The first time, it'd been a pleasant winter afternoon, the cold having receded a little.
He and his mother had seen a pale yellow sign in the door.
"Shoe repair"
They had stopped their walk on the town, as his mother looked at his shoes.
They lay nearly in tatters around his feet.
His eyes shimmered up an innocent blue.
The tiny hand in hers, she tugged him across the street, to the sign. To the door. To the room.
The white tiled, bright lit room.
The tiles were small, like a bathroom.
The boy hugged his mother.
She talked with the owner, both chattering broken English.
The boy closes his eyes, imagining being home and alone.
They continued talking.
They stopped as a gentle hand tapped Killua.
He opened his eyes to sunshine his age.
Boy. Boy his age.
The sun smiled, and pointed to his shoes.
"¿Éstos?"
Killua looked to his mother, who nodded.
So he looked back to the boy and did the same.
And as the tan boy kneeled down and gently, ever so gently, placed his shoe upon his knee, he began to giggle.
Killua started to speak, but changed his mind.
Settling to blush and turn away.
But the gentle tap returned.
Killua looked back up to see the boy pointing to his own shoes.
Nearly scraps around his heels.
Killua simply started to giggle, barely hidden behind his palm.
So they giggled at each other, sharing the joke.
As Killua's laugh bubbled pleasantly, the boy claimed his shoes, taking them through a door behind him.
Killua's feet were cold, on those small tiles.
Killua curled his legs up on the chair.
The adults sputtered more English, and exchanged a palm full of coins.
The owner shouted over her shoulder.
"Gon!"
The s-
boy came back.
Gon
He handed Killua another pair.
They were rough, the fabric stiff.
As he stood up with them on, they rubbed his heels painfully and he made a small noise.
It was supposed to be silent.
The boy's face furrowed in concern.
Killua's eyes widened a little.
The boys look remained curious as he cocked his head to the side.
Killua started to speak, but his face settled into a frown.
The boy thought for a moment, then spoke to the owner in... Spanish?
Then the owner spoke to Killua's mother.
Then her to him.
" Hvad er forkert? "
[What's wrong?]
"I... intet"
[Nothing]
To respond, she simply frowned.
Killua flinched, then gave in.
"Sko ondt"
[The shoes hurt]
His mother knit her brows.
"Jeg lagde ikke mærke til."
[I didn't notice]
Killua shrugged. Not meeting her eyes.
They stayed there a moment.
Until she turned away, and spoke to the old lady behind the counter.
Who spoke to the boy.
Who stood for a moment, chin on hand, then held up two fingers.
Killua's mother nodded, then tugged Killua out behind him.
He stared back to the boy, waving in tiny, hidden moves with the hand not holding his mothers.
The boy waved, with large and energetic movements and sunny smile.
Killua looked away, afraid to burn.