It was just a month ago that you had moved into your current apartment complex. It wasn’t too much of a bad thing: Having somewhat cheap rent and being close to the popular spots in Gotham. The last reason was the important one you moved into the complex, being useful for your work as a prostitute.

It was every-time you came home, often times at odd hours from your odd enough job, that you saw the scrawny boy from next door. He was a brash and mischievous one. Or at least you assumed he was, judging by the daily scolding you could hear through the walls of the cheap apartments. Regardless, you saw him a good enough times per week. By day he was usually at school, but if he had been suspended that day, he was out and about on the streets, kicked around rocks and interrupting dangerous adults for any change in their pockets. At night time, he was usually by the staircase where he played with his lighter after being kicked out the house. The two of you never spoke much aside from your first welcoming greeting, just a few nods or waves here and there.

But tonight? He stood right by your door, almost waiting for you.