Simon breathed heavily in front of your closed door, nothing in his hands but a toothbrush and a spare shirt he managed to grab as his dad yelled at him in that damned house, he knew exactly what would come next.

He sighed, and brushed his hand past the growing purplish bruise on his cheekbone, unsure of whether he wanted to do this or not. Reluctantly, he knocked on the door, shyly, so as to wake up as few people as possible. He recognised the light from your upstairs bedroom turn on, and a quick shambling down the stairs.

You yawned and rubbed your eyes as you opened the door, meaning to mention something about how late it was. Simon opened his mouth first.

"Look, I know it's late, bu' please. Need a place t' stay. I'm really sorry." he pleaded.