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Yuri was having a bad day, and now his salad was on the sidewalk.
“Hey!” He exclaimed, looking down from his now-empty tray to the sad little pile of lettuce and croutons on the floor. Some of it had landed on his boots. “Watch where you are going! Busy cities like these, no one looks around. I bet you walked across the street blind too, yeah?”
“Sorry,” Said the stranger, and Yuri looked up to scowl at him. He was a younger man (the new generation, of course, they had no respect) with a pallid complexion and short-cropped dark hair. He was wearing gloves. “Sorry—I wasn’t looking, I’m sorry. I’ll pay for it, if you’d like. Get you a new one.”
Yuri looked down at the floor as the stranger bent down and picked up the plastic lid that had fallen with his salad. He scooped the food into a pile and dumped it onto the lid, bringing it up to Yuri with a sheepish, uncomfortable expression.
“Why do you do that?” Yuri immediately said, astounded at his idiocy. “Not taking your gloves off? Now your hands will be covered in sauce. You do not think ahead a lot, do you?” He reached and grabbed the man’s hand to wipe some of the ranch dressing off. Silly young people. Not thinking properly.
The man’s expression flashed for a second, before he let out a brittle laugh. He pulled his hand back when Yuri reached for his left. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess not,” His stare was too wide. The shadows under his eyes were too deep.
Yuri picked up the remains of the salad and moved over to the nearest trash can. “Well, now you can buy me a new meal,” He declared. “I do not take mistakes lightly, and this was more your fault than mine. Ridiculous generation, always not paying attention to their surroundings, on their phones…”
He turned back. The man was standing exactly where Yuri had left him, attracting glares from passersby as they moved around him. Yuri stared at him for a second, before impatiently gesturing to him to come over. Immediately, he burst forward and made his way over in jerky movements, like he had forgotten how to walk.
“I can pay for your lunch,” The man offered again, looking apologetically desperate for it, and pulled his wallet out of his pocket. It was shiny leather, like his jacket, and looked recently bought. He was still wearing his gloves, even though there was a white splotch on his left one now from the salad. Maybe he had poor circulation.
He offered a wrinkled twenty to Yuri, who shook his head and waved it away. “No bother. I must go back to the restaurant and get a new salad. They take forever to cook, but it is worth it.”
“Oh, where is it?” The man said, raising his eyebrows. “I’ve…uh, been looking for places to eat.”
“New to the area?”
The man nodded. “You could say that. Haven’t been around in a while.”
Yuri watched him with a frown. “Hmm,” He was pale and looked like he had lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. His shoulders were hunched like he wanted to disappear. Perhaps he did drugs. Or was homeless. Either way, Yuri enjoyed forcing his favorite restaurant on other people.
“Come. I will take you to lunch. Izzy’s makes the best food during work breaks.” He turned and walked briskly down the street. The man followed him this time, and stayed a bit behind him as Yuri made a right to go down to the restaurant at the end of the street. Gladys, one of the older residents in his apartment house, passed by and waved a hand at him.
“I don’t actually have a phone,” The man said quietly, and Yuri wheeled his head around to regard him for a second. He looked almost guiltily about it, swallowing his throat.
“Well, good.” Yuri reached Izzy’s and put out a hand for the entrance, but the man beat him to it, deftly opening the door and allowing Yuri to walk in. Well. He may be a bit addled in the head, but he knew to respect his elders. “Phones only rot your brain. There are too many screens in this world now. Not enough real life.”
“Yeah, it’s a little scary.” The man laughed. He looked around at the lazily busy restaurant in interest, the smell of cooking meat and sizzling treats frying on the pans wafting across the air. Yuri noticed his eyes linger on Leah, pouring drinks at the counter. “Often I’m not sure what to do on the subway, when everyone else has their devices in their nose.”
“These people will forget what their city looks like. Time flies by once you look up from the phone.” Yuri grumbled. “What happened to books? Or looking out the window?”
“What happened, indeed.” The man got an oddly wistful look in his eye for a moment. Yuri waited for it to fade away. It didn’t, so he smacked him on the shoulder slightly. The man jolted, looking affronted.
“Wake up. You’re buying me food.”
“Right, yeah.” He pulled out his wallet again and fished around in it as he looked up to the board. “What would you like? I can get anything you want, it’s not a big deal.”
“What would you like?” Yuri shot back, and the man’s expression froze in confusion. “Do not forget that it is me introducing you to the restaurant, and you can not truly appreciate Izzy’s unless it is your very first time. I suggest the special. It is always above mediocre.”
“High praise,” The man said, shaking his head with a smile. But he looked less like an animal trapped in car headlights.
They reached the counter. It was empty, and Yuri looked around impatiently before Leah popped in from a side door. “Hi! Sorry! I was doing the dishes. Hey, Yuri. Weren’t you here like ten minutes ago?” She noticed the stranger. “Who’s this? Did you make a friend?”
Yuri didn’t think she needed to sound so surprised. “All three questions shall be answered by him, and the first was his fault,” He replied, pulling out his reading glasses and squinting at the board. Out of the edge of his eye, he could see the man awkwardly wave at Leah with a small smile. She nodded coolly.
“I’m Bucky,” The man said. Huh. The name sounded familiar, but Yuri didn’t care all that much. He had the build of some type of mediocre sports player, and Yuri was not one for sports.
“Yuri Nakajima,” Yuri said stiffly, and turned back to the board. If ‘Bucky’ was paying, Yuri planned to get the noodles he had been wanting recently but was saving for a Sunday. He was old. He could do what he wanted.
“Yuri, you didn’t even get his name?” Leah laughed but held a hand out over the counter at Bucky. “I’m Leah. I’m kind of Yuri’s babysitter. And I apologize for whatever he’s probably said about you.”
“Aw, he’s not that bad. I mean. He did say I had no sense of direction, but he was being honest.” Bucky shook her hand with his right one. He was still wearing the gloves. Yuri clicked his tongue.
“Leah. I want the beef chow mein. With actual beef, not the slob they put in Impossible meats.” Yuri had a fundamental belief that Impossible Meat caused cancer, or at least took a couple of years off of your life. He liked vegans fine. But Impossible Meat was a depravity.
“Right-o.” Leah pressed a couple buttons on her fancy machine, and turned to Bucky. “What about you?”
“I…uh. I’ll get the special,” He said it almost as a question. Yuri raised an eyebrow.
“Do you even know what the special is?”
“You told me to get it,” Bucky said in offense. Leah looked between the two of them in amusement.
“Yes, but you don’t know what it is. How will you order it again if you don’t even know what you’re eating?”
Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Good point. What am I ordering?”
Yuri told him. Badly. Leah told him, and actually made sense, and she suggested certain types of meat (“Leah, give him the mild sauce too. He is white, look at him.”). Bucky, overwhelmed, ordered exactly what Yuri was prompting him to say.
Yuri looked him over. “Give him two,” He told Leah, to Bucky’s bewildered offense.
“I’m not skinny. I eat fine.”
“No one your age eats fine,” Yuri complained. “You grew up on those dinosaur chicken nuggets, and macaroni that you shove in the microwave. You need a proper meal.”
“Never had either of those—wait,” Bucky frowned at him. “How old do you think I am?”
Yuri glanced over at Leah, who had her elbows propped on the counter to watch. She raised her eyebrow. Bucky looked around her age, so he took his strongest guess.
“Twenty-five.”
To his confusion, Bucky’s face grew a wide grin, and he stifled a laugh behind a cough. “Well, can’t say I’m not flattered.”
“I don’t know, you don’t look a day over forty-six to me.” Leah said with a wicked grin. Bucky stared at her, and slowly thumped a hand to his chest in offense. Yuri chuckled victoriously.
“Anyways, I’m paying.” Bucky said, shaking his head and laughing slightly.
“Since when?” Leah blinked, staring at him. “Yuri never lets anyone pay for his food.”
“Well, his food is now a free dinner for the street rats of Brooklyn, and it's definitely my fault,” Bucky pulled out his wallet, and passed the bills to Leah. She counted his change and passed it back, as well as a small smile. Yuri noticed the way his face lit up, slightly, and made a mental note of it. “I’d say I’m liable to pay for the damage. And get lunch at such a fine establishment in the process.”
Leah snorted. “Right. Well, it’ll be out in a minute. Take a seat, fellas,” She printed out a list of their order with a smile and took off to the kitchen.
Yuri turned to Bucky. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“That. What was that? Why are you smiling at her?” Yuri demanded. They both made their way to a table in the corner, underneath some odd modern art painting.
“She smiled at me first,” Bucky complained, but his eyes wandered over to the bar when he thought Yuri wasn’t paying attention.
“Talk to her.” They sat down, Bucky against the wall and facing the door. Yuri settled with a groan.
“No,” Bucky protested, clearly caught out of a lie. “No—no.”
“Fine, I’ll talk to her for you. You’d do good with a proper lady like her in your life.” Yuri moved to get up, also planning to complain about his joints, but Bucky’s arm stopped him.
“No! Hold on a minute. I just met her,” Bucky tugged at his sleeve until Yuri gave up and sat back down. “I can’t just go up and ask her out. For all she knows, I’m some creepy homeless man you brought in.”
”You are some creepy homeless man I brought in.”
“You know what I mean.”
Leah waved at them from the counter, and he saw how Bucky lit up and immediately hid it so he wouldn’t get a smug look from Yuri. Yuri gave him a smug look anyways.
“Your generation. So foolish. Talk to her.” Yuri pointed a plastic straw at him. “Do it now, or I shall do it for you later, and I will make it a lot more embarrassing for you.”
Bucky laughed, realized Yuri was serious, and went pink around his ears. He took a sip of ice water and promptly choked on it when he caught Leah’s eye. This idiot. Yuri groaned and stirred the ice in his drink. He caught Bucky’s eyes, sent him a patronizing glare, and watched as the man cleared his throat and took a long swig of what was becoming more ice cubes than water. Oh, he’ll get Leah's number to him one day.
Their order came, piping hot and accompanied by their favorite waitress. Which in turn sent Bucky a bit red, and he thanked her too many times to be socially acceptable before she left.
Idly, as he stirred his drink, Yuri thought about his son, and how Bucky was like him. Awkward, but clearly intelligent. Hungry for someone to talk to him or give him recognition. He wondered, briefly, if they would have gotten along, if ever they had met.
He twisted his noodles onto the chopstick. That was foolish. His son was dead. Bucky was sitting in front of him and inhaling the special of the day with an almost supernatural speed, and his son was dead. Bucky would never have been able to meet him.
His gaze lingered on the red bean mochi by the counter, left in a green bowl surrounded by steaming meats and warm bread and rice.
Well, it did not hurt to dream.
For what it was worth, he thought they could have been good friends.