Frank walks alone, always has done. How does he react when the most beautiful man steps out of nowhere and gives him money? Does he accept this new change of attitude in his life?
He continued scanning for options. The subway entrance looked like a nice place, too. It was busy with pleasant looking people, but as Frank neared he noticed a familiar pack of boys. They hadn't seen him, thank god, because if they had he'd have been recognised just as quickly. One of the boys, the leader of the gang with a mad green hoodie and battered trainers, had once had a pretty nasty fight with Frank. Frank lost, and was almost raped publicly. He was lucky he'd found the smashed beer bottle and hit the teenager with it then escaped with a few nasty bruises. Still, it could have been worse.
Rather than lingering around the market square, Frank decided he'd be better off going further into town. He set off walking, his stomach growling madly under his three shirts. Scared that his stomach might attempt to eat his neighbouring organs, Frank decided he was going to put money over warmth. He collapsed onto a shop doorway - a small comic shop that he would usually have been drawn to when he was younger. The truth about Frank was that he was already pretty young, about 15 years old to be exact. Frank rarely mentioned his age to people though, because they always said the same thing. "Well, that's a bit young, isn't it?". The truth was, Frank and his parents were constantly disagreeing. Franks parents had always told Frank where to go and what to do. They, being incredibly religious people, had taken Frank to a catholic school. It was because of their religion that they'd taken it so harshly when they caught Frank, almost half a year ago, kissing... Frank was too ashamed to even think about it - about the horrible things he'd done. However, in a mad fit of rage, he did the worst thing possible. He rebelled to them. He got tattoos, started smoking, skived his ridiculous catholic school and wore what was cast as "socially incorrect". He listened to different music to people, attended different events, even faked his age to get drunk. It ended when his parents lost hope and kicked him out, their last words being "You shall amount to nothing ".
It was then that Frank realised that nobody has fun. Nobody lives life, they simple wallow in it. They do nothing but get lead where it takes them, those who swing against the current get drowned in the adrenaline. Frank was first destined for an office job, a colourless suit, a boring spouse and a boring life. Now, he was destined to be a body in the winter snow, just another punk. Just another kid. Just another boy, lost, alone, dead.
"Um.. are you okay, kid?" A soft, gentle voice questioned him. Frank hesitated to answer, looking up at the asker before saying anything. It was a young boy, looking down on him with hazel eyes that peirced into his own. "You look cold."
"I- Um- yes. I'm cold" Frank mentally kicked himself for stammering. He looked down at his trainers, surprised at how they didn't have a hole in them yet. Compared to the man, Frank looked worse than ever. The man had red hair like a fire, framing a face that glowed a faint gold from some previous tan. Franks' hair was damp, greasy, hanging onto his shoulders and clinging to an almost grey face from the cold. He didn't dare look at the man, now looming over him with curiosity etched into his facial expression.
"Well, can you just move to the side for a sec? I have to open this store." Frank melted into his polite attitude, his soft movements as he helped Frank up, his caring eyes as he brushed the snow swiftly from Franks legs. "Here," The man said, reaching into his think, winter coat pocket and pulling out five pounds. "Go get yourself a coffee." Then he unlocked the shop door and walked in. Frank stood there for a long time, just staring at what had been the most beautiful... No! Frank had sworn to himself never to think of men like that since his life was wrecked by a man. Never. Again. He shook the thoughts from his mind, then walked into next doors coffee shop. Besides, that man couldn't possibly like a little, punk hobo...