Noah had finally finished his night shift at the café today. He sighed tiredly as he untied his apron and shrugged into his coat. Then he opened the door and walked outside the building. The cold hit his face immediately, but he ignored it because at least it woke him up.

Taking the night shift was probably the worst idea he'd come up with yet... and he was the kind of person who made a lot of concerning choices.

He knew very well the reason for this. He should be in his apartment, wrapped in a blanket, watching TV or drinking hot chocolate. Hot chocolate had never sounded more appealing. At least it would make it feel like there's someone else in the house with him. The word "home" had started to feel somewhat non-existent in his world. Every time the thought of his father slipped into his mind, he wasn't sure how to explain the feeling, but it was like biting into an orange that was supposed to be sweet— instead it tasted sour, bitter... and frustrating all at once.

He shoved this all away and walked faster toward the grocery store. Unfortunately, his mind wasn't feeling very generous today, he supposed.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, let alone showered properly. The moment he stepped inside, he would just collapse onto his bed until the world was satisfied with his suffering quota for the day and let him drift off.

The cold air blew against his strawberry blonde hair and brushed it away from his eyes. "God, I can't wait for tomorrow," he murmured under his breath as his stomach rumbled.

Saturdays were the only day of the week where he only had a four-hour shift. Still tiring, but decent. While turning the corner, he was so lost in his thoughts that he smacked directly into the grocery store glass doors.

He groaned, his mind going blank for a second until he realized what had happened and sighed, exasperated. "Dammit... I really am that blind."

He stepped inside and grabbed a small red cart, swiftly migrating toward the instant foods aisle.

His eyes quickly scanned the goods, looking for something appetizing. He saw instant rice but decided against it; last time he got food poisoning from it. Then his eyes briefly landed on instant noodles and, as soon as he found them, he reached out and closed his hand around them. It was nothing that special. It was just one of those microwaveable mug cakes.

Strawberry flavored.

It wasn't necessarily his favorite dessert—it was his mother's. His throat tightened and he blinked back tears. Desserts like that always brought those memories back. It was one of those things she'd allow them to eat without making from scratch. His mom never liked eating pre-made food. In fact, she would've very much disagreed with his current life choices. She made an exception for mug cakes because they had a special taste to them. Something she just couldn't recreate at home.

He'd never truly forgiven himself for her death. The rational part of him knew it wasn't anyone's fault. But knowing something didn't mean you had to believe it.

Three years ago, his mother had been diagnosed with lung cancer. One of the worst kinds out there. And the worst part was the fact that it was too late to do anything. The doctor told them that two years was maybe all she had left to live.

Noah tried to stay strong during that time. Stay strong during those times when his mother just couldn't stop coughing up blood. Or those times when she couldn't breathe at night. He tried to prepare himself. He really did. How many times had he promised himself he wouldn't cry? He'd be strong for her. Preparation didn't mean readiness.

He hated himself for not being there that day. He shouldn't have listened to her when she told him, "You worry too much, go on, go get something for yourself." He was nineteen at that moment. And far, far too naive. If he had stayed, maybe he would've been there for her last breath. Maybe, just maybe, he could've been there to hear the last words she spoke to him: "Noah... learn to love yourself."

Maybe his father would've kicked him out and stopped paying for college. That's why he dropped out in the first place. He wasn't able to pay the student loans, and he knew nobody would do them for him. He exhaled shakily. What if— what if his mother was still alive—

"Excuse me, young man?"

Noah snapped out of his daze. An elderly woman stood nearby, the same height as himself, with mostly white hair but the occasional black strand left over.

"Oh... hi?" he responded, his voice coming out a bit embarrassed.

"Are you feeling alright? You were staring at the cake box for quite some time."

Was I really standing there that long?

He forced a grin onto his face. "I'm fine, ma'am. Just zoned out for a bit."

The woman chuckled warmly. It somewhat reminded him of his mom. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore it.

"Well, you flatter me. I'm no longer a 'ma'am,' just an old lady."

"Oh, don't say that. You're still young at heart."

She smiled warmly. "You know, the world could use more people like you."

"Thank you."

"Before you go, would you mind helping me get that can of tomato soup up there?"

Noah looked up. The tomato can was perched on the very top shelf, completely out of reach.

Ugh. 

Instead of violet-colored eyes, he would've preferred to be taller. That was one of the things he absolutely hated about himself. Even so, his determination sparked, and he stacked a few boxes of cereal, climbed on top of them, and snagged the can.