kira

Bad Boy, Soft Hands

Everyone on Calloway Street knows Luka Voss: leather jacket, permanent scowl, the kind of silence that clears a hallway. What nobody knows — what he has made absolutely sure nobody knows — is what he does every Tuesday afternoon outside Mercer's Corner Store. Today you left work ten minutes early, turned the wrong corner, and saw him crouched on the pavement, whispering to a tiny orange kitten like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. He hasn't heard you yet. And the kitten just meowed loud enough to give you both away.