He doesn't step off the bus like a normal person does. He does this strange half-trip, half-dance and lands promptly on his face, kissing concrete as a sharp welcome home from the city he must now learn to call home.
"You okay?" Someone mutters and rises from the bench at the stop, offering Mika Cole a gloved hand.
Mika takes the strangers hand, torn between responding that he isn't okay, that he's been away from civilized life for thirteen months working for the government in a section that doesn't officially exist doing the country's dirty work while his whole family grieves over the loss of a twenty-six year old who isn't even dead in the first place or keeping his trap shut.
Mika rises, dusting off his black jeans before realizing that he has split his palms open and only manages to smear blood on the dark fabric.
"Well fuck," the brunette swears, then looks up at his helper.
The man is scarcely older that Mika himself, his blonde hair is shaggy, his bangs hang almost in his concerned blue-grey eyes and for some reason Mika finds himself tongue tied. Maybe it's because this is the first person who isn't an enemy of the state or superior that Mika has even spoken to in a year, but he can't think of a single thing to say.
"That doesn't look too good."
Huh, the blonde spoke for him. Simple enough. He looks down at his hands and is shocked to see that the stranger is right. While his right hand is hardly grazed and smeared with half-dried blood, his left hand is gaping. He looks to the ground and sees that he had fallen on a shattered beer bottle. He looks back at his bleeding hand, then the stranger and shrugs.
"I suppose it doesn't."
The stranger gives him a bewildered look then slowly begins to remove his beige scarf. Mika tilts his head, then understands what the man is doing and begins to protest.
"Oh shut it," the stranger snaps and for a second Mika actually does. But then he can tell by the soft fabric of the scarf that the guy must have paid some serious dough for the thing, and goes back to protesting.
"Don't. Thanks but don't. You must have paid nicely for this, you shouldn't be-"
The stranger ties a bow with the remaining ends of the scarf and smiles up at him. "Too late."
Mika frowns and looks at the cashmere bandage on his hand. It doesn't hurt, but then again Mika had lost that ability nearly nineteen long months ago, and pain is a strange concept to him now. He looks back at the smiling blonde, takes in the fact that he's carrying a bag over his shoulder and wears a university ID around his neck, and that the bus had pulled away a good ten minutes ago and feels a tinge of guilt.
"I'm sorry," Mika sighs, looking off in the direction that the bus drove off in. "I made you miss your bus. And the scarf," his gaze returns to the stranger. "How can I repay you?"
The man shrugs. "No big deal. I was just going to study before classes anyway. They don't start until two, so I have plenty of time to catch another. As for the scarf, if you can't sleep with such a burden on your mind, once you get that hand looked at you can wash it and bring it back to me. I'm Camrin Grey, here," the man pauses, fishes through his bag, and pulls out a slip of paper and a pen. He glances around before deciding that the bench he was sitting on is a decent object to bear down on and scribbled at the paper.
While he writes, Mika takes a second to process what's happening. It's been so long since he's interacted with normal people that he isn't entirly sure how to go about the situation. His mind instantly collects the facts, the silver cross around the man's neck probably means he's religious. He speaks in a kind, friendly tone, his eyes are wide and honest and the fact that he's a university student probably means that he is, indeed, close to Mika's age. His calloused fingers and fancy pen means the man does a lot of work with his hands and makes decent pay doing so, unless the money is from a wealthy family, though he lacks the typical arrogant attitude.
Camrin hands Mika the paper with a smile, successfully haulting his mental analysis. "My address, which is that apartment building just over there, and my cell phone number. Go get your hand fixed up and give me a call okay? Gotta run," he turns to leave, then pauses. "By the way, what's your name?"
Mika blinks, feeling mildly dazed, before responding, "I'm Mika. Mika Cole."
Camrin smiles, and Mika finds himself shocked by the gentleness of the gesture. He's really out of touch with all this emotional, dealing-with-people crap.
"See you around Mika," the blonde says, then walks off in the direction of the apartments he pointed out.
Mika stands for a moment, collecting himself as people pass by before turning his back on the man and walking toward his new place of residence. Away from the base for sixteen hours and he's already managed to become confused and mildly uncomfortable with every day life, though he could probably blame the confusion and annoyance on the six hours of sleep he's had over the past four days.
He shakes it off as he enters his new home and decides that whatever happens, he needs to get back to his real job as soon as possible.