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Sprawled out on the old, musty car seat that sat in the vacant lot the twelve year old rubbed at the fresh bruise forming on his cheek ; glory his dad sure could hit hard.
It was cold, colder than it should be in mid April, and Johnny's coat was riddled with holes. He had saved it from being thrown out by Steve, an old leather working jacket that he had outgrown. But it was perfect for the younger minus all the rips and tears that let the winds bite at bare forearms underneath it. And it was especially perfect for curling up in on abnormally cold spring nights when your father didn't want you in the house.
So, there he was, nose tucked in the collar, eyes half lidded with impending unconsciousness. Until the familiar crunch of gravel came from a few feet too his left indicating that someone had entered the lot, and by the sound of it they were running. Propping himself up on an elbow Johnny witnessed a boy, a little older than he, sprinting away from the darkness of the street. And, by the looks of it, he had no intentions of turning back.
This unsettled Johnny and without thinking he scrambled to his feet, racing behind the blonde boy. With some effort he caught up with the other and was greeted with a set of hard, blue eyes that made the air around the two seem a little bit colder.
" Glory, what're you runnin' from?" Johnny called over to the boy, who didn't slow his pace upon noticing the boy.
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