Rain had been pouring all night, and Thomas looked out his flat's one window on the poor folks caught in it. One in particular stood out. He was dressed in a suit, soaked to the bone, and was inching along the building across the street, one hand trailing across the stones.
Boys dressed like that did not live in Thomas's neighborhood. If they found themselves in Thomas's neighborhood, they ended up robbed, or worse. Thomas folded his legs so that he fit onto his window ledge and decided to watch, in case worse showed up and he needed to call the police. His mobile phone was warm in his lap.
The stranger's curls were plastered to Thomas's forehead. No. Boys dressed like that did not live in Thomas's neighborhood. This one was clearly lost. Thomas watched him as it occurred to him how lost he was. The stranger pulled out his phone and held it up to his ear. He ran back and forth across the side of the building he was touching. He looked like he was beginning to panic.
He walked to the edge of the road and then ran across the street to Thomas's building. Thomas pressed his face to the window glass. The stranger ran his hand across the wall, until he reached the doorbell. He began to press every button, ringing every single flat.
Thomas grabbed his keys on the way out of his door. The tiles on the stairs were cold on his feet, and he cursed himself for forgetting socks, but this had to be dealt with.
When he reached the front door of his building and opened it, the stranger simply stood there, looking ahead blankly.
"What are ya doin', you idiot?" Thomas said. "Want to wake up the whole building?"
"Can… can I come inside?"
"Fine. I'll call you a cab," Thomas said. "But people here don't appreciate it when rich boys come here for a bit of fun, and then need good people's help when it gets dark and they get themselves fuckin' lost."
Thomas shut the door behind the man, who stood stock still just inside the door, a pool of water quickly gathering at his feet.
Just as Thomas was searching his contacts for the best cab company, the door to the front lobby opened. A large man in a tank top and boxers filled the space of the doorway. Others crowded the hall behind him.
"What's all this about, then?" he half yelled.
"I'm taking care of it," Thomas said.
"I'm blind," the stranger said. "I wanted to call my friend here, but… but there's no Braille on the flat numbers."
The large man blinked and he turned away. There was a small commotion as Thomas's disgruntled neighbors, the ones who were home at a late hour, because they wanted to find some peace and quiet, thank you, found their way back to their respective flats.
"Thanks for that," Thomas said, "But you shouldn't lie about stuff like that, you know?"
The man still stared ahead, unblinking. Thomas waved a hand slowly in front of him. If he was not lying, what not say so?
"I'll call you a cab now."
"Please don't," the stranger said.
"And why not?"
"I ran away from home."
"Ya don't have to go there, but you can't stay here."
The man blinked and wiped water from his face.
He was blind, and if he stripped down to his skin, Thomas could confiscate anything dangerous he was hiding on his person. He would be an annoyance, but no threat.
"Come with me. Let's get you cleaned up," Thomas said.
After making a meal of ham and cheese toasties, drawing his guest a bath, and making up the couch with one of his pillows and his spare set of sheets, Thomas watched the stranger sit cross-legged on the makeshift bed in Thomas's old t-shirt and sweatpants and tousle his hair with a towel. It was curly.
Thomas carefully handed him a mug of steaming tea.
"Soooooo, why'd ya run away?"
The man let his damp towel fall into his lap and took the tea. "Because I didn't like it there," the stranger said.
"You want to stay here for the night, ya answer some questions, understand?" Thomas said, and sat next to him.
"It's hard to explain."
"You're in a stranger's flat in a bloody rough part of town. Can't have been nice at home."
The man sipped his tea and spat it back in the cup.
"It's hot," Thomas said.
The stranger nodded.
"Can I have a name?" Thomas said.
"Edward. Edward Courtenay."
"I'm Thomas."
"You're not a thief or a murderer, are you, Thomas?"
"No, I'm not. Because all thieves and murderers tell you so when you meet them."
Edward blew on the surface of his tea and sipped again. "This is nice," he said. Only then did Thomas notice the scars on his wrists.
"That bad, huh?"
"What?"
Thomas touched the inside of Edward's wrist. Edward pulled away. "Please don't pity me."
"I'm not."
"I can pay you for your hospitality."
"I won't accept it."
Edward frowned.
"How'd you get here?" Thomas asked.
"Took bad directions or didn't follow them well."
"Where did you want to end up?"
"A school buddy of mine lives in Oxford."
"Oxford?"
"I figured it could be a start. Went to school there, I have some connections." Edward drank his tea. "Thank you for your hospitality, Thomas," he said.
"Don't mention it." Thomas felt his eyelids droop. "I'm off to bed," he said. "If ya need anything, just call."
"I won't, but thank you again."
As Thomas lay in bed, he could not get his mind off of the stranger he had let in and the damage he could cause. But his last, inexplicable thought before nodding off was that he would be disappointed if he woke the next morning to find Edward gone. Why, he could not tell.