The boy hugged the shadows as he walked. It was very late, and the sodium yellow lamps cast a halfhearted glow on the street beside him. He hoped their gloom would hide the telltale signs – the deep red circles on his collarbones, the occasional bite mark on his neck or arm.

The catcalls followed him. It never mattered how empty the street was, or the hour of night. A couple of whistles and kissing noises greeted him from a second story window. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts, bowed his head, and walked a little bit faster.

"Where you going, love?" a new voice rasped as he turned the corner into an alley. A hand reached out from the shadows. "Bit late for a young'un to be out, innit?"

The hand grasped the boy's arm tightly. He struggled against it, but he was young and weak.

"I'm off for the night," the brunette explained, sounding much calmer than he felt. "You'll get your turn tomorrow."

"Ah, such good English," the nasty voice purred. "We got us a learned one."

The voice belonged to an old, grizzled man, with a gray beard poking from his chin like a porcupine's quills. He smelled strongly of whiskey, and the boy wrinkled his nose.

"Please let go of my arm," he asked.

"And deprive meself a bit o' fun? Not bloody likely."

A couple of knowing chuckles sounded from the alley behind the old man. The boy glanced over, counting at least three other figures. He swallowed, knowing when he was beaten. The shadows converged around him.

"All right. Do whatever you want. Just… please don't touch my face."

"Ah! What a good sport, eh?" the drunk man's breath trickled across his ear. "Tell you what. Since you been so cooperative, we won't touch your pretty face one bit. All right?"

The boy inhaled, about to respond, when suddenly the old man wasn't there anymore.

"Oi! What was that for?" the drunk muttered, clutching angrily at the side of his face.

"You won't be touching this boy at all," a new voice said. A much younger man had materialized by the boy's side, seemingly out of nowhere. He retracted his arm, dusting off his knuckles where they had made contact with the old drunk's face. "Does anybody care to argue?"

The other degenerates eyed this new character with distaste, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. They slunk back into the darkness, muttering to themselves. The drunk crawled back to his corner.

"Are you all right?" the mysterious man asked.

"Yeah, I'm… fine."

"What's your name?"

"Ciel," the boy said after a moment's hesitation.

"Sebastian."

"Thank you, Sebastian," Ciel said, taking a moment to size him up. He was tall, with glossy black hair that fell into his red eyes, and rock solid muscles. He wore a black tank top, and smelled of liquor – though whatever he was drinking didn't seem to affect him much.

"Not a problem," Sebastian responded kindly. "What's a kid your age doing out at this hour?"

Ciel shrugged.

"Do your parents know where you are?"

"My parents are dead." It was the first time he had said those words aloud, and they tasted foreign on his tongue.

"Sorry," Sebastian said. It sounded sincere. "Recent?"

"Three weeks ago. Our house burned down."

"Ah. So the eyepatch?"

"Yeah," Ciel replied, rubbing self-consciously at the side of his face. The tape attaching the patch to his skin was smooth, but it was peeling off.

"Sorry," Sebastian said again. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "So, you, um, need a place to sleep?"

"Have you got one?" Ciel asked doubtfully.

Sebastian huffed a chuckle. "You've just met me and you already trust me enough to sleep at my place?"

"It's four in the morning, you're wearing rags, and you're drunk. I highly doubt you have a 'place,'" Ciel accused. "Though I do appreciate you punching that man for me. You didn't have to do that."

Sebastian studied him thoughtfully. "If you're serious, and you do need a place to sleep, then follow me." He turned and walked out of the alley, not looking back. The boy eyed the grizzly drunk man who still sat in the corner, and made his decision.

"Hey, wait up!" He jogged a bit to catch up. Sebastian glanced at him and kept walking. "Where are we going?"

"I told you. My place."

They walked a couple of blocks, turning onto a busier street. Sebastian stopped in front of a sleek grey high-rise, pulling a keycard out of his front pocket.

"Seriously?" Ciel murmured.

"Don't judge a person by their appearance," Sebastian said. The keycard reader on the door beeped, and Ciel found himself suddenly indoors. The older man walked him to the elevator, and pressed the button for the top floor.

Ciel let out a breath as the door slid open silently. The apartment was sparsely furnished, but the view was spectacular. Windows covered every wall. London seemed warm and welcoming from this distance, he thought. The river twinkled pleasantly below.

"So, what are you, some kind of millionaire?"

Sebastian did not answer. He walked over to the bar, fished around in a cabinet, and poured out a glass of expensive-looking scotch for himself. He picked up a second glass and held it out. "Want?"

Ciel considered for a moment. It would be rude, he assumed, to decline an offer of hospitality. However, he had only had alcohol once before, and he was not prepared to get drunk with someone he had only just met. He shook his head, and Sebastian put the glass away.

The raven-haired man downed his scotch in one go and leaned against the counter. "There's a couch here, and a bed down the hall. There's one upstairs too, if that's more comfortable. Sleep wherever you like."

Ciel walked over to the couch and sat on the arm. "Why are you being so generous?"

Sebastian's hair drooped across his face. He looked out the window. "Call it karma."

"You believe in karma?"

"I believe in fate."

"Will you kill me in my sleep?"

"Possible, but unlikely. Want some blankets?"

"A blanket would be nice," he admitted. Ciel decided, illogically, that he trusted this strange man.

"Let me get you one," Sebastian said. He pushed himself up off the counter and walked down the hallway. Ciel listened to him rummaging around in a closet. He returned a few moments later with two folded fleece blankets in hand. He tossed them unceremoniously onto the couch. "The bath is down the hall to the left. The pantry is a bit empty, but feel free to eat whatever you can find. I'll be at the end of the hall if you need anything."

"Thank you," Ciel said, wondering once again at the kindness of this man.

"Not at all," Sebastian said. He looked wistfully out the window again before slinking back down the hall to his room.

Ciel took off his shoes and laid down on the couch, covering himself with one blanket and using the other as a pillow. He crossed his arms under his head, resolving not to go to sleep, just in case Sebastian decided to change his mind and murder him.

He was asleep within minutes.