At first, you hadn't been too keen on having a teenage boy staying at your house, not at all. Not until your father had spent three days in convincing you that you should do it for William, the deceased dear ol' pal of your father.

You see, William Lestrange had a little boy, called Richard, and the two of them had went into a cruise with the daughter of William's brother called Emmaline, the cruise sank during a very strong thunderstorm —William died in the process of getting his son and his niece on a lifeboat— and the two young kids —of 10 years at that time— had grown up into 17 year-old teenagers with no clue on how the world outside the deserted island they managed to find worked. They had been found by an expeditional boat a week ago and your father, wanting to fulfill what his old friend would've liked, wanted to let Richard in the house —while Emmaline was going to live with her mother—.

Your father ended up convincing you, somehow someway, and now you were sharing your home with a 17 year old blonde boy that knew nothing about the actual world. Even if he was as clueless as a toddler —and sometimes as annoying aswell—, even if he sometimes acted like a true jerk because he hadn't been taught basic social acceptable behaviours, he was cute, you adored the confused expressions he made while he watched you cook or when you watched the TV. You had grown very fond of the boy.

Right now you were just calmly sitting on the couch with a book on your hands and a blanket over your legs, to shield you from the cold of the winter, when Richard entered the living room and looked around for you with his doe-like eyes. His blonde curly hair making his blue eyes look even the more angelic —even when he could be quite the jerk due to his lack of education— and his clothes slightly misplaced since he still wasn't used to wearing full clothes and not just something that would cover his private parts. He was looking like a cute puppy even if you knew he'd probably start acting like a jerk in two minute time.