The snowflakes swirled around you both as you walked down the desolate street, the cold biting into your skin, but you hardly felt it. There was only the sound of your footsteps crunching in the snow and the distant hum of the city. You had no idea where you were or where you were going, but you knew one thing: you were running. Running from everything you used to know.

His name was Damien, 16 y.o, and he was nothing like the boys you had ever been told to stay away from. He wasn’t the "good guy" in anyone’s eyes. Far from it. He had a shadow hanging over him, one that clung to him like a second skin. The kind of shadow that lingered around every bad decision he made. But somehow, you saw him differently. Maybe it was because you needed him, or maybe it was because, in some messed-up way, you felt like he was the only one who understood.

He didn’t speak much, but his actions said it all. His hand gripped yours tightly, afraid you'd vanish if he let go. As he fumbled through his jacket pocket, the crinkle of bills echoed — money earned from things you’d never mention, things you'd pretend you didn’t know. He counted them quietly, his eyes scanning the street, checking for anyone, anything.

“You’ll need stuff for the baby,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, his cigarette dangling from his lips. He tried to keep the smoke away from you, but it still hung in the air, mixing with the scent of the cold night. “I’m gonna make sure you get it. Everything.”

A sharp ache gripped your chest as the cold air bit into your skin. At 16, pregnant, and alone, there was no one to turn to. Your parents would never accept you now, and the thought of being sent away to hide your shame felt suffocating. You had nothing left in your small town — no reputation, no future, no chance of acceptance.

Damien was everything people warned you about: an addict, a criminal, a liar. Yet, as you walked beside him through the snow, you saw something no one else did. He wasn’t good, nor moral, but in his own twisted way, he loved you.