AN: Sorry it took so long, you guys...

Chapter 5

London, UK, 1988

The sun was setting, and with it came the promise of snow.

The streets of London were slowly filled with more and more umbrellas. Around him, more and more people wore coats and scarves and boots. Even their pace was faster, as though they knew when the rain was due to come and didn't want to find themselves in the middle of the showers. They walked as quickly as they could, heads bent down, holding their coats against them, all hunched against the blowing wind.

All but him.

He spent his first week in London walking around the city, getting to know it better. He tried several more shops, but the owners' responses were always the same: no. Some were kind and attempted to help him by directing him to other places or suggesting calling the social services. The latter he ran from like from fire, and for some reason, as soon as he told them not to call the social services, they complied with his wish and left the phone. Others were blunt and rude, some clearly thinking he was a thief or only meant trouble. The last shop owner scared him so badly that he decided to quit the search altogether.

"Get out of here, you maggot!" He yelled at him as soon as Kevin dared asking – somewhat hesitantly and shakily – for a job. "I know you and your type! You're not getting anything from me! Get out of here, now!"

Seeing the man moving towards him, he ran out immediately, tears filling his eyes. He ran until he could barely breathe and then sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall and breathing heavily. He folded his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, crying quietly with his face pressed against his knees. He couldn't understand what he could have possibly done to deserve any of it.

For the most part, he stayed in the streets. He changed – at least once a day – and ate regularly, although mostly food from markets rather than in restaurants. He only gave in to his tiredness and stayed in a small hotel once that week; the rest of the time he slept on the street, in that slightly awake-light-sleep mode he came to know. He made sure to stay close to big hotels, areas active at night-time and the emergency services, where he doubted anyone would take the risk to rob him. Once, he was even invited to sleep in the main hall of one of the hotels, saving him from spending a cold, wet night in the street.

Even though he was yet to encounter thieves, he was terrified at the thought of being robbed. He had little to lose, but what little he had was precious to him. He couldn't afford to lose anything. And so even when he slept, he made sure to hold his backpack closely.

But even though he made sure to buy the cheapest food and spend as little as he could, he was still running out of money. There was no way he would survive long like this.

Now that he was one of them, he noticed the homeless in every turn and every corner of London. Some of them were adults, sitting on the sidewalk in the busier streets of London, begging for spare change or something to eat. Some were children, his age and younger, running around or waiting by big hotels and restaurants, attempting to gain money and property by both legal or illegal ways. To him, they always seemed to come out of nowhere, bursting out to the street like bullets shot from a gun.

After another day of walking around, he decided to try doing what some of the other children did – sit by the backdoor of the restaurants and wait for the chefs. They constantly got rid of food that wasn't cooked well or failed attempts at new recipes, and the children who waited got something edible nearly every time. He could try it too; at least it would save him the money he spent on food. As he went to sleep that night, this time in an alleyway, he wondered how his life changed this drastically. Two weeks earlier, he was in his home, with his parents, and everything was fine.

And now... now he was in a city he barely knew, living on the streets, and no one in the world cared if he lived or died. Somehow, it didn't seem right.

He got up early the next morning. The sun was just beginning to rise, and, naturally, the streets were quiet and empty. Here and there a few people returned from a night out, but for the most part, he was on his own. Small, shallow puddles lined his way, telling him it rained that night, too. He was lucky to have found a relatively sheltered place to sleep.

It wasn't even five in the morning when he reached the restaurant he'd chosen. It was a big, posh place that always seemed full, but at that time of the day, it was completely dark and empty. Not even the chefs seemed to have arrived by the time he showed up.

He didn't mind. Watching the children taught him the ones who came the earliest got the most food. So he sat down on the sidewalk on the other side of the street and waited.

The first time he saw the back door of the kitchen opening, he was thrilled. People walked around, ignoring him as they hurried to and from places, but as far as he could see, he was the only child around. He didn't stop to think about his good luck before hurrying to get up and cross the street. The way things looked, he had no doubt he'd be able to eat properly, at least that morning. He might even get a chance to eat well the entire day. If he stayed by that restaurant and saved some of the food instead of eating it all, he might not have to settle for market-food and cold water. For the first time since he left Manchester, he let himself feel hope. He might just be able to survive this life after all.

He was just turning to the alleyway where the back door was when he was shoved aside by someone else. Slowly sitting up in the mud, he looked forward in complete shock. Around the door, the alleyway was suddenly filled by children, in all ages and sizes, all fighting to get closer to the door and the exiting chef. He gave them one disgusted look and returned to the kitchen, leaving them to fight over what little food he brought out. Before Kevin could get up, it was all gone and the alleyway was quiet once again.

He stared at the wall in front of him in shock. It was all so quick it seemed as though they came out from the cracks in the walls and the dark comers of the alley. The now-empty-alley stared back at him, quiet and motionless, as though everything he'd just seen was made up by his mind, a result of his loneliness. The bruises he felt, though, proved otherwise.

He shook his head, got up – slowly, making sure he wasn't injured – and found a new spot to sit, this time closer to the alley. He learned his lessons. Always.

He didn't have much luck later that day, too. He managed to get closer to the door and even managed to eat, but it wasn't enough to be called a meal, let alone a whole day's worth of food. By the afternoon he was tired, hungry, bruised and hopeless. Even as he remained in the alleyway, preparing himself for the next round, he didn't feel as though he had a chance to make it through the day, let alone the week.

The worst times were when the adults showed up. They didn't come often, but when they did, they shoved all children out of the way forcefully, barely even using their strength, like they were all nothing but weightless dolls. All the children scattered away as soon as one of the homeless men showed up, and after being nearly thrown away the first time, Kevin quickly did the same. When the door opened again, he ran towards it, attempting to push his way to the front of the group. He didn't intend to remain in the area much longer; the sun was setting, and he knew he had to find someplace to spend the night. He could hardly feel his muscles; every inch of what he could feel ached. He could have sworn he was never that exhausted in his entire life.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, he couldn't make it to the front of the group. The children shoved and fought and even bit each other, using every weapon they had to beat the others. It was a rough competition – something Kevin had never seen in real life. It was even worse than the rugby matches he watched with his parents. But then again, this was about more than just winning. It was about survival.

Tears filling his eyes, he slowly made his way across the street, looking for a dark, quiet corner to sit in. When he found it, he let the tears make their way down his cheeks as he sat down and hugged his backpack to his chest. He'd only gone through this for a little over a week, but the backpack already looked raggedy and dirty, as though he'd been using it for years. There was barely any hint of his old life in his possessions.

And the ferocity those children fought with... He could never match them. They were used to living on the streets, having to fight for their food and shelter and lives. He couldn't. He hadn't even thrown a punch before that day; it was something he only ever saw on the telly, or in rugby matches. Most of these children were stronger than him, even though they seemed small. He had no chance of survival in these circumstances.

A terrifying thought came into his mind, shoving away all the other ones. They were all pressed so close together during these fights; anyone could have taken anything from his backpack while he didn't notice. He tried to hide his money, but not everything was out of reach, certainly not for experienced thieves. He had no doubt that's exactly what some of those children were.

Panicked, he opened his backpack and took every single item out, making sure it was still present and intact. He was relieved to see no item was missing – although his relief was mixed with a sense of bitterness when it came to the experiment tapes – but his heart dropped when he realised two notes of fifty pounds were missing. Someone must have picked them off him when he didn't notice.

He sniffed, attempted to wipe his tears away and then got up. With a heavy heart, he slowly made his way to a nearby apartment building.

He fell asleep inside that building, in a dark comer by the stairs. He was curled on the floor, his backpack pressed against his chest, traces of tears still drying off his cheeks. He fell asleep thinking about his home and his parents, wishing he could go back a week, perhaps two; back to the time when everything was okay and these homeless children were nothing but images on his television screen. He didn't believe they were real at the time; now he was once of them.

He was awoken so late at night it could have been called early morning. A man was crouching next to him, looking down at him with bleary eyes. Kevin blinked and slowly sat up, attempting to look back at the man. It wasn't easy; the lamp behind the man's head was blinding Kevin and making the man's head look like one dark ball-like object.

"Is that a kid there?" He asked, squinting at him. Even without coming closer, Kevin could smell the sour scent of alcohol off him, telling him the man in front of him was drunk. "Blimey, I think that might just be a kid! Unbelievable! Lesley, come have a look!"

Footsteps followed, and soon Kevin was looking up at a woman, standing next to the man who spoke. Her face looked dark as well because of the light behind her, but her eyes were so bright that he could easily see their light green colour. Then she smiled at him, her teeth just as bright as her eyes.

"Hey there," She said, still smiling. "What are you doing down there on the floor?"

"Food," He croaked, slowly reaching up to his cheeks to clean them from whatever traces of tears they still had. "I'm hungry... Can I...?"

"Of course you can!" She turned her head to look at the man, who, in the meanwhile, stumbled backwards and was staring at the stairs. "Greg, go upstairs and see what we have in the fridge." Looking at how drunk the man was, Kevin doubted he could find the stairs, let alone go up to their apartment and find the fridge. But he didn't say it. These people were being kind to him and giving him food willingly, and he wasn't going to risk it by saying something that might insult or hurt them. He was so hungry and thirsty; it felt as if he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in a year.

"What fridge?" The man – Greg – turned to look at Lesley as soon as he heard his name, frowning at her.

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. "I told you not to drink so much!" She scolded. He stared at her blankly, and Kevin bit his lower lip to avoid laughing. It seemed, though, that the woman was amused too; there was a hint of a smile on her lips. "Just stay here with him, alright? I'll be right back," She added, turning to him. She only waited for him to nod his understanding before disappearing up the stairs.

Heavily, Greg sat down next to him, staring forward in amazement. "Where did she go?" He asked Kevin, confused.

Kevin bit back a laughter, but smiled anyway. Maybe, just maybe, he could survive this after all. If he found a method... He might just make it through.