It was an unsually cool day in late 15th century southern Spain. A breeze filled the town square; in summer, this temperature was very much a relief to the citizens. Markets were bustling with customers, and shopkeepers grinned as their pockets became too small for the money they had earned. However, with every positive come a negative.
A 13 year old boy scouted the markets, hoping to spot an unattended stall. Sure enough, he did, and the scrawny child quickly darted to the stall. Seeing that there were no witnesses, he quickly grabbed the freshest apple he could find, tucking it into his handbag. The boy then made a run for it, sprinting off to a desolate alley. Just as he was about to take a bite from the apple, he heard a voice.
"You didn't pay for that, did you?"
The boy jumped up, startled by the stranger's voice. His blue eyes glanced around, until they saw a boy his age, with straight blond hair and green eyes.
"Well, you're lucky I'm not reporting you to the authorities," the blond haired boy said. "You're just a kid, like me."
The black haired and blue eyed boy scratched his head in confusion. "Uh, thanks... I guess. Who are you, anyway, and what are you doing here?"
"My name is Miguel De La Rosa," the blond boy responded. "And I'm here because someone threw away my lute. Why are you here?"
The black haired boy shrugged. "I like staying here. It's usually empty, so I come here whenever I want to be left alone. Though now it seems that I have to find a new hiding spot..." Miguel looked at the boy's apple. "So... why do you steal?" He asked the boy. The boy thought for a second before giving his response.
"I do it to survive. Look, I'm not really talented, so I can't be a street performer or something, and begging doesn't work with me, I've tried that. My only real option was to steal food and clothes."
"What about your parents? Don't they have jobs?"
The boy seemed to freeze in place after Miguel asked this question. "Oh... your parents must be gone, huh?" Miguel said. The boy nodded, becoming more quiet and reserved. Miguel sighed. "I'm sorry for what I said, I... I just didn't know that your parents were-" Miguel stopped himself mid-sentence, as he noticed that the boy had tears in his eyes. The slightly older child looked down to the ground, regretting his statements. "I'm sorry... again. Um, why don't we just drop this?"
"That would be great," the boy said as he wiped the tears from his eyes. He was embarrassed that he had been caught crying. "My name's Tulio, by the way." Miguel smiled. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Tulio," he extended a hand, expecting Tulio to shake it. The boy simply stared at it, however.
"I don't shake hands," Tulio stated. "But you know, for some reason, I'm beginning to... like you, Miguel. You could help me."