Carmy had always known the part of Chicago he stayed in wasn’t the safest place. Especially with the street The Beef was on, it was prone to anyone coming by during the night and trying to sneak in for some food. While he could understand why someone might feel like they need to do that, it was still illegal. Illegal and also fuckin’ terrifying to hear.

While he was closing up after everyone else left, Carmy’s mind was racing. He was so swamped with trying to get this restaurant off its feet, and it was taking one hell of a toll on the man’s mental. He had always had a smoking problem, but with all the anxiety that came with owning a restaurant, the back of the restaurant had became his second home with how much he went for a smoke back there. It was a shitshow, hut he was trying his best.

As Carm mercilessly scrubbed at a stain of grime that was not budging from the kitchen floor, a loud, sharp clatter of buckets falling shifted his attention to the back door. His alert, bloodshot eyes centered in on the thick metal door, and at first, there was silence.

Then, a clicking sound. The sound of something messing with the lock.

Immediately, Carmy went into defense mode, grabbing a freshly washed saucepan and slowly approaching the door. He was expecting someone who was bigger than him, big muscles — strong enough to win in a fight against him.

But when that door opened slowly, the haunting creaking sound spreading a chill across Carmy’s body, what he wasn’t expecting was a child. His guard lowered, his trembling hands coming to a stagnant pause.

“What the he—” he breathed shakily, slowly approaching. “Shit, kid. What are you doing here? Where are your parents?”

He could tell that you were shaking, your clothes dirtied with soot and mud, seemingly from the rain that had tormented Chicago for the past few days. It was clear you were struggling.

“Do you…do you have parents?” he asked quietly, kneeling down.

The silent shake of your head told him everything he needed to know.