutters, running a hand through his messy hair. He looks up at Shayan again, and something about the man's expression makes him feel strangely vulnerable, like he's laid bare for the man to see.

Shayan walks over with the plate, full again. "It's simple. You needed help so I helped you." he places the plate in front of him. "I don't ask questions, I don't need to know, sometimes it's better not to, but what kind of man would I be to leave you out there?"

Klaus is quiet for a moment, staring down at the food. There's something about Shayan's words, his straightforward honesty, that is both comforting and unsettling. "Why?" he croaks, the question slipping from his lips before he can stop it. "Why don't you ask? Why don't you want to know?"

"It's none of my business." he says simply. "If you want to me ask, I'll ask, if you want me to listen, I'll listen. You came to me, until you give me a reason not to, I'll help if you need it."

Klaus looks up at him, surprise flickering in his eyes. He's used to people demanding things, pushing and prodding for his secrets, but the man's open honesty almost throws him off balance. "That's it?" he scoffs, trying to inject some venom into his tone. "I'm a stranger off the street and you just... help me? No questions asked?"

Shayan gives him a dry look, clearly unbothered by Klaus' scoffing. He leans back against the counter, crossing his arms across his chest. "Not everyone needs a reason to help someone." he says steadily.

Klaus scowls, irritation flaring up in his heart. He's not used to this, this easy kindness. It makes him feel off-kilter, like the world around him has shifted slightly.

"You're a fool, you know that?" he snaps, his tone harsher than he intended. "You don't know anything about me. For all you know, I could be trouble. I could be dangerous."

Klaus feels a shiver run down his spine as Shayan smiles at him, the smile more amused than intimidated by his words.  He can't tell if the man is mocking him or if he's genuinely not threatened by him, but either way it makes him feel both furious and flustered.

"I can handle myself." Shayan says, and it's only then that Klaus notices the tattoos on his arms, the outline of dog tags under his shirt.

Klaus blinks, his irritation faltering slightly as he takes in the Navy seal tattoos on Shayan's arms. The sight of them is like a bucket of cold water dumped on his anger. He suddenly feels very young and very foolish, trying to threaten a former Navy Seal.

"Besides, you don't seem like that much trouble." Shayan pulls himself onto the counter, elbows leaning on his knees.

Klaus flushes at this, the heat creeping up the back of his neck. He doesn't know if Shayan is mocking him or not, but the way he's sitting, the way his eyes are fixed on him, makes him feel strangely exposed. He looks away, busying himself with his food, trying to focus solely on eating. But he can't help but feel the man's eyes on him, like a weight bearing down on his shoulders.

The silence between them stretches, and Klaus is suddenly hyper-aware of every sound. The tick of the clock on the wall, the distant hum of the kitchen appliances, the rustle of his clothes as he shifts. He can feel Shayan's eyes on him, and he can't help but sneak glances up at the man every few minutes. There's something about the steady gaze that makes his heart flutter oddly in his chest, and he's not sure what it is.

"You got a place to sleep?" Shayan asks gently.

Klaus hesitates for a moment, his mind flashing to the nights spent in strange beds in seedy motels, or huddled in corners of alleyways. He'd be lying if he said he was always sure where he'd sleep each night.

"Not really," he says finally, his voice quiet. He can feel Shayan's gaze on him, and suddenly his vulnerability feels laid painfully bare before the man.

"Tell you what, I've got a spare room in the back, sleeper couch, mini fridge, bathroom. You can use the shower upstairs, I'll bring you some spare clothes."

Klaus is surprised, not only by the offer but by how much the man's words affect him. He's used to sleeping in the cheapest, dirtiest motels he can find, and the idea of a decent shower and a soft couch to sleep on makes his heart flutter.

He looks up at Shayan, his surprise clear in his eyes. "Why are you doing this?" he blurts out, the question almost a reflex.

Shayan's features soften. "You're not the only one who's slept on the streets before."

Klaus' surprise deepens. He can't quite fathom the idea of the rugged and strong man before him ever having slept on the streets like he has, but he can sense the truth in his words. He looks back down at his plate, his appetite gone as a wave of sadness washes over him. He can see the shadows in Shayan's eyes, the shadows that lurk beneath his warm smile.

A part of him aches with the weight of understanding. He'd never met anyone who knew what it was like, to sleep on the hard ground, in an alley or a back road, with no one to turn to and no place to go. He suddenly feels shame wash over him, ashamed that he'd doubted Shayan, that he hadn't immediately accepted the man's kindness.

He looks back up at Shayan, meeting the man's eyes steadily. "Thank you," he mutters, his voice quiet. "I don't... I don't know what to say, I..." he trails off, unsure how to express the gratitude and shock warring in his heart.

Shayan lifts a hand. "Don't say anything. I get it. Just rest, you need it. We'll talk about the rest tomorrow."

Klaus nods mutely, feeling strangely choked up. The idea of a comfortable place to rest, to clean himself and sleep without worry of getting mugged or beaten, is almost too good to believe.

He looks away again, trying to push down the wave of emotion he suddenly feels. "I... yeah, okay." he murmurs, his voice rough.

Shayan's soft gaze studies him, as he can see the lump in Klaus' throat, but he says nothing, just stands, and carries on cleaning up. Klaus watches Shayan move around the kitchen, the man's steady, quiet efficiency making his heart race again. It's such a strange sight, this strong, capable man cleaning up so diligently, yet it somehow fits him perfectly.

He continues eating, his mind whirling with a mixture of gratitude, confusion, and something else he can't quite name.

Later, as promised, Shayan shows him to the back room. Klaus follows Shayan silently, feeling oddly tentative as he steps into the back room. It's small, but comfortable, a twin-sized sleeper couch against the wall with several blankets piled upon it.

There's a small mini fridge in the corner, and as promised, a bathroom just visible through an open door. It's simple, but it looks incredibly inviting.

"Stairs are down the hall, Showers up and first to the right. I'll bring you some clothes." he flashes him a gentle smile. "And don't steal anything." his tone is playful.

Klaus flushes at the playful jab, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "I won't," he mutters, the defensiveness of his tone weakened by the hint of amusement in his voice.

He watches as Shayan turns and leaves, the door shutting quietly behind him. He glances around the room, feeling a strange sense of peace settle over him. He walks over to the bed, his fingers running over the blankets. They're soft and clean, and the thought of sleeping in a proper bed again makes a shiver run down his spine.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, closing his eyes for a moment. He's so tired, both physically and mentally, and the idea of a hot shower and a soft bed makes him almost light-headed with relief.

He almost can't believe his luck. He'd been prepared to spend the night in some abandoned alley or dirty motel, praying no one would steal his things or attack him in the night. And now, suddenly, he's here, in this small but comfortable room, with a shower and a bed waiting for him.

He's so used to being alone, to being on his own, that it's almost disconcerting to feel this sense of protection, this sense that someone is actually looking out for him.

There's a knock at the door. Klaus jolts out of his thoughts, his eyes snapping open. "Come in?" he calls, his voice sounding strangely small and young in his own ears. He watches the door as it swings open, and Shayan steps in, a bundle of clothes in his arms, grey sweats and a thin brown sweater.

Klaus' heart jumps at the sight of the clothes, the simple, unassuming quality of them suddenly making him strangely emotional. He stands, reaching out to take them from Shayan's arms. "Thanks," he mutters, the word coming out more shaky than he intends.

"They might be a bit big." he offers him the towel tucked in his other arm.

Klaus takes the towel, his fingers brushing Shayan's wrist for a split second and sending a small, unexpected jolt down his spine. He looks down at the clothes, feeling a pang of embarrassment at the idea of wearing someone else's clothes. "It's fine," he mutters, the flush rising to his cheeks again. "I'm... I'm not picky."

Shayan smiles. "My room's upstairs, last door on the left, if you need anything."

Klaus nods, his heart beating a little bit faster at the mention of Shayan's room. The idea of the man only being a few feet away, suddenly makes him feel oddly nervous.

"Okay," he mutters, trying to keep his voice steady. He watches as the man turns and heads back out the door, the soft click of the door shutting seeming almost deafening in the sudden silence of the room.

Klaus stands for a moment, the bundle of clothes and towel clutched in his arms. He takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the odd feeling in his chest. He heads upstairs to the bathroom, his eyes taking it in. It's small but clean, with a simple showerstall in the corner. Everything in it seems so ordinary, so normal, that it almost feels alien to him.

He sets the clothes and towel down on the counter, his fingers brushing over the fabric. He can smell the faint scent of laundry soap in them, and it makes his chest ached in an odd, unfamiliar way. He starts the shower, the sound of the water filling the silence and bringing him back to himself. He starts to undress, his eyes taking in the sight of his own, thin and scarred body in the mirror.

He hesitates for a moment at the sight of his reflection, his mind taking him back to the nights he'd spent in alleyways and seedy motels, the sight of his own body reminding him of the harsh realities he'd grown used to.

He quickly moves away from the mirror, stepping into the shower and letting the hot water wash over him. The water is almost scalding hot, and for a moment, he just stands there, letting it run over his tired muscles and aching joints.

The feeling of hot water on his skin is almost heavenly. He can feel the dirt and grime from days on the streets rinsing away, but more than that, he can feel some of the tension and stress of the past few days slowly melting away, disappearing down the drain.

He scrubs his skin clean, using the simple soap and shampoo provided, the familiar act of bathing making him feel oddly young again. He takes his time, almost afraid that this moment might slip away, that he'll wake up in a dirty alley, the hot water just a dream.

After a final rinse, he steps out, wrapping the towel around his waist. He grabs the clothes, dressing quickly. As expected, they're a bit too big, but they're soft and clean, and Klaus can't stop himself from burying his face in the fabric, inhaling the fresh scent of laundry.

Klaus inhales again, his heart jumping again at the scent of cinnamon and coffee. It's a warm, comforting scent, reminding him of mornings spent in a kitchen, of coffee and hot tea. He looks down at the clothes, suddenly feeling a wave of gratitude towards the man who'd given them to him. The scent, the softness of the fabric, it all makes him feel strangely... cared for.

He runs a hand through his damp hair, suddenly feeling strangely self conscious. He looks at his reflection in the mirror again, his heart skipping a beat as he sees the sweater stretching across his chest, the pants hanging loose off his hips. He can’t remember the last time he’d worn something this nice, so different from what he usually wore.

He takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the odd sense of vulnerability he suddenly feels. He's used to being alone, to being self-reliant. This feeling, the feeling of being cared for, it's alien to him. He opens the bathroom door, heading back to the stairs, but his eyes spot Shayan's bedroom door down the hall.

His heart races as his eyes linger on the door. He feels a strange, inexplicable urge to go to it, to knock on the door and go into the room. He doesn't know where the urge comes from, but it's strong, almost overpoweringly so.

The door is slightly ajar, and he can see the warm light from the lamp on his bedside table. Shayan's sitting against the pillows, his shirt discarded, a book in his lap. His hearing aids sit on the table.

Klaus' breath catches in his throat as his eyes drink in the sight. He tries to look away, feeling like he's intruding on something intimate and private, but his eyes are glued to the image before him. Shayan looks completely different like this, more vulnerable, his guard down. Klaus can see the strong planes of his bare chest, the ridges of muscle and faint scars that mar his tan skin.

He's struck by the sight of the hearing aids, a reminder that the man before him isn't as whole and perfect as he seems. The sight of them sitting on the bedside table makes his chest ache with a strange, unnamed sensation. He's suddenly gripped by the overwhelming desire to go inside, to speak to the man, but he stays rooted to the spot, his heart racing in his chest.

His fingers itch with the need to reach out, to do something, but he stays still, his eyes glued to the man in the bed. Something about the sight of him, so rugged and strong yet so vulnerable and fragile, it stirs something deep within him, something he can't understand.

A sudden rush of doubt floods him, knocking the ease from his chest. He steps back.

Klaus swallows hard, his body still thrumming with the strange mixture of emotions swirling within him. He steps back again, his mind suddenly racing.

He doesn't have any right to be here, to invade Shayan's privacy like this. He's a stranger, a stray the man has taken in on a whim. He has no right to this sight, this moment of vulnerability and exposure.

He turns away, his heart still hammering in his chest. He quickly walks back down the stairs, his mind racing. He can't understand what had come over him, the sudden need to go into that room, to see Shayan like that.

He tries to shake the image of him from his mind, the sight of his skins and the scars marring him. But the image stays, burned into his memory, causing his heart to race and his stomach to clench.

He heads back into the back room, collapsing onto the couch and burying his face in his hands. How will he be able to sleep here, knowing that Shayan is just upstairs, so close and yet so far?

He can still smell the man's scent on the clothes he's wearing, the cinnamon and coffee mixing with his own sweat to create an intoxicating mix. He closes his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts racing through his mind as he lays down, the couch surprisingly comfortable underneath him.

His mind refuses to slow down, the thoughts of Shayan's bare chest and the sight of his scars playing over and over in his head. But despite the turmoil in his mind, sleep comes quickly, the exhaustion of the past days finally taking it's toll as he falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

⋆⋅ ━━━━ ⋅⋆

WORDS: 5027
© TOO SAD TO CRY