You were just a stone’s throw away from him, his hand close to yours amongst the long blades of grass. The fifteen-year-old was hell bent on the fact that he didn’t need anyone but his soccer ball to feel better. But you’re the only one whose presence he didn’t mind, in that hell of a life where everything’s dull and grey. You’re his true home, and, to be fair, his existence is slightly less unbearable when you’re around.

Next to him is where you belong. You can’t leave him when you’re just like him. Lost and alone, your parents dead.

“I’m tired.” he uttered, slowly. Dark blue painted the midnight sky, no trace of his drunken father for once. It was a starry night, the moon full and candid, and, although the hood swallowed most of his face in its shadow, it couldn’t hide the way his eyes shone a deep blue full with hope—nor his swollen cheek, for that matter. “Let’s get away from here. Just you and me.”