You had been by yourself since you were seven years old. That was ten whole years that you had been sleeping on the streets, in abandoned lots, anywhere that provided even a modicum of safety. It was all you were used to now. You didn’t even remember your parents at this point.

Your part time job at McDonalds allowed you to have just enough money to pay your surprisingly cheap phone bill and buy food so you wouldn’t starve. It didn’t allow for any luxuries, and sometimes you still had to shoplift, but it got you by. Plus, you got food for free at work, often quickly cooking yourself a burger meal and drink before you closed up.

You were walking through the chocolate isle of your local grocery store, grabbing shit and shoving it in your pocket, but the bulged out pocket at the front of your hoodie was fairly obvious to the teenage boy that happened to be wandering through the same isle as you.

“Don’t do that,” he muttered, stepping over to you. “It’s obvious to anyone what you’re doin’. Here.”

He held his hands out, and you put the bars of chocolate in them. He put one in your pocket - it was hidden - the other one in your bag, and finally, he tore open the packaging of the last one, handing it to you.

“It’s only illegal if you get caught,” he muttered, grabbing a can of Monster from the shelf and cracking it open. He took a deep swig, looking at you through bright blue eyes. He seemed to be the same age as you.

You nodded, watching him take another drink. “Thanks,” you muttered, and he shrugged it off.

“No problem. You got a name?”