Summary: AU Peter catches a fifteen-year-old Neal picking his pocket and ends up inviting the kid over for dinner. Somehow dinner turns into a lot more than either of them could have expected. Reposted from a couple years ago.

***AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi everyone! I've had a few people ask about this story. Unfortunately, I got a new computer and no longer have the file, so I figured I'd repost it here if anyone still wants to read it. No promises that it'll be exactly the same, but definitely let me know if there's anything that you remember that you really want to see in this version. Or, if this is your first time reading it, anything you'd like to see in general. I'd be happy to post any of my other stories if I still have them. Just let me know which ones you want! Sorry if anyone's been wondering what happened to all of my stuff! I needed some time to focus on school, and that's impossible when you have a bunch of stories you'd rather be working on! Thanks so much for those of you who are reading!****

The blaring alarm clock that went off at 7 o'clock on the dot didn't pull Neal from his heavy sleep in the least. In fact, the daily alarm hadn't woken him up in months. He wasn't even sure why he bothered setting it in the first place anymore. The alarm was meant to wake him up for school, but he hadn't been to school since February, and it was nearly May. Most of the kids who had dropped out of school at his age were either too dumb or too lazy to continue their education. Neal was the exception. He was both brilliant and motivated. But dropping out was his only option to keep himself alive and off the streets.

How could he go to school when they had rent due at the end of every month, hardly any food in the pantry, and his dad sitting in a bar from dawn to dusk instead of working? Of course, he told Neal he was still going to the office every day, but Neal smelled the alcohol on him when he set foot into their apartment every night.

And so, his alarm blared on, past first period and second period, until finally Neal woke up a little after nine. It wasn't the alarm that pulled him abruptly from his sleep or the sirens blasting outside his window. It was the neighbor's door.

The sound of a door slamming. It was a sound that Neal had grown to hate over the years. Whenever his mom left, she didn't just sneak out in the middle of the night. She stormed out in a rage, screaming at his father and slamming the door so loudly the whole apartment would shake. She'd been gone for almost a year this time. When he had been younger, Neal used to hate when she was gone. She would leave every so often, only to come back a few months later acting as if nothing had happened. For another month or two, she'd be the world's greatest mother, and then she'd be gone again. Neal used to love those stretches of time when she was present and acting like a normal mother, but now he dreaded the day when she would come crawling back.

He couldn't be happy to see her anymore. Not when he knew she'd be gone by the end of the season. She had left too many times, slamming the door as she did so, leaving him hurt and his father angrier than usual.

This time, he hoped she didn't come back at all. He wouldn't say that he and his father were happy—in fact, they were far from it—but they coexisted. Neal did his best to cover their expenses, to buy food, pay rent, and chip away at their debt. And his father stayed out of his way. He would leave early and come home late. Sure he was at the bar, racking up debt, all day, but for the most part, Neal never saw him. Despite the couple of late night drunken fights he picked each month, the man didn't even live in the same apartment as far as Neal was concerned.

But the absence of his father meant he had to find his own way of making money. At first, he tried to hold jobs washing dishes in three different restaurants nineteen hours a day. But he was barely making rent and was never sleeping. Finally, he reluctantly made the decision to go with a more effective, although less legal way of obtaining money.

So that morning, he finally got out of bed, slipped into a pair of ripped, faded jeans, pulled an unwashed black t-shirt over his head, and headed out of the apartment, careful not to slam the door behind him.

The plaza was packed with people by the time Neal arrived an hour later. Hundreds of lawyers and consultants and executives hurried through the crowd with a coffee in one hand and their cellphones plastered to their ear in the other. Neal smirked as he allowed himself to slip into the crowd. It was too easy. Within minutes, he had picked two wallets off of completely unexpecting businessmen who most likely weren't even going to realize they'd been robbed until they returned to their offices later that morning.

The day continued smoothly. Picking wallets here and there, and then popping into a nearby diner for something to eat every now and then to get out of the scene and avoid any suspicion. It wasn't until what Neal had decided would be his last pick of the day that he got himself into trouble.

He spotted his target from across the plaza. The man was dressed in a brown, Brooks Brother's suit. He had money to spare, that much was obvious. The man was intently focused on his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration. Neal laughed to himself as he moved towards the distracted man. He passed by others who would have been perfectly acceptable, probably safer, victims of his sticky fingers, but his eyes were set on his decided target.

People like this irritated him to no end. He was radiating wealth, and yet he didn't even care enough to protect his own wallet. Neal was sure that if he ever had money like he knew this guy had, he wouldn't walk around with it hanging out of his pocket.

Finally, Neal reached his target. His fingers danced anxiously at his sides, and his eyes zeroed in on the man's pocket, where he could see the rectangular outline of his wallet. He dropped his head, hiding his eyes from the man's sight and allowed his shoulder to knock into the stranger's.

"Excuse me," he mumbled apologetically, attempting to mask the youth in his voice. The man looked up from his cell phone in confusion, but his eyes went nowhere near his pocket where Neal's fingers slid greedily inside and fell on thick leather. Neal clutched the wallet between his fingers and let his hand slide out of the silk pocket. He smiled victoriously for a naïve moment.

But then a strong hand grabbed his wrist. Neal let out a surprised gasp and whirled around. His target, whose wallet was still in Neal's restrained hand, was staring back at him with unwavering authority.

"You picked the wrong guy, kid."

Thanks for reading! I'll post more later depending on who's reading.