Cold.
That's the first thing. Always the first thing. Cold concrete against his cheek, and the taste of dust in his mouth like he'd been eating dirt. Again.
He rolled over and immediately regretted it. His shoulder hit something sharp. Piece of glass, maybe. Or metal. Hard to tell in the dark, and honestly, did it matter? Everything here had edges that wanted to cut you.
The rumbling started above his head. Footsteps. Heavy ones.
Don't move don't breathe don't exist.
He pressed himself flatter against the floor, which was stupid because you can't get flatter than flat, but his body did it anyway. Some kind of automatic thing, like when you touch something hot and your hand jerks back before your brain catches up.
The footsteps moved past. Kept going. Faded into whatever maze of broken hallways this place was.
He counted to fifty before sitting up. Then counted to fifty again because fifty didn't feel like enough.
His stomach made that noise. The hollow one. Like an empty can being kicked around. When was the last time he ate? Yesterday? Day before? Time got weird when you spent it mostly hiding.
The broken mirror across from him caught some light from somewhere. Cracked right down the middle, so his reflection looked split in half. Twelve years old, probably. Maybe eleven. Small for whatever he was, which was useful. Small meant invisible. Invisible meant alive.
His hair stuck up like he'd been electrocuted. Brown, maybe? Hard to tell under all the dirt. Everything was dirty here. The air, the walls, him. Especially him.
God, he was thirsty.
Water first, then food. That was the rule. You could go longer without food than water, though honestly he'd been testing both limits for a while now.
"Hey."
The voice came out of nowhere and his heart just about stopped. Someone was talking. To him. At him? He wasn't sure there was a difference anymore.
A girl stood in the doorway that used to have a door. Maybe fourteen, fifteen. Old enough to be dangerous. She had shoes, which meant she was doing better than him. Her jacket was torn but it was still a jacket. Still covering her arms.
She was looking right at him.
When was the last time someone looked right at him?
"You live here?" she asked.
Live. That was a funny word for what he did. He existed here. He survived here. He took up space here until someone made him take up space somewhere else.
He nodded anyway. Couldn't remember the last time someone asked him a question that required an answer.
"I'm Maya."
She said it like names were normal things. Like everyone just had them, lying around, ready to use. He tried to remember the last time someone told him their name. Tried to remember if anyone ever asked for his.
"What's your name?"
There it was.
His mouth opened but nothing came out. Because what was he supposed to say? That he used to have one, maybe, back when there were people around who might use it? That the few adults he'd run into called him boy, or kid, or hey you, or nothing at all?
That most of the time people looked through him like he was made of glass?
"I don't..." His voice cracked. Sounded like he'd been swallowing sand. "People just call me whatever."
Maya's face did something. Not pity, exactly. Something worse. Something that looked like understanding.
"That's pretty messed up," she said. Quiet like.
She sat down on a chunk of concrete. Not too close, but not running away either. That was new.
"I got some bread."
Bread. When was the last time he'd had bread? Real bread, not the moldy scraps from dumpsters that made his stomach hurt for hours after.
She pulled out this bundle wrapped in cloth. Tore off a piece and held it out.
He stared at it. At her. At the possibility that someone in this broken-down world was offering him food. Actual food. Without wanting something back.
"Why?" The word came out sharper than he meant.
"Why what?"
"Why would you..." He gestured at the bread, at her sitting there, at the fact that she was talking to him like he was real. "I mean, why?"
Maya was quiet for a second. Then she said, "Because maybe we don't have to be nobody."
We. She said we.
Like maybe he wasn't alone in this. Like maybe there was someone else who understood what it felt like to be nothing, to have people look right through you, to wake up every day wondering if today was the day you'd just... stop.
He reached for the bread.
And for the first time in longer than he could remember, something that felt dangerous started growing in his chest.
Something that felt like hope.