Disclaimer: I don't own Getbackers, not even a little bit.
"Responsibilities"
The bell rang and Paul glanced up from his paper.
A boy, dirty, scraggly and thin, ambled into the Honky Tonk. He observed his surroundings with a practiced air of indifference, as if being seen in such an establishment would put reputation at risk, as if he weren't some unkempt brat, but a person of great importance. He strolled up to the bar and pulled a wad of filthy crumpled bills from a pocket somewhere beneath his baggy orange sweatshirt.
"Gimme a coffee and the biggest thing I can get with whatever's left," he said, and pushed the money across the bar to Paul.
Paul took it, and began to count it slowly, looking at the boy more than the cash. Dark hair, blue eyes, same fucking grin, even - his son? He briefly wondered if Midou sent this kid as some sort of mind game. He wouldn't have put it past an expert of illusions.
The boy took the staring as some sort of challenge, and glared back through his purple lenses.
He gave the boy his coffee, hiding a smile as this kid not a day over sixteen loudly insisted that he didn't want cream or sugar or any of that "pussy stuff." Paul gave him more food than he should have, too - it looked like he hadn't had a decent meal in a long time. Dropping the surly demeanor, the kid tore into the sandwich so fast Paul was amazed he didn't choke. When he finished he pushed his plate aside and left without another word.
The second time the kid came in, it'd been a long, busy morning and Paul'd had better things to do than look after random urchins. The kid only had enough money for a single slice of pizza, and Paul snapped as much at him when he'd produced nothing but a handful of coins.
"Pizza, then," the kid muttered.
Paul slid the plate over to him, and told him to hurry the hell up and eat it - my place ain't a goddam soup kitchen. The kid bristled at that and scowled, but did as he was told and left quick. Didn't matter who he might happen to look like, a kid like that hanging around was bad for business.
It was two weeks later that he came back for the third time and asked for a coffee and a piece of pizza. Paul gave him two cause he looked pale, and if anything even skinnier than he'd been before. The boy stared.
"I don't have enough for two," he mumbled after a long pause.
"What's your name, kid?"
The boy leaned away and eyed him warily. "Midou Ban," he said after another pause, "What's it matter? I still don't have enough for two of em."
"Maybe I can put it on your tab," he smiled a little, "Ban."
The boy's eyes went wide, though whether it was from the address or from the offer Paul couldn't tell. Then he grinned, the same cocky smirk that Paul remembered on the boy's father, the one that after all these years still made him a little apprehensive.
It occurred to Paul that he'd just done something very stupid.