Eli lingered near the doorway, arms buried in the cuffs of his baggy top as Marcy rummaged for her keychain. She shuffled from room to room, her pace smooth but unreadable - something about it kept him silent, observing without understanding.
"Alright," she said finally, jingling the keys. "Let's go see what we can find you."
The stroll to the vehicle took just a few seconds, yet felt off somehow. Eli waited for directions - where to position himself, how quick to go - but Marcy let him take his time. She popped open the front seat door, then gave a small nod toward the inside, as if it made sense he'd be riding along.
The car had a whiff of stale brew, mixed with something woody. He strapped himself in quietly, not knowing whether to speak - so he stayed silent instead.
While driving, Hawkins slipped past bit by bit - broken paths underfoot, children wobbling on bicycles, some mutt hitched to a post. Same look, yet somehow off in tone. He stayed silent, soaking it all up.
Marcy cleared her throat. "We'll just start with basics today. Clothes that fit, maybe a jacket. Shoes if we find a good pair."
Eli gave a quick nod - truth was, he wasn't sure how picking stuff worked.
As they got to the little shop, he paused by the door. Whoosh - the automatic entrance slid open, while the bright lights and vivid shades within made him step slower.
Marcy saw it. "We're staying close," she told him straight up - what came next meant way more than she thought.
She took him over to where the boys' stuff was, then lifted a top. "How about this one - blue? Nah, maybe it's too flashy?"
He blinked. "Don't worry."
"Fine good or fine 'don't know how to tell me no'?"
He looked at her, kinda shocked she noticed the change. A second passed before he just lifted his shoulders - honesty with no need to speak.
"Okay," she said. "We'll keep looking."
She kept away from noisy, showy stuff. Instead, she went for gentle materials, quiet shades - stuff that blended in. Without really noticing, he reached for a deep gray hoodie, hands tugging at the cloth.
"You like that one?" she asked.
He stayed quiet at first - showing interest seemed risky - yet he didn't let go.
Marcy gently took the hanger. "We'll add it to the pile."
He spotted jeans that actually fit his waist tight, while the socks hadn't lost their stretch yet. But picking shoes? That was tougher. He stopped mid-aisle, eyes locked on line after line of fresh kicks - pristine, unused. They seemed pricey. Way too crisp. Built for kids who never scuffed anything.
Marcy bent down, sizing up his feet using the cold gadget. "Seven," she said quietly. Maybe we should test a couple
He put on some black sneakers. The soles were soft, barely made a sound. They worked just right. As he walked a bit, no slipping happened - no stumbling either. They seemed... solid.
Marcy grinned - just a little, though it showed she cared. "They'll do fine."
He wasn't sure what to say, yet his eyes dropped to the shoes as if they were lent items needing gentle handling.
The cashier scanned their stuff, tucking every piece into bags one by one. As each thing vanished into plastic, Eli stared - like it showed somebody believed he owned more than what he wore.
The ride back felt calm. Not awkward - more like peaceful.
Marley hauled two bags into his room, dropping them on the mattress. "Feel free to stash your stuff anywhere," she added, moving aside so he had room.
Eli took his time putting things away. Inside the drawer sat a pile of shirts. His socks were matched up neatly. The hoodie lay flat, arms folded inward. Under the bed went the sneakers.
He stepped back.
It no longer seemed like someone else's space. It felt more like somewhere he wouldn't pack up from this evening or the day after.
It seemed used, though hardly at all.
Marley propped herself by the doorway. "This place seems nicer," she murmured, her voice low. "It actually suits you now."
Eli gave a quick nod, not knowing how else to react.
"If you need me, I'll be downstairs," she added.
Once she was gone, silence dropped back in - yet it didn't twist his gut like before.
He plopped down on the mattress, one hand landing on the sweatshirt. The material felt cozy, kind of heated beneath his touch. A tiny solid thing stirred deep in his chest - too dull for optimism, yet way too present to brush off.
He didn't know just how to name it.
But it stayed.