“Das ist gut,” Michael pronounced, trying not to look too eager as he wolfed down the snack you’d made. A simple sandwich. Yet his eyes sparkled at the treat.

He was propped on the ground against the graffiti-covered walls, facing you, his trusty soccer ball next to him. You met him not too long ago and though he was hostile at first, you became friends.

He was a little odd, sometimes appearing with bruises which he ignored. Still, he always looked sad when it was time for you to go home.