Arthur stepped out of the old man's decrepit home.
Charlotte needed new clothes—especially pyjamas. She only had two pairs, alternating between them as the days went by. It wasn't enough, not for someone stuck in bed all day.
"We can't live like this forever," he reminded himself, walking toward a nearby clothing store.
It wasn't a fancy place—just a simple shop where low-income citizens bought their necessities.
The kind of store that sold clothes sturdy enough to last but with none of the designer labels or glamour.
It was the kind of place Arthur knew well, he always cycled past it as he delivered food.
When he entered the store, however, he immediately felt the weight of judgmental stares.
His clothes were old and worn, stained from long hours of work and cold nights.
He wasn't surprised when people began whispering about him.
He had seen it before—disgust masked by curiosity.
"What's this guy doing here?" a woman muttered just loud enough for him to hear.
"You think he's here for some crazy fetish or something?" one of the high school girls whispered to her friend, barely holding back her laughter.
"What a pervert," another one giggled.
Arthur's expression remained cold and indifferent.
He didn't care what they thought.
He wasn't here for them.
He headed toward the ladies' section, ignoring the increasing whispers that followed him.
His goal was simple—buy three sets of pyjamas for Charlotte. She deserved something comfortable, something warm. As he picked up the clothes, the comments around him seemed to grow louder.
"Seriously, what's wrong with him?"
"Look at his clothes, he looks like a hobo."
Arthur's grip tightened slightly around the fabric in his hands, but he forced himself to stay calm. He'd been through worse.
Words didn't bother him, not anymore.
He had bigger problems to deal with than some spoiled kids whispering behind his back.
Just as he was about to head toward the men's section, an attendant approached him.
The man was wearing a nametag, his hair perfectly slicked back, and his eyes filled with barely concealed disdain.
"Sir," the attendant said, his voice oozing with false politeness, "could you please put those clothes down?"
Arthur turned to him, his gaze icy and sharp. "Why? Am I doing something wrong? Everyone else is doing it too."
The attendant didn't flinch, though the condescension in his tone thickened.
"I understand, sir, but your hands might... dirty the clothes." His eyes flicked over Arthur's stained jacket and threadbare pants.
"Besides, you don't look like someone who can afford them."
For a moment, there was silence. The attendant's words hung in the air, his judgment clear and biting.
Around them, more customers glanced at the scene, curious and eager to see what would happen next.
Arthur's expression didn't change, but his voice dropped, cold and threatening. "Get lost before I smack your throat. I'm here to pay for clothes, not listen to your garbage."
The attendant's face paled, and for a brief second, there was fear in his eyes.
Arthur's gaze was unwavering, his eyes filled with a coldness that made the man step back.
Without another word, the attendant turned and hurried off, clearly rattled by Arthur.
Arthur exhaled slowly and walked toward the men's section.
He grabbed a few sets of clothes for himself—two black sweatpants, two hoodies, and two jackets and some gloves.
Simple, functional, and black—his usual choice.
He didn't need much, just something to keep warm.
As he headed toward the cashier, he heard a familiar voice. "It's this guy, kick him out. He's causing trouble."
Arthur turned to see the same attendant pointing him out to a tall security guard who looked more uncomfortable than anything.
The guard, a large man with a kind face, glanced at Arthur, then back at the attendant. He hesitated, clearly torn between following orders and using common sense.
"He's just here to cause problems," the attendant pressed, his voice rising in frustration.
The guard sighed, scratching the back of his neck.
"Let's wait and see if he can pay," he finally said. "If he can't, I'll handle it. No need to rush into any conclusions."
Arthur nodded in silent approval, giving the guard an expressionless glance. At least someone had enough sense to not act like an idiot.
The security guard looked like he understood what life was like for people like Arthur.
He could see the hunger in Arthur's eyes, the way his clothes barely clung to his frame, hinting at the long hours of work and sleepless nights.
Without another word, Arthur walked up to the cashier and placed the clothes on the counter.
The attendant was watching him closely, his eyes still filled with suspicion, as if waiting for Arthur to pull out an empty wallet.
"That'll be $100 sir," the cashier said, her tone businesslike but neutral.
Arthur pulled out his wallet and counted out the cash—$100 exactly. He placed the money on the counter without a second glance at the people around him.
The cashier took it, processed the transaction, and handed him his receipt along with the bag of clothes.
The store was silent for a moment. The onlookers who had been waiting for him to be humiliated seemed disappointed.
The attendant, the one who had tried to get him kicked out, looked away, embarrassed and angry.
Arthur gave the guard a brief nod of acknowledgement before grabbing the bag and walking out of the store.
His face remained expressionless, but inside, he couldn't help but feel a small surge of satisfaction.
"At least someone had some brains in that shop", he thought as he stepped into the cold evening air.
He'd gotten what he needed—three pyjama sets for Charlotte, enough to keep her comfortable for a while, and two jackets to brace the cold for both of them.
The $100 he had spent wasn't cheap, but it wasn't overly expensive either. It was worth it.
They deserved at least this much comfort, even if the rest of the world seemed determined to make them feel like nothing.
Arthur took a deep breath and started walking back to the basement where Charlotte waited.
He wouldn't let the contempt of others get to him. He had bigger things to worry about—like surviving and keeping his sister alive.
"I hope she likes them," he muttered silently, as walked home.