Chapter 3 Reggie's

Milo and Jaxon walked side by side down the street. The atmosphere was livelier than before—electric, bustling with energy. Shops and houses lined both sides of the road, their windows glowing under the late afternoon sun. A group of teenagers zipped past them on skateboards, their laughter echoing in the air.

After a few more minutes of walking, they stopped in front of a small bungalow-style building with a sign overhead: Reggie's. Milo pushed the door open, stepping into a modest but welcoming restaurant. The sunlight streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. The place wasn't fancy, but it had a warm, lived-in charm.

Without hesitation, Milo strode toward a door at the back and pushed it open. Inside, an older man sat behind a cluttered desk, his feet propped up lazily on the surface. He had a slight hunch, a potbelly that strained against his shirt, and white hair that wrapped around the sides of his head, leaving the top completely bald. A pair of round glasses rested on his nose, and a long black coat draped over his shoulders, reaching all the way to his ankles.

The sudden intrusion startled him, and he nearly fell backward as he scrambled to adjust himself.

"The hell's wrong with you, Milo?" he huffed. "You trying to give an old man a heart attack?"

"Sorry, Reggie," Milo said with a smirk. "I wanted to introduce you to Jaxon—he's agreed to work with us."

Reggie squinted, tilting his head slightly as he finally noticed the white-haired teenager standing in the doorway. His gaze swept over Jaxon, taking in the backpack slung over his shoulder and the calm, unreadable expression on his face.

"So let me get this straight," Reggie said, rubbing his chin. "Some kid strolls into Gotham today, no place to stay, no food to eat—just his white hair and a backpack?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much right," Milo admitted.

Reggie let out a low sigh and stood up, his coat falling neatly around him as he took a slow step forward.

"So, Jaxon," he said, voice gravelly with experience. "I assume Milo here told you the terms and conditions of staying under my roof?"

"Yes," Jaxon responded evenly.

"And you agree to them?"

"Yes."

"Can you start working now?"

"Yes."

Reggie's brow twitched. "What's with you? Can't you say anything besides 'yes'?"

Silence.

Then, almost mockingly, Jaxon repeated, "Yes."

Reggie exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Personally, kid, I don't like the way you look. But what the hell—it's not like I'm your dad or something. Milo, show him to his room."

"Yes, sir!" Milo replied cheerfully, giving Jaxon a playful nudge.

Before they left, Reggie called out, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Jaxon, how old are you?"

"Seventeen."

Reggie's gaze lingered for a second before he asked, "What about your parents?"

"Never knew them."

"Then who's been taking care of you all this time?"

Jaxon hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. "I grew up alone."

The air in the room thickened as Reggie studied him carefully. There was something about Jaxon's response that didn't quite sit right, but he let it go.

"That's good enough," Reggie finally muttered, returning to his chair. "Milo, show him what he needs to do."

Milo gestured for Jaxon to follow, and with that, they stepped out of the office, leaving Reggie behind in thought.

****

The last traces of sunlight faded, casting long shadows across the streets as Jaxon and Milo walked side by side, their aprons smeared with paint. The city had grown quieter, only the occasional passing car or distant voices breaking the stillness.

Jaxon adjusted the strap of his backpack. "So, this is how you make a living?"

Milo nodded, flipping through a small wad of twenty-dollar bills. "Yeah. Reggie started a small house maintenance business with the money he made from his restaurant. Lisa handles the kitchen, Jena works the counter, and I do the repairs. Now that you're here, things will be easier."

Jaxon eyed the dimly lit streets, his thoughts distant. "And Jena and Lisa? They live with you guys?"

"Nah, they have their own places. Reggie only took me in after my parents died." Milo glanced at him. "For a while, it was just me and him. But now... well, I guess we're a team."

Jaxon didn't respond. A team. The word felt foreign.

They arrived at Reggie's house—a modest, single-story home with warm light spilling from the windows. Inside, the scent of roasted chicken and freshly baked bread filled the air.

Reggie sat at the head of the table, his black cloak draped over his chair. He glanced at Jaxon as they entered. "Took you boys long enough. Hope you worked up an appetite."

Jaxon hesitated but sat down as Milo slid into his usual seat. Dinner was simple but filling. Jaxon ate in silence, half-listening. It was strange—this easy atmosphere, this sense of belonging.

As the meal wrapped up, Reggie leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach. "Alright, kid," he said, pointing his fork at Jaxon. "You start school tomorrow."

Jaxon stiffened. "School?"

"Yeah, you know—buildings, books, a bunch of brats who think they're the center of the universe." Reggie smirked. "You might fit right in."

"I'm not going to school," Jaxon said flatly.

Milo nudged him. "Come on, Jax. School is low-profile. No one questions a teenager going to school. Plus, it'll keep you out of trouble."

Jaxon crossed his arms, unimpressed. "I don't need school."

Reggie sighed. "Look, kid. If you're staying here, you're going to school. No discussion."

Silence settled over the table. Jaxon clenched his jaw but didn't argue further.

Milo grinned. "Think of it this way—you might actually have fun."

Jaxon highly doubted that.

Later that night, as he lay in his new bed staring at the ceiling, he thought about the life he'd been thrown into. Working, eating dinner with people who treated each other like family, going to school…

It wasn't the life he was used to.

But for now, it would have to do.

Jaxon glanced around the dimly lit room, exhaling softly. Gotham was supposed to be a fresh start, a place to stay under the radar. But the thought gnawed at him.

"I just hope Jack doesn't find me here," he muttered, gripping the edge of his bed.