Chapter Text
A hand wiped the inside of the glass dry, squeaking right before Blair set the drinking vessel next to the others on the open kitchen counter, the glass clinking. He took a deep breath, wiping the last glass clean, his mind running through a mental checklist of what needed doing for the next day of customers at the Ingris Canteen before he left for the night.
Blair hummed along to the music blasting through his earbuds as he did so, nodding his head, his body relaxed after an uneventful day at the traditional Japanese canteen that catered to the needs of Pro Heroes. He ran with the help of a few old friends now and then.
"That's it, I think," Blair said, setting down the last glass, speaking to nobody in particular before running a hand through his dark locks of hair, returning to humming along with the music as he headed to the black door, his eyes glancing at the trash can, making sure he'd pulled the trash before pushing the back door out, the cold winter air hitting him in the face, resulting in his breath steaming out, lit by the ligths in the alley way, but he froze in the doorway of his place of business to meet up with Lepic and Esiemo, staring.
A young teen stood there, in the alleyway, hand lifting the lid of the dumpster up with one hand, some of the spoiled food Blair threw away earlier that night while Blair froze, taking in the way the oversized clothes hung off the teens thin frame, noticing the teen didn't look up at the sound of the backdoor to Ingris Canteen opening, as if he didn't hear what made a rather loud noise.
Blair frowned, stepped forward, his boots clunking in the alleyway, the teen still not looking up allowing Blair to draw closer, and in the dim light, he saw the nasty scar running along the teen's jawline to the back of his head under the jawline, another scar on the skin, while the color of the skin below the scar darker than the skin above, but when he came a few away from the teen, he barked out, "Hey!"
The teen flinched, turning slightly, allowing Blair to see a pair of teal eyes that seemed oddly familiar, yet he couldn't quite place the reason, instead taking in the fear appearing in the boy's eyes before the teen's eyes narrowed, the food he'd fetched from the dumpster forgotten right before the teen turned, attempting to run.
Blair moved faster, grabbing the teen's wrist, causing him to stagger slightly as his momentum carried him forward.
"Let go!"
"No," Blair said, keeping his grip firm, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his mind already made up without the grumble erupting in the alleyway indicating the teen was in need of a good meal. "Lepic and Esimo can wait."
"I said, let go!" The teen yelled, then twisted unexpectedly, his free hand lighting up—
Blair's eyes widened, leaning to the side so the teen's hand flew past him along with the flames as he muttered out, "Fire Quirk?"
And then he used the teen's momentum to bring his other arm under the boy's midsection and lifted him up over his shoulder as the teen let out a few choice curse words before, "Let me go, you jerk!"
"Says the person I just caught rummaging through my dumpster," Blair said, turning back to the Ingris Canteen.
"You threw it away, so it isn't as if it's stealing!" the teen protested, his voice sounding unused, yet Blair found himself wondering if the teen's vocal cords weren't damaged, seeing the dark skin around the teen's neck area continuing under the all too large shirt. And then a fist pounded into his back. "Put me down before I burn you, you creep!"
"Yeah," Blair sighed, an earbud knocked out of his ear. "The most you'll do is burn my clothes, kid."
"I'm not a kid!" the teen said. "And I seriously will..."
"Yeah. Fire resistant, you idiot," Blair said. "Also have a fire Quirk, brat," his mouth twisted into a frown as he pushed the door of his business open, noting the teen didn't wear any shoes. "In the middle of winter? What's going on with this kid?"
The teen continued cursing him out, his stomach betraying him yet again as Blair plopped him onto a stool at the counter of the open kitchen. As he stepped back, he watched the teen glare at him, hands clenched around the pants that were too big for him.
"Cute," Blair said, watching the boy bristle slightly at the suggestion, but then, "When was the last time you ate?"
A pair of turquoise eyes widened in surprise, and then softly, "I don't know."
Blair frowned, then sighed. "Okay. We'll start simple then."
"What?" The teen watched as Blair moved into the kitchen. "What do you mean by that?"
"The food was thrown away for a reason," Blair said. "So no way am I letting you make yourself sick on it." He glanced over. "And when was the last time you had any fluids?" And then he sighed, turning back. "No. Doubt you're properly hydrated."
"Why. Why are you..."
Blair removed a Popsicle from the freezer and a plastic water bottle from the refrigerator and turned, holding them out. "Here."
The teen turned on the stool, the stool squeaking as he did so, his eyes on the Popsicle. "That's not real food."
"It's to get something in you while you cook, but it will also help hydrate you a bit," Blair said, handing the Popsicle over, his eyes catching sight of scars around the wrist and more discoloring, before opening the water bottle and setting it back down. "Be sure to drink slowly, otherwise you'll make yourself sick."
The teen frowned, then, eyes still on the Popsicle as if that were the strangest thing in the world. "The scars bother you, don't they?"
Blair tensed, then, "Not for the reasons you think?" He watched the teen look up at him. "Someone your age shouldn't have to go through shit like you obviously did."
"I don't need pity."
"Well, you're getting it whether you want it or not."
"Ass hole."
"Language," Blair said, then, "Western or Eastern?"
"Huh?"
"I can cook Japanese, French, American, pretty much..."
"Pizza?"
Blair turned, looking at the boy. "You want Pizza?"
"I've never had it before," the teen said.
"Eat your Popsicle," Blair said. "Never had pizza?" And then. "Don't. Don't get your hopes up."
"But..."
"I don't think your stomach can handle pizza, so let's start with something it can, right?"
"Right," the teen said, looking far from amused.
And then—
"No fish."
"No fish?" Blair frowned. "So no miso, udon, or soba?"
"No!" the teen protested. "Fish broth is fine. No fish-fish. The texture is..." And then, "Bleh."
"Oh. Texture issue?" Blair said, letting out a laugh. "I get it. Everyone has their thing, you know."
"Really?"
"Really," Blair said, turning his head, slightly perplexed, then. "Oh. Come on. Eat your Popsicle."