The last of them

 Dev had learned to ignore things. The stares. The whispers. The way people pulled their kids a little closer when he passed. The way his boss barely acknowledged him when handing out paychecks. He had learned that people didn't care about the truth, just the story they were told. And for twenty years, the story was that he was a murderer.

But Marty? Marty didn't ignore anything.

"Man, people can be real assholes," Marty muttered as they walked down the street after work, kicking at a crushed soda can. His neon safety vest hung loosely over his stained t-shirt, and his gloved hands were stuffed into his pockets. "They look at you like you're a damn plague."

Dev didn't respond. He just kept walking, his boots scraping against the pavement.

"I mean, I get it….nah, actually, I don't get it," Marty continued. "People act like they ain't never seen a guy get out of prison before. What, they think you're gonna go full psycho and start stabbing people in broad daylight? Come on."

Still, Dev said nothing.

Marty sighed, shaking his head. "Alright, fine, be all broody and mysterious. But you can't ignore me forever, pal. I talk too much."

That was true. Marty talked a lot. At first, Dev had thought it was just nervous energy, like the guy didn't know what to do with silence. But no, Marty genuinely just enjoyed talking. He talked about everything, the best places to get cheap food, his thoughts on bad action movies, the fact that his ex-girlfriend still owed him money.

Dev had spent most of his life feeling invisible. In prison, that was a survival tactic. Out here, it was just his reality. Marty, however, refused to let him disappear.

They stopped at a street corner, waiting for the light to change.

Marty nudged him. "So, what's the deal, huh?"

Dev frowned. "What deal?"

"You. Your whole… vibe." Marty gestured vaguely. "You don't talk much, you don't do much, you just exist. You got no family? No friends? No place to be?"

Dev exhaled through his nose. "No."

Marty's expression flickered, just for a second, with something that looked like sympathy. But he didn't press.

Instead, he just grinned. "Well, lucky for you, I'm your friend now."

Dev gave him a sideways glance. "I don't remember agreeing to that."

"Tough luck. You don't get a choice. You live with me now."

The light changed, and they crossed the street.

Marty smirked. "So, Dev, tell me. You ever been to The Rusty Spoon?"

Dev frowned. "The what?"

"The Rusty Spoon. Best damn bar in the city," Marty said proudly.

Marty got quiet a bit but it was to observe Dev's look. "Oh right, you broke" he said as he let out an annoying laughter.

Dev didn't find it funny and Marty could catch on.

 "Well, not best best, but, you know, they don't water down the drinks too much, and they don't ask too many questions. My kinda place."

Dev shook his head. "I don't drink."

Marty scoffed. "Oh, come on. You've been locked up for how long? You seriously telling me you don't wanna hit a bar at least once?"

"No."

Marty narrowed his eyes. "Okay. What about food? They got real good burgers. Greasy as hell, but in a good way."

Dev hesitated.

Marty grinned. "Ah-ha! Got you, didn't I? C'mon, man. First round's on me."

Dev sighed. He could already tell that arguing with Marty was pointless.

"…Fine."

Marty whooped. "That's the spirit! Come on, Dev, let's get you some real food."

For the first time in a long time, Dev let himself be dragged along.

The Rusty Spoon was exactly the kind of place Dev expected Marty to love. Dim lighting, peeling wallpaper, and a jukebox in the corner that barely worked. The air smelled like stale beer and fried food, and the sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the space.

Marty led them to a booth in the back, plopping down onto the torn leather seat with a grin. "See? Told ya. Classy joint."

Dev sat across from him, arms crossed. "If this is classy, I'd hate to see what you consider run-down."

Marty chuckled, leaning back. "Just wait 'til you try the food."

A few seconds later, a waitress approached their table, pen and notepad in hand.

"Welcome to The Rusty Spoon," she said. "What can I get you guys?"

Dev's eyes flicked up, and for a moment, everything else faded.

She was… striking. Not in the obvious, magazine-cover kind of way, but in a way that made it impossible to look away. Her auburn hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, a few strands falling over her face. Her deep brown eyes held a sharpness to them, like she was used to dealing with trouble and had no patience for it. There was something almost guarded about her, like she was ready to put up walls at any moment.

Their eyes locked for just a second too long, something unspoken passing between them.

Marty, ever the observant one, immediately noticed. He smirked, leaning forward on his elbows. "Well, well. I think my boy Dev here just had a moment."

Dev shot him a glare. "Shut up."

The waitress arched an eyebrow. "You gonna order, or should I give you two a minute?"

Marty chuckled. "Alright, alright, we'll behave." He glanced at the menu. "I'll take the double bacon burger, extra fries. And a beer."

She nodded, then turned to Dev.

He hesitated. "…Just a burger."

Marty scoffed. "No drink? No fries? Live a little."

Dev sighed. "Fine. Fries too."

She scribbled on her notepad. "Got it. Food'll be out soon."

As she walked away, Marty wiggled his eyebrows. "Sooo… Josie, huh?"

"That's her name?" Dev asked

"Yeah lover boy"

Dev's jaw tightened. "Drop it."

Marty laughed. "Come on, man. I saw the way you two looked at each other. That's some romance novel tension shit right there."

"Maybe she was just looking at me like she looks at every customer," Dev muttered.

Marty shook his head. "Nah, nah. I've seen her work here for months. She doesn't give just anyone that look."

Dev leaned back, exhaling. He didn't need this right now. The last thing he wanted was to get tangled up in anything or anyone.

Their food arrived a few minutes later, and they ate in silence for a while. Marty, of course, couldn't shut up for too long.

"So, what's next for you, man?" Marty asked, wiping his hands on a napkin. "I mean, you can't just work with me forever."

Dev shrugged. "I don't know."

Marty frowned. "You don't want to know? Or you really don't know?"

Dev took a bite of his burger, chewing slowly before responding. "What's the point in wanting something you can't have?"

Marty sighed. "You ever thought about getting back at those guys? The ones who framed you?"

Dev's grip on his burger tightened. He had thought about it. A lot.

But what could he do? He had no money, no connections, and no real proof. Jack and his gang had moved on with their lives while he had wasted away in prison. It wasn't fair.

Marty must've sensed the shift in his mood because he changed the subject. "Alright, alright. We won't talk about that tonight. Tonight is about eating, drinking, and relaxing."

Dev nodded, but his mind was elsewhere.

After finishing their food, Marty paid the bill and led Dev out onto the street.

"Alright, man," Marty said, stretching. "Let's head to my place?"

Dev frowned. "Marty, I can't.."

"Shut up. You can."

Dev hesitated, then sighed. "Fine."

Marty grinned. "That's what I thought."

They walked toward Marty's apartment, the night air cold against Dev's skin.

For the first time in years, he wasn't behind bars.

But was he really free?