Chapter Text
Take it one step at a time.
Capochin pulled on a thin plaid jacket. He grabbed his fifty dollars from under his ancient ashtray.
“Keep the change!” The guy had yelled after he had finished cleaning his car. Washing mud off the outside and gutting trash from the inside.
It went from being an unpaid dump truck to looking like a decent used area.
One of his many odd jobs. One of the many things he did as job application after application got rejected.
Hard work.
He thought he was holding a hundred dollar bill. It wasn't. His elated heartbeat didn't linger with joy.
“Wait! Wait, you said seventy! Wait!”
The car sped off, leaving him fuming with a crumpled fifty in his hand.
In his pocket.
Consistently underpaid.
And as much as Capochin wanted to blow it all on smokes, he was hungry. His cabinet was bare, and what was left in his fridge wasn't exactly appetizing.
He needed food.
So he gripped the bill in his hand like someone was gonna tap his shoulder and take it from him, as he left his run down apartment to walk to the grocery store.
He could very clearly see the bright red paper stuck to his door. And he grabbed it, flicked it inside, and slammed the door.
If one more thing went wrong that week he figured he might just explode or have an aneurysm so he figured he should eat…before reading that.
So he faced the rain, trying to push it alllllll to the back of his head for now.
Just one thing at a time…as it all kept piling up.
The bills…the stress…the pressure to just get by. Working like a dog just to fit in and survive.
All of that could wait until he had himself a sandwich.
---
He tried to ignore the rain cloud above his head beating against his soul. And the physical rain, as he stormed into the grocery store without even bothering to wring his hair out.
He grabbed a cart and leaned deeply against it to get a minor amount of rest.
Every little thing was frustrating him in that moment.
He was trying to get a head of romaine lettuce and the produce bag wouldn't open, so he opted to forgo it and grabbed a head of iceberg instead. Most of the tomatoes were bruised.
People decided to not realize how violently in the way they were, blocking the aisle and him from mayonnaise and mustard.
They were just chatting away and he really did not want to go around. In his annoyance instead of an "excuse me” Capochin rattled the cheap metal of the cart and tapped his foot, huffing a passive-agressive breath.
They moved. They glared at him. He stormed on.
To him, it was the only way to get by.
He gathered his groceries with that rain cloud, thinking of things he’d like to do. Things he’d like to have.
That box of Macaroni looked pretty good, that’d be nice on a cold night. “Cause your dumbass can’t get a job and there’s no heat in that place.” His thoughts bit at him.
He put it in the cart as the scratching voice of anxiety and hatred pawed at him. He kept walking. “Hey, smart guy, if you want that macaroni you need milk and butter. You might want that.”
He huffed, and went down the dairy aisle. He needed cheese anyway. Picked the meat for his sandwich on the way.
It’s not what he usually gets, but with the lettuce and tomato, he picked bologna. Two packs of it.
It was the cheapest thing he could grab.
Maybe he can cut some of it up and put it in the macaroni for another day. He gave himself a little smile. That’d work.
He collected his groceries, jumping around the aisles, missing things and grumbling as he walked back.
White bread, a bag of cheesy chips. Peanut butter and jelly! Give himself some options so he feels an even slight bit of control!
And if he’s getting peanut butter, may as well grab himself some apples!
Marked down chicken? That’s a steal.
A few Lunchables and frozen meals impulsively went into his cart, as did a big box of instant noodles.
Ah, he didn’t have any dishes. He’d eat noodles straight from the pan but not his sandwich. Small pack of paper plates.
He looked at his cart, trying to think of anything else he needed, and how heavy this was going to be to walk home.
He always managed. He had to manage.
He thought about grabbing a candy as he made his way to the register, but that was what the lunchables were for.
He got in line, and his eyes were drawn to the soda cooler on the side. He opened it, looked at a cola, but put it down with a shake of his head.
All of his items went on the belt. The cashier looked at him, and he steeled himself against that look in their eyes.
Probably judging his hair, or the scrapes in his jeans. Wondering if he stole something. All he had to do was keep calm, and be ready for anything.
“How are you doing today?” They asked him, as per obligation, so he simply shrugged since he was in no mood for conversation.
They gave him a small customer-service smile, bagging his groceries as they slid the separator bar down to the next in line.
Someone immediately grabbed it, placing the barrier down and loading more onto it. Not that Capochin cared much, he was almost done.
He wouldn't be in anybody's way, he wanted to just get by before someone could get him for anything. It always felt like someone was watching-
So he tried his best to keep his mind in his bubble.
Capochin pushed his cart to the end of the line, and didn't even bother focusing enough to load the bags into the cart to separate into his arms later.
They piled on the top of the turner.
The cashier paused on his lettuce, turning and taking their time trying to find the code for it.
“It’s two fifty…” He supplied, but they simply said with a nervous waver in their own voice, “Aaahh, I still need to find the code.”
He huffed, leaning against the cart. A longer line was forming and he wanted to go home.
He tapped his foot, thinking how he’d walk this home without losing it. Tying the bags will work but they’ll be a little harder to carry. Though then water won’t get into them as easy.
That was the way, he could do this, he got it.
“Okay sir, your total is Seventy-Two dollars and eighty-five cents.” Capochin swore he could’ve shattered into a million pieces right then and there with how fast that total smacked him out of his thoughts.
“W-what- How-??”
The cashier looked uncomfortable at the notion they had that answer. He didn’t care, waving his hand and smacking the side of his leg.
He took the bill out of his pocket and handed it to them. “I…I just need to take a few things off.”
They stopped the belt, and waited for him to sift through the bags and make his choices.
His face burned hot as he thought. He handed her the things to go-back. The lunchables were the first to go. Then the paper plates, he’d eat it right away.
His ears burned when someone at the back of the line badgered the cashier for another line to open. His bubble was popped, he was in the way.
“Help check, please.” The intercom pinged, making Capochin’s eyes water just a bit.
Capochin blurred it out, as he still needed to lose twenty dollars worth of groceries, and wanted to keep at least some of this money.
Take the Jelly. Take the Butter and the Macaroni, he didn’t need any of it.
He didn't need any of this.
He felt choked up, but couldn’t lose it at a grocery store. He’d be better than that. Take the frozen meals.
He needed to take off just a little bit more. Take the mayo…take his vegetables.
Once the lettuce and tomato were set down onto the cashier’s side, something happened that made him immediately tense up and square his shoulders.
The person next to him in line, some curly haired sod with big red glasses, points at the stuff he’s putting away and grabs it to put with his own items. Makes little grabby hands and everything.
He even stopped the belt and pushed his own groceries back. He looked at Capochin and gave him a smile. A smug little smirk as he pushed back a big bottle of ibuprofen to put his scraps on his order.
He really wanted to take it all from Capochin, didn’t he? Each thing Capochin couldn’t afford just to himself, couldn’t even give Capochin that shred of dignity.
His eyes grew glossier and his rage burst forward.
His total was taken down to forty-one dollars, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care, he just wanted to leave.
He seethed as he swooped all of his bags into his arms, turned to the man and yelled, “KEEP IT THEN, ASSHOLE!” Giving him the angriest teary-eyed look imaginable before running away as quickly as he could.
Not even to see the surprised look on the jerk’s face, or the cashier picking the intercom up as if he wasn’t out of the store.
Can’t kick him out when he’s already rushing through the rain, trying his hardest to not cry.
Trying did not mean succeeding.
He tired quickly, sniffing and rubbing at his eyes and cheeks despite the heavy weight of the bags.
He settled into a brisk walk, coughing on his tears as everything in him screamed to just throw it all down and just...
“Find the nearest crack in the pipes and jump.”
He breathed hard at that thought, but thinking it just made it linger as he stomped.
It echoed, it warped, and screamed, and whispered.
It made his heart race.
“You’re getting nowhere, and will never fit. Find it. Jump.”
The bags were heavy. His heart was heavy. His soul was heavy. Nobody would care. Not a single damn person in this entire drain-
He was just a blip, a name on a problem tenant list, a speck.
If he jumped, he knew.
As he paced forward, eyes trained on his feet, fists gripping hurting his fingers...
He’d sink.
“You would sink, and nobody would dive.”
And nobody would…
“HEY! Hey, you! Wait!”
Dive…
He didn’t even want to stop, but the voice cut through all of his frothing thoughts.
He turned his head, and his eyes widened at what he saw.
It wasn’t the manager coming out to chastise him, or some random person wanting his empty wallet.
It was the guy. From the line. The rain was already soaking his curls down.
He was rushing to him, showing Capochin that he hadn’t even left the parking lot yet.
He tensed, holding his bags as tight as he could as he tried to figure out what this guy wanted from him.
He thought about booking it, but he froze when the guy stopped to catch his breath.
“You…” He gasped, straightening and holding out three bags. “You forgot these-”
Capochin’s confusion only grew, he looked down, and back up again, pretty certain he grabbed everything.
He…he didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know what this guy’s goal was.
With those glasses rounding his face, accenting the…the gentle smile he gave him as he slid the tied bags onto his wrists.
“There. Can’t leave without that!” The guy grinned a bit at him, making a gesture that Capochin was good to go.
The guy gave him a bright thumbs up, “You have a good day now, alright, bud? Be safe!” He took a step backwards, walking off with his own bags towards a large van and driving away.
Question marks practically floated above Capochin’s head, as the dark thoughts were blotted out by their existence.
Did…did he just get reverse-robbed? He looked down…to the left…to the right…
And continued walking home in radio silence.
---
When he got home, his arms and legs were crying for a rest. He couldn't rest for long if he didn't want to get swept off by the rain.
He plopped all of his bags down to unlock the door but noticed he forgot to lock it in the first place.
“Good job, Capo-” He muttered to himself, “Good for nothin’-” He agreed with his sour thoughts.
He carried all his things inside, separating the tied bags from the untied. He put away what he knew he didn't forget. The rest he placed on his coffee table, wary of it.
The dark thoughts still poked the edge of his mind, but the mustard and meat needed to be put in the fridge. The chicken in the freezer.
Thumping the back of his head as he sparsely filled his empty cabinets.
Find the crack. Find it.
He sat on the old sofa that came with the place and stared at the bags the guy had handed him. Stared at them as if they were some type of explosives and he was the one to defuse them.
He honestly did not want to open them. He was terrified it'd be some sort of prank. Or a bag of trash or rocks or something.
He tapped his foot, wanting to make himself a shitty bologna-mustard sandwich, have a smoke, and go to bed before any thoughts could truly hook in his brain.
Find the crack.
His heart sped up as he decided if he was going to make himself feel worse today.
Find it.
There probably wouldn't be a better time.
He untied the bag with closed eyes, and when something didn't leap out at him, he peeked one open.
It was pizza lunchables.
He looked up, trying to think which God was trying to prank him. Maybe that Cobigail sent this to him, to confuse him, to catch him off guard.
He moved the snacks and below he saw a familiar pack of butter, tucked next to a small jar of mayo. And the same frozen meals he picked out.
He ripped open the second bag and saw paper plates, peanut butter, jelly, and a box of macaroni.
“No-” He breathed to himself, not understanding a lick of it. Then…then what was this third bag?
He brought it closer, and saw through the plastic that it was the lettuce and tomato. But there was more heft to the bag than that. So he opened it.
He opened it, and next to the vegetables, not even on his original order, was the bottle of cola he pondered about.
He grabbed it, and saw it was cold and fully sealed.
“I…Uh-” He didn’t know if he could trust all of this, his thoughts swirled and demanded he trash all of it, that he continue to scream and cry and let it wash over him.
People were so very, very rarely kind to him, and he felt he was rarely there enough to deserve it: so there had to be some caveat. Some catch. Something!
Everything was still sealed. The vegetables looked exactly as they did when he last touched them.
It…it was just what he left behind…
Capochin gathered them up, and slowly walked to put them away as well. What did he do to deserve this?
He didn’t know…He left out the mayo, and decided to make the sandwich he wanted in the first place.
As he unpacked the groceries, prepping his area for said sandwich, he wadded up the bags to throw away.
When he got to the last bag that housed his veggies, he heard something metallic click around inside. He opened it back up, and didn't realize there was a receipt and small bills in the bottom of this bag.
He dumped it onto his small counter, and grabbed the receipt. The whole order, the change he stormed out on.
Eight dollars and forty-four cents on the dot.
He grabbed the receipt and saw something scribbled on it in red pen-strokes. “If you need someone to chat with or talk to, give me a call! Let’s hang out!”
His tears almost came back when he saw below it, a phone number, and in a fast cursive scribble. “-Hector!”
Oh…oh he felt like a massive jerk- He felt so bad, he felt- he felt unworthy. Deep, deep down, he felt-
Ggggrowl-
Hungry. He was so, very hungry.
He turned, and looked at the floor. He saw the bright red paper by the door as well. He stretched, picked it up and moved to smack them both notes on the coffee table to focus on what he left the house for in the first place.
He got out two pieces of bread, and put them on the paper plate. Using a plastic butter knife he put on the mayo and mustard.
A gracious amount, but just a bit less of the mustard. Two pieces of bologna. A single piece of cheese.
Briefly wash the vegetables. Use the same butter knife to cut the tomato. Place the lettuce on, and the tomato on top.
Top bread, crunch it down, grab the whole bag of chips and the soda to flop back down on the couch.
The sandwich almost looked…brighter, to him. It was probably the vegetables, he figured.
He took a bite. A large bite. Condiments immediately dripped onto the plate, protecting him.
He heard the crunch, and savored it for a fleeting moment. This was so much better. This was worth it.
He didn’t know what he did to deserve it, truly, but he knew with how fast he began to eat that he’d not regret it. That he’d pay it forward.
That he’d-
Find the crack-
He ignored it, as he opened his chips and ate a big handful, cracking open the soda to wash it down. He gulped half of it down, only stopping when his body made him.
He put the soda down, cupping a half-fist over his mouth as if anyone was around him to mind a burp.
He gasped for air, and felt it deep in his chest as he filled up. He knew not the feeling’s fleeting name, but far in his heart he knew.
It was love.
He breathed to himself, trying to figure out what to do with this information, idly eating the chips as he stared between the two pieces of paper that grabbed at him.
He picked them both up and ran his thumbs over the two of them.
“To the order of Capochin Simeon, you are required to vacate in thirty days, failure to comply will result in legal proceedings, attorney fees, court costs and penalty damages.”
Find the crack. Find it.
Find it- Nobody would dive for you-
“Let’s hang out!- Hector!” A smiley face dashed next to that name, beautiful and calling.
A name he traced in his mind and held like a stuffed toy in his psyche. A steadfast name, shining a light into his life with just a simple act of kindness.
It comforted him, as his stomach was not merely full but satisfied thanks to that name.
Capochin took a deep breath, putting them both down in favor of another sip of soda. He knew what he needed to do.
As he ghosted through his home that night, he knew what he’d do in the morning.
He read the phone number dozens of times, keeping him up as he tried to drift to sleep.
He wanted to choose joy.
He chooses joy.
As the years go on, as he moves forward, as he continues to live…
He hopes and prays that joy will also choose him in return.
---
“At least, that’s how I remember it. It was…it was dark, a dark time for me. Thank you, for being my light and keeping me afloat. I’ll always love you for that.”
“...Capo…of course-”