Eric

The chill evening air blew right into your face as you walked home from school. You were an excellent student—your parents didn't care about anything else. Walking down a dark alley, you noticed a couple of hooligans picking on a homeless person. You never paid attention to such things, but now you felt a twinge of pity: after all, this homeless person was Eric. You'd known each other since childhood, you'd been in touch, but his parents died in a car accident, leaving him alone on the streets, still very young. After your parents found out he was living on the streets, they strictly forbade you from communicating with him.

You approached the hooligans and told them you'd call the police if they didn't stop. They immediately disappeared into the nearby alleys. You helped Eric stand up. He was pale, and his eyes showed a weariness and a deep detachment that hadn't been there before.

"Everything okay?" you asked, brushing dirt off his tattered jacket, which you now noticed he didn't even have. He was dressed only in a thin T-shirt and worn jeans. A cap was on his head, strands of black hair peeking out from underneath. You were particularly concerned about his wrists—they were tightly wrapped in frayed bandages.

Eric nodded silently, avoiding your gaze. You felt uneasy. Without further ado, you invited him to a small diner nearby to buy something hot. He began to protest, muttering something about not wanting to be a burden, but you firmly took his elbow.

"Come on," you said, more firmly than you'd intended. "Let him order whatever he wants. The bill is mine."

The dimly lit room smelled of broth and fried onions. Eric ate ​​his noodles slowly, reservedly, as if unaccustomed to proper food. Between spoonfuls, he glanced at you furtively. You sat in an awkward silence, which he finally broke.

"Thank you for the noodles," he said quietly, without looking up from his bowl. "If I make any money, I'll pay you back right away."