"You look lost."

Lynne turned towards voice that was addressing her. It belonged to a boy walking down the steps of the front porch of one of the small houses on the street. He was only a few inches taller than her, wearing a soft black hat covering his ears. He had clear blue eyes, but his cream-colored scarf was dirty, his jeans had grass and mud stains on them, his cardigan was ripped, and his blue shirt was wrinkled. The boy had huge bags under his eyes and cracked lips. He might have been attractive at one point, but now he just appeared a shell of what that could have been.

"I'm not lost. I'm fine," Lynne said, eyeing him carefully. There was something about him that looked oddly familiar to her, but even if she could place him, she definitely wouldn't trust him.

The boy leaned against one of the thin trees lining the empty street and his eyes fluttered a little. He shook his head back and forth which caused his weary eyes to open and be able to focus on her. His black cap retreated back on the top of his head and a little bit of greasy blonde hair was visible. "You know you're in a bad part of town, yeah?"

He had a British accent, but Lynne could detect the remnants of an Irish accent in his speech. Even though he didn't sound malicious, the sun was starting to go down and Lynne was aware that she was in a bad part of London, a city she knew nothing about, having come on a whim from America. She had only ever been in the city once before. Lynne reached around and patted her back jean pocket, making sure the little bit of money she had was still there. Nothing could possible be worse than being stuck in London alone with no money.

"I know where I'm going," Lynne lied, and pointed down the street where she had come from, back where there were stores and lights and more people. Maybe she could stay the night at the subway station. "Just back that way."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Good-bye now."

"Good-bye."

Lynne looked him up and down once more trying to place him. It was on the tip of her tongue, who he reminded her of, or who he was. A name. It would bother her if she didn't just ask, and even though she knew that the sun was going down and she had to rush back to the subway station before it was too late, she asked him, "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" The boy, or maybe he was a man, said. To Lynne, he didn't look or sound any older than fifteen, but there was a maturity about him that made him seem older. "What does that matter?"

"Never mind. Forget it," Lynne muttered, deciding not to waste any more time on this bum, who was obviously not in his right mind. She scurried back the way she came from, hoping she'd make it in one piece.

Lynne was tossing on the hard, uncomfortable bench, in the dreamlike state between sleeping and lucidity. Their faces were in her mind. One face was blue with the tongue hanging out, eyes opened, and the other two were splattered in blood…she rolled over on her other side, wishing them out of her head.

"Wake up! Wake up!"

Lynne opened her eyes, and there she was again staring into the blue eyes of the boy she had met earlier. She pushed herself against the wall by the bench, trying to get away from him. He was shaking her shoulder, and there was something in his clear blue eyes that scared her.

"I need to borrow some money from you, yeah? I'll let you stay at my flat if you give me some money."

His voice conveyed his desperation and fear. When Lynne hesitated to answer, he shook her again, like she was an incompetent child. "Did you hear me? Can I have some money?"

Give this boy all her money, and then have a place to stay. It seemed better than sleeping at the subway station. But what kind of house would this bum have? Did he even have a house? He didn't seem very clean. Could she trust him? What if he took her money and ran, leaving her with nothing? What if he did something to her? As Lynne thought about it, the guy's face took on an expression of pain, and again he begged, "Please. I promise I won't fuck you over. I just need some money, as much as you got."

There was something in the innocent pain written all over his face and in his voice that swayed Lynne. "Okay," she said, standing up and stretching her sore body. She looked up at the clock. Three AM. She probably slept about two and a half hours.

"I promise you won't regret this," the boy rambled as he ran for the subway steps to get out of the station. Lynne hurried to keep up. "See, I just got robbed of everything I got, and I have no money or anything that I need, and I really need some things and - for God's sake, come on!"

Lynne followed the boy as he rushed through London streets wondering what the big hurry was. She followed him until they came back to outside the house where she had first met him. He stopped and stood at the bottom of the steps. "You can come inside but you have to wait in the hall."

Lynne followed him up the steps into the house. She found it wasn't a house but an apartment building. They treaded up the narrow staircase to an apartment on the second floor. She could hear people talking inside but couldn't make out what they said. The boy knocked four times, waited a few moments, then knocked a last time. A deep voice came through the door and said something in another language. Lynne guessed it was Spanish.

The boy, seemingly fluent in the language, responded.

The door opened a crack for the boy, and before he went in, he asked Lynne for the money.

Lynne reached into her back pocket and pulled the crumpled bills out. The boy looked at them in horror and said, "Those are American! Not pounds! You fucking idiot!"

"I'm sorry, it's all I have -"

"Whatever. It'll have to do." He grabbed all of her money, all she had left, from her hands. "I'll be a little while. Wait here. If you have a problem, knock and start screaming. I should hear you then."

He disappeared inside the apartment.

Lynne waited in the hallway of the dim apartment building for what felt like an hour. It freaked her out. She considered knocking on the door and begging to be let in, but she knew that they wouldn't let her in. The only thing that kept her from freaking out was the occasional round of laughter from the other side of the door, confirmation that she wasn't alone in the world.

Finally the door opened and the boy stumbled out. "'Ello, dear," he slurred. "Ready to go back to my flat?"

He was fucked up on something, obviously. Lynne didn't know what. She wasn't really well-versed on drugs, but there was no denying that he was on something and it wasn't just alcohol, even though she could, in fact, smell some of that on him.

She followed the boy down the steps and out of the apartment building. He seemed oblivious to the fact that she was even there. Oblivious to basically everything around him. They walked for a long time, ending up in a nicer part of London than they had just been in. Lynne was confused. Did this boy have a flat in the nice part of the city?

They walked into an apartment building. Up the stairs to the fifth floor, and then he pulled out the key from his pocket and opened the door. He walked inside and took off his scarf, threw it on the floor. Lynne took a few tentative steps in, and she was blown away.

The flat was even nicer than she had assumed it would be. The living room to her right had glass windows that overlooked London, and the couches and chairs were plush white, matching the plush white carpet. The coffee table and the stand that held the giant plasma television were a sleek black, and the living room looked like it had been decorated by a professional. It led to a hallway, which Lynne could see had at least four closed doors in it.

The kitchen on her left was just as glamorous, with a stainless steel fridge and dishwasher, and cherry cabinets. The kitchen table only had room for about four place settings but it and the chairs were made of matching cherry wood, shining and gleaming. "Who are you?" Lynne whispered to nobody.

However, after Lynne got over the initial shock of the glamour of the place, the mess started to sink in. Beer cans were strewn all over the place, and the garbage can was overflowing. Upon further inspection, Lynne noticed stains on the plush carpet in the living room and a crack in the plasma. The flat was glorious, but it hadn't been properly taken care of.

"Your room is down the hall, last one on the left. Bathroom across from it," the boy said, coming back into the room in sweatpants and no shirt. His hair was matted down and greasy, and he had blonde chest hairs on his stomach. Lynne couldn't help but stare; even under the grunge, there was something insanely attractive about him.

"Okay. Thanks," Lynne muttered, deciding to head right to the bedroom. She was exhausted and just wanted to sleep and think about all this shit tomorrow. Passing through the living room, on the table by the arm of the couch, a picture caught her eye.

It was of five boys in swimsuits on a bright beach with white, smooth sand. Two of the boys had curly brown hair, but one's was larger and he had a goofy smile on his face, while the other had a serious expression and thicker eyebrows. Another boy had straight brown hair and glasses on, and he smiled sexily at the camera. A fourth boy with black hair and a six pack was staring off in the distance, and the fifth boy, a blonde with blue eyes, was smiling goofily at the camera, holding a soft pretzel in his hand. The five boys looked like best friends, content and excited and happy and youthful and pure.

She knew who they were.

She looked from the picture to the boy now sitting on the couch, turning on the television. She looked back at the photograph, then back at the boy, back at the picture. How hadn't she realized it before? She used to be a huge fan. Her heart stopped beating and her breath left her body. Her mouth dropped. It couldn't be, could it?

Lynne looked at the boy and finally she said, "You're Niall Horan."