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Tony can’t say he entirely regrets it when Mrs. Strange catches him trying to sneak into the hayloft. It’s cold, and this is the first time he hasn’t been able to break into a store or sleep on a bus. He’d been hoping that the hay would be enough insulation, or that he might find a blanket to help, but the warmly lit kitchen with the battered table, the mug of hot chocolate, and the plate of hot dinner are definitely preferable.
Mrs. Strange hasn’t even asked him about his home or his parents yet. Maybe she recognizes him, but he doesn’t think so. He thinks maybe… Maybe she’s actually worried about why he’d run away from home.
“We don’t have a guest room,” Mrs. Strange is saying as he pushes his clean plate away. “I usually turn down the heat in the living room at night, but Stephen doesn’t want to share, I’ll ask Eugene about it.”
“Stephen?” Tony asks curiously. Eugene must be her husband.
“My son,” she says, smiling. “He’s about your age. Stephen!”
A moment later feet pound their ways down the stairs. “What’s up, mom?”
Tony looks up and swears his heart stops for a moment. Stephen is beautiful. Slender, cheekbones that could cut glass, and his eyes. Tony can’t look away, struggling to name the color. Or colors, plural.
“We have a guest,” Mrs. Strange says. “Do you mind sharing?”
Stephen considers for a minute. “Yeah, okay. Come on.”
Tony follows Stephen up the stairs. He’d meant to move on in the morning, but…
…maybe Nebraska is far enough.