Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, world, or anything from Cassandra Clare. They're all hers, I just mess with the characters. I own nothing. Please don't sue me :)

Cold. It's so cold here in the winter. By here, I mean Lower Manhattan in New York. I don't know exactly where I am- addresses really lose their meaning when you don't have one. A lot of things lose meaning out on the streets- love, family, friends. A lot of things gain new meanings- I hadn't experienced cold or hunger until I got out here. Black hair and blue eyes don't get you much on the streets, I'll tell you that. What does is young looks or the willingness to degrade yourself to almost nothing. Sure, I beg, but I've never considered prostitution as a way to eat. The best way to live out here, though, is stealing. I know it's wrong and I feel terrible about it, but it's hard to feel guilty when you haven't eaten in three days.

My fingers have become nimble and quick, but they're so cold out here. It's a sort of mind-numbing cold that consumes you, makes you want to huddle in a ball and sit there. Most people haven't experienced that, but I have. Just one of those fancy jackets most of the people who pass by me wear, and I might even be warm enough to get rid of this infernal cough that I have. Cold, cold, cold. Lots of words sound weird if you think them enough times. Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold. My head spins. I keep repeating a phrase to everyone who walks by without even glancing down at me.

Please, anything helps. God Bless.

That's what it says on my sign. Usually gets me some loose change out of pity, but the miserable weather is making everyone tired and selfish. It's been three hours and I've gotten exactly one dollar and twelve cents. I guess nobody wants to give money to the ratty looking kid. Makes sense, I guess. I look like your typical run away- I'm not, but that's what most people assume when they see a teen out here. Especially a teen guy.

I don't think anybody would care if I put my story on my sign. Of how I came out to my dad on June 28 and was out of the house by noon the next day. To kick me out during Pride month, of all things. And that's exactly why I don't put my story on my sign. Let's just say that my father's views aren't exactly out of place here in New York. I learned that the hard way the first few days I was out here. Those bruises took a long time to fade- and now I have a nice scar down my cheek to complete my vagabond look. Seriously, people out here are assholes. Would it kill them to give me a dollar?

I watch as a couple pass by. They're exactly what my father wants: a tall, strong guy with his arm around a young, blond woman. For no reason, they fill me with rage. I want to hurt them, but I won't. That's not fair. It's not their fault that I have a horrible father. But I'm so hungry- thirsty, too, and cold and sad and angry on top of that. I hold up my sign pitifully.

"Please, anything, anything helps."

I'm surprised yet again how scratchy and painful my voice is. It sounds like how I feel, which might also be why so few people are willing to stop by.

I'm jolted out of my short thoughts as the perfect couple notices me.

"Aw, look, there's a stray! Nate, babe, can we throw him a dollar? He's pretty, too!"

Her voice is piercing and tinny, like a tea kettle. It's all I can do not to wince and flinch away as the man (Nate?) leans down and glares at me before placing a few coins in my hand. He wipes his hand on his coat as he stands up and whispers to me the words I've heard so many times.

"Useless street rat."

He grabs the woman's hand again.

"Come on, Amy. This weirdo creeps me the hell out."

They walk away.

$1.63 in three and a half hours. I know that it's nowhere near enough to buy anything warm, so I'll have to continue saving. I guess in the meantime, I'll steal some saltines from the Quik Mart. I begin the two mile trek. Did I mention that it's snowing? Yep. It's snowing a proper blizzard out here- I can't even feel my feet and my entire chin is numb. This thin scrap of a jacket isn't near enough to provide even the slightest imitation of warmth. I sigh and continue to walk.

I haven't had a proper meal in about 4 days- what I really want is something hot. Unfortunately, there's a distinct lack of any fast-food places in this area. You'd have to go to Chelsea for that, and I don't have the ability to walk that far. So, I'll have to steal.

As I approach a busy street, I pull myself higher and stand with my head up: it's the only way to blend in. Nothing can disguise my chattering teeth, but hopefully someone rich looking will pass by soon. The woman in a black pantsuit? No, she'd notice me. Her money is probably in her expensive looking purse, and it's hard to reach into someone's purse even without numb fingers. The short, balding man in a expensive looking jacket? He won't work either, he looks smart and he keeps looking around- it seems like he knows this area's reputation.

My eyes narrow as I see a possible target behind me. He's wearing a fitted maroon jacket that positively screams wealth; he's young- maybe 19, 20; he's staring at a smartphone, so he's probably a naive tourist looking for directions. Perfect. He's handsome, too… no, I can't think like that. Even if he is hot, I need the money. He keeps reaching into his back left pocket, so that's probably where his wallet is.

I slow my stride gradually, allowing him to catch up to me. As he comes near, I slowly sneak my hand towards his pocket. Even though I can barely feel my hands, my muscle memory keeps my fingers deliberate and my motions as minimal as possible. He doesn't even notice as I withdraw a wallet from his back pocket.

Now with the man's cash in hand, I again slow down and wait for him to pull ahead of me in the flood of people rushing to catch the 5:00 subway. Like so many times before, I slip away into a side alley and quietly pry open the wallet. A large cloud of glitter bursts out and coats my hands, marking them a bright red. To add insult to injury, there's only a piece of paper stating "thieves never prosper :)". The happy face at the end mocks me, saying that I won't get to eat tonight either.

How can I leave this area like this? That tall man was not, apparently, a tourist, but an experienced local who had a prepared fake wallet. He must've expected someone to steal. I've seen people with wallets like these before, he'll have noticed me taking it if he had already prepared something this elaborate. In fact, he's right near the exit of the alleyway.

Damn it, damn it, damn it. Stupid, stupid Alec.

He's coming closer to the alley. He looks angry.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, please don't hurt me, please, please."

He crouches down and looks at me. I instinctively curl into a ball, the way I've survived innumerable beatings before. The next thing he says is something I haven't heard for the entire 7 months I've been out here.

"Are you okay? I won't hurt you."

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! This is my first ever fanfic, so no flames please :). Good? Bad? Please review if you can/want to! I'll continue this soon.