Chapter 7: Strays
Bright didn't know what to do with himself.
For years, life had been about surviving—wake up, work, eat, sleep, repeat. The idea of just… existing felt wrong. Like the universe was playing some elaborate prank, waiting to yank the rug out from under him.
He kept waiting for the catch.
For Emily to demand payment. For the locks to change overnight. For everything to fall apart like it always did.
Instead, she kept showing up.
No warning. No schedule. Just knocking on the door, tossing him something random, and announcing, "We're going out."
---
The first time, Bright tried to refuse.
Hard.
The idea of tagging along with some rich girl for whatever nonsense she had planned didn't exactly scream survival strategy.
Emily didn't care.
She grabbed him by the jacket and practically shoved him out the door like a particularly stubborn piece of luggage.
That was how he ended up in a clothing store that smelled like expensive perfume and judgment.
The mannequins wore outfits that probably had names like Urban Minimalist or Effortless Wealth. Bright stood there, painfully aware of how out of place he looked—like a stray dog someone accidentally let inside.
Emily, meanwhile, acted like she owned the place. She piled jackets, shirts, and pants into his arms without asking, barely glancing at price tags that made Bright's stomach turn.
"I can't afford this," he muttered, hugging the clothes like they might explode.
Emily didn't even look up.
"Who said you're paying?"
Bright froze.
"...You're buying me clothes?"
"You have three outfits," she said flatly. "And they all look like they were stolen from a dumpster."
Bright scowled, but… she wasn't wrong. His wardrobe consisted of exactly two t-shirts, one hoodie with a busted zipper, and a pair of jeans that had been through several wars.
Still, the idea of someone spending money on him made his stomach twist. People didn't give things without expecting something in return.
Emily must've seen the hesitation on his face because she rolled her eyes and shoved him toward the fitting rooms.
"Don't overthink it, street rat. It's just clothes."
---
By the time they left, Bright was wearing a black jacket that actually fit, jeans without holes, and shoes that didn't make his feet ache. He didn't know how to feel about it.
He kept waiting for the weight of the price tag to drag him down.
But when they stepped outside, he caught his reflection in the shop window and barely recognized himself.
For the first time in… forever, he didn't look like someone the world forgot.
It felt nice.
And that was terrifying.
---
The second time Emily dragged him out, it was to a firing range.
Bright stopped dead at the entrance, staring at the rows of booths and paper targets riddled with bullet holes.
"What part of me says I should be trusted with a gun?"
Emily smirked.
"None. That's why I'm here."
Fantastic.
Bright had never even held a gun before. He figured there were two types of people in the world—those who knew how to handle weapons… and people like him.
But Emily signed them in without giving him a choice. Then she casually picked up a pistol, took her stance, and fired three perfect shots straight to the center of the target.
Bright just stared.
"Okay," he muttered. "That's… deeply concerning."
Emily reloaded like she was tying her shoelaces.
"Basic survival."
"Basic for who? Hitmen?"
She handed him a gun.
"Figure it out."
---
Bright absolutely did not figure it out.
He missed every shot. The recoil nearly smacked the gun out of his hands. He was 90% sure the target was mocking him from across the room.
Emily leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him struggle with the smuggest expression imaginable.
"You're hopeless."
"I never asked for this."
"And yet, here we are."
Without warning, she stepped in close—too close—grabbing his hands and adjusting his grip.
Bright froze.
Her fingers were warm against his skin, her breath brushing his ear. He went stiff, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch between them.
"Try again."
He shot. Missed.
Emily sighed like he'd personally offended her.
"You're actually worse than I thought."
"Glad I could meet your expectations."
But weirdly… she didn't seem annoyed. If anything, she looked amused—like watching him struggle was the highlight of her day.
Bright hated that he kind of enjoyed it too.
---
Over the next few days, Emily dragged him to places he had no business being.
Gyms. Fancy restaurants. Parks where rich people walked tiny dogs in designer sweaters.
Every time, Bright told himself he'd say no. That he wouldn't let her reel him into whatever weird little game she was playing.
And every time… he ended up following her anyway.
Not because of the free food (though holy crap, rich people really did eat better).
It was because Emily didn't treat him like a charity case.
She didn't ask about his past or give him pitying looks. She didn't pry into how he'd ended up alone on the streets. Half the time, she barely even talked.
She just dragged him along like he was supposed to be there.
Like he belonged.
---
One night, after Emily nearly killed him at the gym trying to get him to do a single pull-up, they sat on the apartment balcony.
Bright leaned back against the wall, muscles screaming in protest. Emily perched on the railing, legs swinging lazily as she stared at the skyline.
"So…" Bright muttered. "Is this a thing you do?"
Emily glanced at him.
"What?"
"Dragging random strays around. Buying them clothes. Teaching them how to shoot things."
She smirked.
"You're my first stray."
"Gee, thanks."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the city lights flickering below.
Then, out of nowhere, Emily said—
"I don't like feeling useless."
Bright blinked.
He hadn't expected that.
Emily carried herself like someone who had the whole world in the palm of her hand. Like nothing touched her. But right now…
She looked different.
Not weak.
Just… real.
Bright didn't push. He knew what it felt like to carry your own weight without asking anyone to help.
Instead, he leaned back and let the quiet stretch between them.
---
"You still waiting for the catch?" Emily asked after a long moment.
Bright didn't answer right away.
He was. Of course he was.
Nobody gave something for nothing.
But maybe—just maybe—Emily's world was different.
Finally, he muttered—
"You're gonna regret feeding me."
Emily smirked.
"Probably."
They sat there, two strays trying to figure out how to exist in the same space without breaking something.
For once, Bright didn't feel like running.
And maybe…
That was enough.