He smiled and then began crawling up the small ladder that stuck out of the cement wall.
He wasn't wearing a shirt, so you could see his shoulder blades dance under his skin every time he reached for the next bar.
From that angle, with his blotchy burn scar, matted hair, and the fact that he was climbing out of a sewer, he almost looked like a monster.
But the second he pulled himself out and got to his feet, he looked over at me and smiled, which is the least monstrous thing in the world.
He was shivering violently in the winter morning air, but just as I was going to say something the woman walked up to him and sandwiched his hands between hers, rubbing warmth into them.
"Thanks, Delilah." He said as she brought his hands up to her face and breathed onto them.
"Hey Bo, could you hand me my clothes?"
I went over to his pile and just grabbed everything, not knowing exactly which wadded up piece of cloth he wanted.
Delilah released his hands so he could begin pulling on his clothes. He took everything out of my hands and layered it on, leaving only the dice.
I didn't know why I grabbed them, but I clutched them in my hands. Good luck.
Delilah ran her hands up and down his arms quickly, and he smiled and said, "I'll see you later, okay?"
She smiled her crooked tooth smile and nodded, and Peter turned to me and nodded his head towards the street. I shoved the dice into my coat pocket and followed him.
"So what are we doing boss?" I could still hear the coldness in his chattering voice.
"Something indoors," I said, "How about coffee."
"Works for me."
We walked for a minute before I said, "So you live in a sewer."
"Only part time," he smiled, "I seem to be doomed to living in some serious rat traps."
"It's not too bad, the smell keeps people from bothering me."
"Yes blame it on the smell and not that creepy beard."
"I kind of like it."
"It reminds me of porn from the 70s."
"I don't really get either of those references, but they sound offensive." We got to the Java Lab and walked through the door, ignoring the sharp looks people were throwing our way, or his way to be more exact.
"Yeah, the 70s were terrible."
We hovered around the glass case that housed the pastries and sandwiches.
"Want anything?" I asked.
He just shrugged, so I ordered two coffees and two muffins.
The employees eyed Peter suspiciously but he didn't seem to mind. He was probably used to it by then.
We got our food and went to sit down in a wooden booth on the far wall.
"Thanks for the food." He said, shoving half of the muffin into his mouth.
"Don't mention it."
He'd stopped shivering, but I could already smell the thick sewer smell already.
"So you're over the whole no touching women thing I see."
"Yeah, as much as I preferred to let that be our special thing," he smirked and I rolled my eyes, "turns out most people don't find it nearly as charming as you did."
"It's an acquired taste."
"A very hard to acquire taste, and for some reason people found it kind of offensive."
"Well with you screaming at their touch, I can imagine it would be hard to find the compliment in that."
He polished off the last of the muffin and wiped his mouth on a mucky looking wrist.
I tried my best not to look grossed out, "Why don't you let me get you some clothes or something."
"Nah, I actually know what money is now, and I don't think I can take any more of yours."
"Why not?"
"I didn't realize how expensive I must have been back then, you had to pay for my whole life. I don't want to live off of you again."
"It's honestly fine." I insisted. It was true that all the money I'd saved from my job as a waitress my senior year was wearing thin. Turns out it's harder to save money when you actually have a life. But I didn't mind getting him things he needed.
"I'm doing alright on my own." He said, sipping his coffee.
"Are you sure about that?" I raised an eyebrow at him.
"It's so much more exciting here! Much better than being trapped in the woods. There's do many people, sure most of them aren't big fans of mine, but I don't mind." He took another sip, "I enjoy being a man of the world."
To emphasize his point he swung his arms around and managed to smack a lady on the stomach.
"Watch it!" She yowled, and the employees looked at us, waiting for a reason to kick him out.
He smiled and said, "Sorry 'bout that," and she just kept walking.
"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." I laughed, taking a few packets of sugar, shaking them, and then tearing them open into my coffee.
"I've dealt with worse."
I snorted through my nose a little bit and grabbed more sugar packets, pouring them into my overpriced drink.
"What's that?"
"Sugar."
"That's what sugar looks like?" He admired the spot near my cup where I'd spilled a little bit, "it's so powdery."
"Some man of the world you are."
"Okay, the world except sugar."
He grabbed a handful of packets and began tearing them open and pouring them into his mouth.
"Sugar is also good when it's not in things, who would have thought." He said with his mouth full of granules.
I laughed, not caring that everyone was looking at him like he was insane. It was a fair assumption after all.
His antics brought me back to the good old days.
"I'm sure they won't like it if you manage to eat all of their sugar packets."
"Screw 'em." He mumbled over the large mouthful he'd acquired.
I just sat there and laughed at him as he did his best to try and swallow it all down.
When he was done I asked, "Well if you don't want me buying anything for you, why don't you just come and get some of your old stuff?"
"You still have it?"
"In some boxes at my mom's house."
"Why?" He tried his coffee again, scrunching up his nose in the process.
I couldn't help but feel myself flush in embarrassment, "It just didn't feel right to get rid of all your stuff."
Honestly, I couldn't bring myself to. Even when I was trying my hardest to forget everything, getting rid of his stuff meant he was never coming back, and that was something I couldn't deal with then.
"Sure I'll go through it."
"Okay, I'll drive you up there this weekend, how about Saturday morning?"
"When is the Saturday?"
"Like three days from now, why are you saying 'the'?"
"Is it bad to say the?"
"No, why are you calling it the Saturday?"
"Is that not what you call that day?"
"Yeah, but there's no the, it's just Saturday."
"Oh, I've been saying that wrong for a while then." He smiled and shrugged, "However you say it, it works for me."
"Cool." I said, downing a few large gulps of coffee, "well I've probably got to start heading back soon, I need to study before class."
"Okay," he said, standing up, "Do you have my dice?"
"Oh, yeah, sorry." I pulled them out of my pocket and handed them to over, "You really like those don't you?"
"They're good luck," he said, "You told me that."