A man passed by a moment later, barely slowing down, and pressed a small packaged snack into Chauncy’s hand before continuing on without a word. Chauncy blinked, surprised. “Thank you,” he called out—but the man didn’t look back. He slipped it into his pocket quickly. Now there was more. But not enough. Not for tonight. Not for two people.
The thought settled heavily in his chest. If he walked away now… this was all he’d have. And he already knew how that would go. His mom would smile. Tell him she wasn’t hungry. And he’d pretend to believe her.
Chauncy looked back toward the store. The doors slid open. People walked in. Walked out. No one noticed him. He swallowed. Then turned—and stepped inside anyway.
The moment Chauncy crossed the threshold, he felt it. That shift. Like he’d entered a space where he didn’t quite belong. The air was cooler. The lights harsher. Every sound—carts rolling, scanners beeping, quiet chatter—seemed louder than it should. He stayed near the entrance. That was always the safest spot. Close enough to get back out if he needed to. Far enough not to stand out.
Chauncy kept his eyes moving, scanning carts, watching for someone who might need help. Someone who might say yes. But it felt different in here. More exposed. More… noticeable. He adjusted his posture slightly, trying to look like he belonged. Like he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Because he wasn’t. He was just asking. Just trying. Still—his hand brushed against his pocket again.
