Kurt strolled down the shady street. He was, as always, dressed in the height of fashion, and his designer boots made soft thumping noises on the warm concrete. And though a small smile played at the edges of his lips in lieu of such a beautiful day, Kurt felt terribly lonely. To be openly gay amongst a community mostly made of homophobes isn't easy, especially when you're the only openly gay person within a decade of your own age in the entire town. But still, the warm sun was pleasant on his soft skin and he hummed gently to himself.

Kurt aimlessly wondered what it was like to be kissed. He imagined soft lips against his, a gentle hand in his hair. He longed to feel a warm body against his. It was at this exact moment that Jack Newton stepped from the stuffy house of his new foster parents, walked a little ways down the street, lit a cigarette he had hidden cleverly in the waist of his jeans, and shut his eyes with a satisfied sigh.

As Kurt rounded the corner, his breath caught in his throat. A slow stream of grey smoke slid from between lips parted ever so slightly. The most beautiful ones he had ever seen. It floated away with the breeze, and Kurt watched this same soft wind work it's way between the wispy strands of the man's auburn hair. His eyes were shut gently, and his head tilted back ever so slightly. He had beautifully feminine features- a delicate jaw line, long and slender fingers, and a slight frame on which hung a tight white long sleeved thermal shirt and tight jeans. The man was tall- much taller than him- and seemed at the same time to be both his peer and his elder. He looked young, but the way he held himself suggested that he grew up long before most kids their age. Kurt was certain he had never seen anything so divine in his entire life, and he could feel his pulse in his ears. He jumped when the lovely creature opened his eyes and graced him with a quick glance, and then a double take. Kurt melted with the grin he had been given, and then felt a rush of sudden panic. He had never felt this way before, emotionally, however a familiar feeling lingered in his suddenly painfully tight jeans. He turned and ran home, shaking with confusion and utter disbelief.

Jack was not used to this. Curfew? Rules? A cigarette ban, for gods sake? They were, he supposed, normal things for a normal seventeen year old like everyone seemed to want him to be. But the plain fact was that he wasn't a normal seventeen year old. He hadn't been normal for his age for a very long time. However, instead of compensating for what he had been through, the psychologists and the caregivers chose to instead pretend none of it ever happened and pick up where they though he should be at his age. Even if that meant back-tracking. Trying to forget his past was much more painful than remembering it.

He hadn't wanted to come here, but these people were very, very, very distant relatives and the only ones he had. They had agreed to take him for a year until he was legally of age and could go back home to Yorkshire. The flight to America had been long but relatively painless given the large stack of books he stuffed into his small carry-on. And now here he was, sitting on a overstuffed couch the living room of overly-sympathetic relatives in Lima, Ohio. He managed to excuse himself, having been deliberately stone-faced since meeting them (though not rude- that was unnecessary) to ensure that they would get the gist of his hermit-like personality, and would accept the fact that he liked- and very much needed- a lot of time to himself. And so he wandered down the suburban street in the warm sunlight, and lit a precious cigarette.

He stood for a moment, enjoying the breeze, and then got the odd sense he was being watched. He slid his eyes open and glanced briefly to his left. What he saw caused a double take. A boy about his age, give or take a year, stood not far off down the side walk, watching him intently. He smiled at the boy. He was a refreshing sight for sore eyes. A young and feminine looking face with large eyes and high cheekbones was set beneath a head of perfectly trimmed and tamed hair. He wondered self-consciously how windswept his own usually well-kept hair must have been. The boy was impeccably dressed in designer jeans, sharp looking leather boots and a silky looking blue button up that Jack would have very much liked to have felt against his skin.

Suddenly, the boy turned and ran. Jack watched him run around the corner, and felt his cheeks flush. Maybe Lima wouldn't be so bad after all.