Work Text:
The stench of cigarette smoke was overpowering, above all else. Mangy couldn't tell if it was just the pollution from the factories, or the smell of a couple hundred burned out cigarettes, or just the city in general. The "fresh air" was horrible all the same.
But at least it was empty and wide open. The streets were a horrible place, but the indoors felt harsh and oppressive. The lighting was harsh on his eyes these days, almost feeling intentional. The store owners always glared at him, never feeling sympathetic for a street bastard like him, always so dirty and dressed like he was dragged by an two ton truck for eight miles.
Mangy wished he could look better. That he could be better.
He sighed, knowing damn well that couldn't happen with the loose change in his pockets. It'd take a while before someone hires someone like him, given that he was a literal child. He didn't have that much time, given it could be years before anyone could legally hire him.
He hated the clothes he was wearing. He used to love them, the t-shirt and shorts feeling nice on his fur. But being able to wash them weekly was frustrating, not to mention someone took them out the washing machine before it even finished yesterday. They never even got to dry, so they felt even more freezing than normal. They were torn, stained, and looked more like rags than actual clothing.
He used to have more clothes, but carrying them wasn't easy, and took up way more space I'm his backpack then he was happy about. Most of his "wardrobe" was stolen a while back, so now he was down to the shredded pieces of fabric that looked and felt like handkerchiefs used to scrub an alleyway.
Which was fitting, given how often he slept in them.
He signed, and pulled himself to his almost shoeless feet. The soles were almost worn out, but they protected him from the extremely dangerous garbage people tossed on the sidewalk. He walked along, hoping to find money or something he could pawn.
Storefronts and buildings passed him by, each varying wildly in what they sold and what they offered. Chinese food, souvenirs, an apartment building, a pawn shop (he made a mental note to sell something there), dozens of tall places that he could only imagine what went on inside. All seemingly different, yet they all kept reminding him of one thing.
Every store was too expensive to shop in. Every restaurant had prices too high, and every building that stretched higher than him made him feel smaller and smaller. He felt alone and unable to do anything but walk the same path everyday. He couldn't afford to do anything but live, and that was getting stretched thin by the day.
He turned back around, not wanting to explore too much today. His wanderlust did not triumph over his need for familiarity. The same place he found everyday, the same place he returned to. It was the one alleyway, near the stores where the owners' didn't glare at him.
He glanced by the storefronts, tired of the constant reminders of what he couldn't have. He wondered if he could at least look better than he normally does. He stole one last glance at a clothing shop, display windows catching his attention.
Whoever owned this store wasn't advertising to a kid living on the street, yet he took his time inspecting the fabric through the glass. The mannequins were shaped like both humans and malinos, a variety of plastic bodies, all adults. He briefly wondered if they made fancy clothing for someone his size. It'd be ridiculous to think they didn't, or that it couldn't be made, but it didn't matter either way. He'd never be able to afford it until he was older, too old and big to fit into any clothes that small.
His eyes caught onto a suit. It wasn't any special to most people who could afford clothing that expensive.
It was a simple suit, with a dress shirt underneath, and a red tie in between. It was accompanied by gray pants and some brown work shoes. It was something millions of people wore, and didn't look unique at all. But it spoke to Mangy, oddly enough (metaphorically. It didn't have a mouth or a throat or anything). It seemed dignified, not like the street rags he'd been wearing for weeks. It didn't hang off the mannequin, unlike his clothes that weren't big enough to be a blanket and too stretched in the wrong places, hanging off him like a sack. He usually didn't mind, but the collar of his shirt was nearly as big as the hole directly under it, and was falling apart from him chewing on it. The suit was clean, classy, and wasn't the unwashed street rags he'd been wearing long enough that he could make a new set from the filth they've collected.
He stared at it, a bit entranced by the idea. Changing out of the outfit he'd been wearing for way too long was a pipe dream, but it was a dream nonetheless. He'd probably never be able to buy something that expensive, but the idea was nice on its own. He peered through the window, almost inspecting the suit with how intently he stared at it.
He sighed aloud, looking away. As much as he'd like to spend time dreaming of a better life, his escape from reality couldn't last forever. He wasn't one to shy away from trying to ignore his problems in favor of daydreaming, but he had to keep walking. Away from the store.
Away from the suit.
He didn't even understand why it was so important to him. It was just a suit. Something like a change in clothes wouldn't make his life better, or make him feel less lonely whenever he had to spend another night with no one to talk to.
Yet, it felt important all the same. It represented the idea of a better life. The idea that one day, he'll be able to afford better clothes when he needed them, without having to sacrifice food for weeks. It would mean a change from his same bland routine, and it would finally give him a small feeling of joy that was missing from his life for a long while.
Not that his dreams would come true just by hoping.
He looked back one last time, wishing he could have held onto that small hope for a little while longer. Well, the higher his ambitions, the longer the fall. A small comfort, but anything that would make him feel better was necessary.
He spotted the familiar alleyway, his "home." He wasn't a big fan of where he lived, but it was home all the same. He felt himself settle in, laying down on the molded mattress he dragged out a while back. He held his backpack close, afraid if losing it or being robbed of it like everything else he owned. He rested his head on an old pillow the shop owners gave him days ago. He used to use a flattened cardboard box as a blanket, but they gave him a few towels out of sympathy. He wouldn't be able sleep for hours, no matter how much he closed his eyes or tried to calm himself. He was able to drift off eventually, into an unrestful sleep, filled with dreams he wouldn't remember the next morning.
When Mangy awoke, he didn't notice anything odd at first. He felt like it was an average morning, as normal as it could be for someone in a situation like his. Buy something was off. His backpack was in a different position. He was holding it differently last night.
He felt his fear spike, his panic immediately waking him up from his stupor. He yanked open the front, where he kept most of his valuables.
He paused, realizing what he was looking at. He felt confused, wondering if he was still asleep, but delighted at the same time.
Inside, there was a suit, just like the one he was staring at yesterday. It was smaller, scaled to fit his proportions. But it was a similar style, clean and fancy. Next to it, there were a few bills, about fifty dollars worth. It was enough to but a few decent meals, and maybe something extra, like a lock for the zipper on his backpack. He was shocked someone would do something like this, but felt giddy all the same.
Maybe even happy enough to...
Nope, still couldn't smile. Been a decade and he still had nothing.
Still, he was overwhelmingly happy that someone thought he was worth a favor like this. He wondered if it was the shop owners who gave him this, but they weren't there when he was in front of the clothing store.
He wished he could repay them somehow, but he probably wouldn't ever find out who did this for him. He was saddened at the thought, but shook himself out of it.
He hopped inside a box to change, being quick but careful with his new outfit. He felt the fabric of the suit against his fur, the feeling of cleanliness washing over him. He used to like the fact there was never a mirror around (he wasn't worth looking at) but he wished to see himself now.
He walked out to a storefront, looking at himself through the reflected glass. He ran his eyes over his new look.
For the first time in a while, he didn't hate the reflection that was staring back. His old, rotted shorts and t-shirt was replaced by an actually clean set of clothes. Whenever he saw his own face, he hated the lack of a smile, a constant reminders of what he couldn't do. He saw someone who couldn't do anything right. Now, he saw someone with hope. Someone who had life in his eyes for the first time in weeks.
Sure, the suit would get dirty. It would be a hell of a pain to clean. It almost seemed like a waste of time, knowing it would get destroyed somehow.
But inside, knowing that someone cared enough to give him something like this...
It made him happy.
Something he needed in a long time.
(Years later, the suit still rested at the back of his drawer. He outgrew the suit, but not the memories. Even today, he loved wearing formal clothes, if only to remind himself of what they meant.
A better life, that he finally had.)