Hierarchy of Need [t.r]

Chapter Nineteen

Tom felt his lips twitch again.

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Delilah led them to a small cafe on the muggle side of London. She didn't have much money, so she only bought him a cup of coffee. Delilah supposed her Christmas gift made up for it, though. Besides, if he hated his birthday so much, he wouldn't care.

Tom stood against the wall, waiting for her to return with drinks. He made her order, seeing as she's paying. And he didn't want to interact with anyone, especially muggles. He watched her approach, weaving between people with a white cup that had steam pouring from the top.

As she grew nearer, he realized she was singing happy birthday. It sounded awful, but thankfully the chatter of the cafe drowned out most of her vocals.

"Happy Birthday dear, jackass. Happy birthday to you." She had a ridiculous smile on her face as she offered him a cup of coffee. Delilah noticed the dark liquid was the same shade as his eyes.

Tom looked at the cup for a moment. He'd had coffee only once before. It was at the orphanage when he was eight. He saw the grownups drinking it, so he wanted to drink it too. It was some weak attempt to show the other kids he was by far more mature. And he remembered hating it. Still, he took the cup from her and sniffed it. Delilah hid a laugh behind a hand and he glared at her.

He took a drink and this time Delilah couldn't help but laugh at the flicker of disgust on his face. "That's foul." He muttered, shoving the cup back into her hands. Delilah shrugged and took a drink of it easily, it was bitter, but familiar. She welcomed the burn.

They walk out the door and continue down the street, not a particular direction in mind. London looked so strange, it felt like she was looking at it through a time period movie.

She spotted a man sitting on a ragged, dirty blanket on the street. Wrapped up in a tattered coat and shivering. He wasn't the only one. Many people's homes got destroyed due to the bombings. As they passed by the man, Delilah stopped and knelt down.

Tom kept walking but turned once he realized Delilah wasn't next to him. He raised an eyebrow at the man she was talking to. He was probably in his mid sixties and had a scraggly gray beard and red rimmed eyes.

"Here you go," Delilah gave him her cup of coffee and he stared at her wide eyed, hands shaking either with age or the cold as he grabbed it. Maybe both. "Thank you, love." His voice was gruff, but still smooth. Almost like an over-rosined bow. "Do you know of any place you can stay tonight?" Delilah pulled out what money she had left and offered it to the man. He shook his head to refuse but Delilah softly grabbed his hand and put it in his palm. "Find someplace safe, okay?" She have the man's hand a squeeze before standing up.

"Bless you, sweet child." He looked as if he was about to cry and she gave him a small smile.

Tom stood about five feet away, hands in his pockets and his eyes observant. They were fully trained on Delilah, however. He watched as everyone else on the street passed by them blindly, almost as if Delilah became invisible the moment she began to talk to the homeless man.

After that, they aimlessly walked around the city. The streets were busy, due to it being New Years Eve. Quite a few people were already stumbling drunk in the streets, pouring out the doors of crowded pubs. Delilah laughed as one man started to chase after a cat, thinking it was his shoe running away from him.

Her laugh died on her lips however when she and Tom came across a memorial for all those either missing or who've died in the war. Her eyes trailed along the faces of the hundreds of men, all smiling in the pictures their loved ones have posted to the wall. Her heart broke a little as she realized most of them were no older than she was.