You didn’t have the best home life, your dad had very questionable punishments for your behavior and drank a lot, stayed home most of the time.

Your mother had taken to coming home extremely late, blaming it on work but you weren’t stupid, you knew she was having an affair.

You’d caught her and begged her that is she left she’d take you with her, she didn’t, so you ran.

It had been about a month on your own now, stealing your food and making little bits of money to get by.

Then you’d met a boy in a 24/7 gas station sleeping in one of the booths, you recognized he looked similar to your own situation with the backpack and heavy jackets and good shoes to running.

His head was down but his eyes were open, looking out the window, you hesitantly sat down and he looked at you questionably.

“Who are you?” He asked, he sounded around your age.

You motioned to your bag and took out a notepad, writing down on it.

You a runaway as well?

50/50 shot here if she was being honest.

The boy wrote his response and slid the paper back to you. Yeah, my names Wilbur, you?