Who Was the Grass at Home?

Early the next morning, Alvin got up and went to the dining room in Stark's Penthouse, intending to brew himself a cup of coffee.

Frank stood by the balcony not far away, facing the morning sun.

Seeing the traces of dew on his shoulders, Alvin guessed that either he had gotten up very early or he hadn't slept at all.

Today was an important day for Nick, and even more so for Frank.

It was hard for someone who'd been healthy their whole life to imagine how difficult it was to live after losing a leg.

Nick had made it through the hardest times, and today he would become "whole" again.

Alvin didn't disturb Frank. The guy could be frustratingly awkward at times. Anyway, he'd already tried talking him around, and once Nick was healthy again, they would find the best way to live.

In the kitchen, Alvin found some coffee beans that looked expensive, as usual. In high spirits, he grabbed a hand-cranked grinder and poured the fragrant beans in, slowly grinding them into powder.

Truthfully, Alvin also felt something he couldn't quite describe. He'd always thought of Nick as his own son. The feeling of finally having everything settled, of setting down a heavy stone in his heart, was both joyful and a little hollow. It was hard to put into words.

Alvin still remembered how, not long after he'd arrived, he'd been at a coffee shop beside Central Park in New York when he experienced the first bombing of his life.

After the loud explosion came crowds of people running in every direction, women crying in despair, and men shouting in pain. Amid the smoke that filled the sky, human life seemed so fragile.

That day, Alvin had ventured out of Hell's Kitchen for the first time