Sleeping on Sidewalks // Ashton Irwin

week 1

On Monday, I saw The Boy for the first time. It was the middle of winter, freezing cold with rain pelting down. He was curled up inside a trash bag, asleep, hugging a backpack protectively to his chest. I guessed he was using the black bin liner as a sleeping bag. He was shivering in his sleep, tiny pellets of rain dripping down his face. His curly blonde hair was damp and matted, and his lips were slightly blue. He was hidden by the bushes outside my house, and he was in my garden. I silently thanked whatever higher power may be listening that my parents were away. They'd go crazy at The Boy if they could actually see him.

On Tuesday I saw him in school. He had a cold, and he was sneezing every few seconds. He shoved the backpack into his locker, and carried all his books under his arm. His hair was still messy. The ends of his jeans looked frayed and washed out, and his shirt looked creased and crumpled. There were huge bags under his eyes, and he was grimy all over, presumably from the ground he'd been laying on the night before. I saw the trash bag sticking out of his pockets.

On Wednesday I saw him slipping away from my garden at 5 in the morning. His hair looked damp from last night's rain. I watched as he crossed the road and ran in the direction of school, wearing a different t-shirt but the same jeans as he had yesterday. Later that day, I arrived home from school as quickly as I could, and went to the linen closet. I found a spare duvet and a couple of pillows, and I laid them out folded in the front garden. On top of them I placed a note, that simply read Stay warm. I looked out the window at just past midnight and saw him curled tightly in a ball, the backpack still in his arms. The trash bag was nowhere in sight.

On Thursday I saw the bedding laid out neatly on my porch. He'd left a note of his own. Thank you- A. I saw him at lunchtime. He was sat by the lockers, leaning up against them, backpack in hand. He was drawing on a piece of paper. I couldn't see what the picture was off, but he was focused. He bit his lip as he worked, occasionally pushing a blonde curl behind his ear. He was opposite where I was doing my homework, and I stole glances every once in a while. He didn't see me, or if he did he didn't say.

On Friday he left the drawing on my porch. It was of the house, and standing outside was a faceless girl. On the bacj was a note. Thank you for the help. I don't know what I'd do without you. I don't even know your name. -A That night, I told him my name and invited him to sleep on my couch. He looked nervous, but agreed. He didn't say a single word the whole time.

On Saturday my parents got home too early. They weren't due back until Monday, and that was the only reason I let The Boy stay. They got home at 10AM, before either of us had woken up. My alarm clock that day was my fathers yelling, foul language and the phrase trespassing scum repeated several times. He hit The Boy with a baseball bat, screaming for him to leave his house before he called the cops. I yelled until my voice, telling my dad that The Boy was my friend. That I'd invited him. But my voice was drowned out by my father's cries of anger and The Boy's of fear and pain.

On Sunday, the boy was nowhere to be seen.

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Ashton fic, yay ^-^ Don't even ask where the idea came from, brcause I don't know.