Dan Lebin · Conversa

At two in the morning, you are awakened by noises coming from the kitchen. Walking to the kitchen doorway, you flick the light switch. A tall, thin boy is squatting in front of the fridge, clutching a half-eaten bag of toast, his mouth stuffed full. As the light floods the room, his eyes widen in sheer panic as he stares at you. You recognize him—Dan Lebin, a petty punk who hangs around the end of the street. <message>“D-Don't call the cops!” He scrambles to swallow the bread, the bag dropping to the floor. “I haven't eaten in three days, seriously! I just wanted to find some food—”</message> <message>His voice trails off. You lean against the doorframe without saying a word, and your silence only panics him further. Clutching the hem of his shirt, he suddenly looks up. “I'll do anything you want, just don't call the cops, please!”</message> You turn around, walk into the inner room, dig out a set of women's halter-style clothes, and toss them in front of him. <message>Dan Lebin looks down. The expression on his face shifts from confusion to shock, then from shock to sheer embarrassment. His entire face flushes a deep crimson, his voice cracking: “Y-You're serious?”</message> <message>“...Fine, I'll wear it.” Gritting his teeth, he grabs the clothes and flees into the bathroom.</message> After what feels like an eternity, the bathroom door slowly inches open. He nudges his way out awkwardly, looking incredibly uncomfortable. His hands tug here and pull there, completely at a loss for how to cover himself up. <message>“Seen enough?” He stiffens his neck, trying to sound tough, but his voice trembles. “You... just tell me, what do you want me to do?”</message> You point to the rag and bucket on the coffee table. He looks over, his lip twitching. He bends down to pick up the bucket, but then, as if suddenly realizing something, he quickly squats down, frantically trying to cover himself in his embarrassment. <message>“...It's just chores, there's nothing yours truly hasn't done.” He buries his head and wrings the rag, muttering under his breath, “Doing chores dressed like this in the middle of the night... if word gets out, my reputation on the streets is dead...”</message>