The library of the University of Chicago was mostly devoid of students, most if not all of them getting ready for their weekend. Some of the alumni were already submerged in parties, most definitely too drunk to care about books and avoiding any activities that required using more than two neurons at a time.

Such was not the case for one Shaun Hastings as he flipped through a rather large tome, skimming through the words to find the right material for his thesis. No, adding more pages for that extra credit the teacher had told them could be acquired was not necessary in his case, but Shaun had always shot for the top and this would not be the exception. Adding a few details to his twenty-five page work was just him striving for top of the class.

Rebecca called it being an anal overachiever.

Regardless, there was quite nothing compared to spending your evening in the quiet solitude of a library, searching in books and clips what you could have found in the internet. Except he didn't fancy copying and pasting some other poorly done paper and getting a mediocre grade, thank you very much.

The speakers in the library told anyone still in it that there were five minutes left until closing time. Shaun gave a gruff hum and rubbed his eyes with his fingers, lightly pushing the glasses upwards. Setting them right, he checked his watch and frowned because indeed, he only had five minutes. Packing his notes and laptop in his book bag, he swung it over his shoulder and walked towards the reception, books in hand. He left them there to be properly organized, as should be, and exited the building, wrapping his scarf tightly about his neck. Sure, Britain's winters were quite famous, but Chicago had the gall to kick those away and remind Shaun of how very much he hated the cold.

Walking as quickly as possible and wondering if Americans found it funny to name this the windy city (and not exaggerating one bit about it), he made his way towards the subway, dodging cars because he still had things to live for and he had to turn that thesis in and check his grade (which would be the best, if he could say so himself).

Several minutes later had him sitting down on one of the carts and frowning at his cell phone as Rebecca told him that the minute he arrived to their shared (cheap) apartment, she would whisk him away to some party or other. His watch informed him that it was twelve, and thus, too late for any sort of activity except sleep (or attempt to in his case). The subway halted but he paid no mind, texting Becca back that he'd rather not, he was tired, leave me alone, kthxby.

Closing his eyes and praying that she wouldn't poke fun at his lack of social (not to mention sexual) life, Shaun leaned back on the sub's wall. When he opened his eyes again, he was surprised to find he wasn't alone in the cart.

A man in a white hoodie and faded jeans sat at the end. Most of his face was concealed, but he could see a thin scar on his lips, which were chapped and dry. Upon further inspection, the man himself looked unhealthy and disheveled. He was pale, even with the light tan he had and he seemed thin to the point of seeming gaunt. His shoulders were slumped and his chin rested on his chest. For all Shaun knew, the man could be close to death.

The oddest thing about him, though, was that he was barefooted. His legs were splayed and showed the soles covered in mud and dirt and he could guess grease and grime. The British wondered if maybe he was some hapless hobo. Dying hobo? He made a face. Now he was curious, in the way one is curious about a dead animal on the road.

The cart began to slow down and stopped. Shaun rose to his feet and paused, still looking at the man as the doors slid open. He was about to step closer to him and ask the bloke if he was fine, if he needed to go to the hospital. Shaun decided against it. It wasn't his business anyway.

As he made his way out, two guys bumped into him, both in 'gangster' getup. Marvelous luck there, chap.

"Watch where you're going motherfucker!" Thug one exclaimed. How literate, he thought.

"Excuse me, beg your pardon." He practically elbowed his way out and hurried his steps, the jeers and whistles from the two echoing behind him. Absentmindedly, he wondered if leaving Mr. Hobo with those two was appropriate.

Then again, he'd rather Mr. Hobo get harassed than have himself knifed.

Mr. Hobo didn't come to mind until weeks later.

Yet again, he was walking towards the apartment, happy to get back because Rebecca wouldn't be there and he'd actually get to sleep early (not that one in the morning was early, but oh well). On top of that, his thesis had come out not only perfect, but it had received the highest marks.

He gave a start when he thought he'd heard something. Probably the wind. Wonderful Hastings, you're hallucinating. He jammed his hands deeper into his pants pockets and curled slightly in on himself as he walked, book bag hanging off of one shoulder. He was about six blocks from the warmth of his room when he heard the scuffling of shoes.

On the next corner, a group whistled at him and he stiffened. His day had been too good hadn't it? Yes, karma did tend to adore exploding in his face then turning to bite his arse. Just walk the longer route, ignore the guys and-bloody hell they were jogging up to him.

"Hey, man, we ain't gonna hurtcha... We just wanna talk, negotiate a few things through. S'pretty cold and we need some funds." The bloke smirked. Shaun only frowned as the other three chuckled at this.

"I'm quite sure you need funds, but the thing is I'm not some bloody ATM, so if you'll excuse me, we could all go our ways and pretend this never happened." He was about to turn and just leave, because this all reeked of trouble and losing things he'd worked too bloody hard to lose when they circled him, closing his exit somewhat.

"Aw, c'mon man, don't be like that. Now, if you just fork over your cash and that laptop, m'sure we could just go along just like you said. How's about it?" He asked with the bloody sneer more evident in his face.

"Well that sounds just about-." Shaun bolted. He elbowed two out of his way and ran. Well, he had tried to negotiate and it didn't work. Ignoring their shouts and listening only for their continued footfalls behind him, he ran like hell itself was on his heels. He narrowly avoided getting hit by a taxi but kept going, because he liked his life, and he liked his money. Even a foreigner like him had become familiar with this town's reputation, besides, and he wasn't going to take chances.

He ran until he had a stitch in his side, until pain shot up his legs with every step, and even then kept going until he hit a dead end in a dark alley. Panting, he glared at his would-be assailants. He reached for his phone, only to realize that he'd left it on the library desk where he'd been working, and it wasn't in his back pocket like it usually would be. That left him with his laptop... might make a good bludgeon. He slid his book bag off his shoulder as they approached and held it up like he was going to hit them with it. "Don't come closer."

One of the thugs laughed. "Ooh, what's he gonna do with that bag? Hipster fag probably doesn't have much of a swing." The other one, who looked to be just a little on the dim side, laughed with him. It sounded like he was mentally retarded.

"It doesn't take much of an impact to snap a rib. After all, why would I go for the head? You've probably already been dropped on it as a child." He couldn't stop himself from talking, could he? He just -did- it.

The thugs stopped laughing. The dumb one bared capped teeth. "Get 'im."

Ah. Now he was royally fucked, wasn't he? Where was Becca when he needed her? Always shoving it in his face on those other two times she'd saved his arse and this time he'd be able to shove it in her face that this time, she hadn't been there. Then again, this was a depressing thought because it meant he couldn't save himself for shit and he had to be saved by a woman of all things.

They advanced on him, one of the three brandishing a knife when someone fell right in front of him. As in, literally just fell out of bloody nowhere like the sky had just spat him out. He stared at the man as he straightened up, wearing (and here his eyes widened in recognition) a white hoodie.

"Isn't four on one kind of unfair?" He asked in a playful tone, arms raised in a questioning gesture.

The British was now positive karma thought this to be a rather hilarious 'knight in shining armor' allegory. But then again, he wasn't about to complain. Maybe the bloke knew kung-fu or something? Please let him know something to defend both their arses.

"Hey! This ain' your business, fag! Get out the way and we'll let you go." The leader snarled. Hoodie only gave a light chuckle.

"Now see, I'd do just that, except it looked like you were about to mug this poor fellow. I don't think he'd appreciate that, so how about you guys go instead?" His tone was still playful, almost teasing, not to mention idiotic in Shaun's humble opinion. Wait for it, wait for it…

The thugs laughed. Well what did he expect! It was four against one now! They were still on the receiving end! Shaun was about to remark on this with a hissed whisper but stopped short. He hadn't noticed it, but the man was slowly backing up -sideways-, using himself as a sort of cover, making Shaun move backwards and into the right side of the alley where freedom would just be a matter of running.

So maybe he wasn't that stupid. Not to mention that while he did this, he kept egging the men on, all of them too dense to notice that by now, they'd finally gone completely around them and Shaun was home free.

"Oi! He's tricking us! Shut the fuck up and just kill 'im!" Bugger, there went their cover.

"Run." He heard the other whisper. He received the short image of his profile and saw, for the briefest moment, a scar on smirking lips. He didn't think anymore about it and just ran like hell.

Gasping and almost on his knees, Shaun kept looking back to see if he was being followed. Nothing, nada, zero, zilch and all those other things used when you found yourself nice and safe.

Well, that was a pity. Another chance for him to socialize and yet again spoiled by the slums of the Windy City. Damn you, Chicago! While he kept thinking these and other sarcasm laden thoughts (a service he provided) he bumped into someone and screamed. Not like a girl mind you, that was just unmanly.

"Do you have the habit of falling from the bloody sky!" He snapped, glaring at the hooded man. He gawked. "How did you..?" He looked back and then at him, then back again. Oh yes, the alleyway was just about to spit the answer at him.

"Parkour tends to get that impression on people. Am I getting a thank you?" The git was smirking. The hooded man received a spectacled glare.

"What for? Walking around rooftops like some ape?"

"How about for saving your life? Just a thank you'd be nice. Or maybe I could walk you back to your apartement. You know, make sure you don't get in trouble again." Just a few moments and he was getting on his nerves.

"Yes, of course, whatever flies your way." Shaun grumbled. He walked towards his apartment, just a scant four blocks away. "So tell me, do you make a habit of jumping out of nowhere and saving people out of the kindness of your heart?"

The other chuckled, walking close to him, the air from his nose puffing out in little clouds of humidity. "Nah, you just seemed desperately in need of being saved. I'm Desmond Miles. Do I get your name or do I give up like with my thank you?"

There was a frown at this and he walked a bit faster, looking forwards. Their shoulders would brush sometimes and maybe the redness of his cheeks and the hurrying of his heart had nothing to do with him running in cold weather. "Shaun Hastings, nice to make your acquaintance, I suppose."

"Well, Shaun, what has you walking around so late?" The git was trying for a conversation in a suave way, the bastard. Thinking he was all cool attitude and good-looks. What? He could admit to other men being handsome! Like admiring a piece of art in a museum! Nothing wrong with that!

"Had to finish some schoolwork." Was his curt reply. He stopped at the front of the steps of his apartment and smiled at him. "Now, if you don't mind, this is where we split. It was nice meeting you, Miles-"

"Desmond."

"Right. If you don't mind I'd appreciate it if you made a hasty retreat to whatever it is you do, I wouldn't be too fond if my roommate found you here with me. She has these silly hallucinations that I'm-."

Warm lips on his own had him shutting up. It was nothing spectacular like all those romance novels he didn't read said it was. Just a press of lips and he could feel the scar. They separated, the British gawking at the hooded man.

"Have a nice night, Shaun."

When he entered the apartment, making sure that Becca was nowhere in his proximity, he chanced a glance through the window out looking the lamp post where he'd just received a kiss from some total stranger.

He swore he wasn't smiling when he saw Desmond three lampposts down looking up at him.