#urchined

The kid might have secrets he wants to cover up, a path he either spent running all his life but it’s the little things that tip him off. Ide notices, not to guess at what kind of neighborhood the kid grew up in -- because Ide doesn’t have anything to do with that. 

The rugged look but softened around the edges says things that the boy won’t, not if his life depended on it - like he’s just recently been pampered and dressed in a set of clean clothes - all borrowed, ones he doesn’t really feel like owning. 

And what’s worse? 

The clothes on his back don’t smell like him, don’t smell like home, don’t give off any sense of comfort, they’re newly pressed but hang off his shoulders, making him look small -- and they most definitely don’t give off that feel they’re his. 

Actually, he can’t call anything his city unless he takes it himself because, strangers are just that unkind. He looks out of place. Like he doesn’t need your help, and sir if you blink while asking just wher he’s from - sooner or later, you’ll find that your pockets are far lighter than when you first stepped out on the street. 

“Hey look.” He crouches down, in front of kid with the too-wide, exaggerated prying eyes. Turning cloudy with a hint of being talked down to by all he’s ever gonna see, an adult. 

“That gent you just lifted isn’t going to notice what’s gone in his paybook, no one’s gotta tell you for you to know that.”

“You can keep it and everything,” He opens the boy’s palm and lets him clutch a small drawstring bag, already heavy with change. “Isn’t going to fix anything making you a face adults should think twice before trusting the moment you got here.”

“What you say, mm, we go get something warm in you and I learn your name? There’s this great soup kitchen that keeps on giving you refills if you call the server “Lady.” 

“Then we’ll like, figure out where they say you should sleep tonight. Better not be a box. It’s happened before.”