Chapter Text
The first time Michael met you, he was stealing.
Not because he wanted to.
Because hunger had finally become louder than pride.
The apple tree sat at the edge of your family's property like it had been placed there specifically for storybook pictures.
Tall branches.
Bright red fruit.
A tire swing your father had hung when you were six.
Your father always joked the tree produced enough apples to feed an army.
Considering he had once been a war hero, people usually laughed.
You especially loved climbing that tree.
You loved sitting in its branches with books.
Loved how from the highest branch you could see the road beyond your property and pretend the world was much bigger than it already felt.
Your father worried constantly when you climbed it.
You climbed it anyway.
Because eight-year-olds rarely fear gravity.
That afternoon, sunlight filtered through leaves while you balanced carefully on a thick branch, swinging your legs and eating an apple.
That was when movement below caught your eye.
A boy.
Skinny.
Dirty clothes.
Too thin.
He moved carefully beneath the branches while looking around every few seconds.
Then he started shoving apples into an old cloth bag.
You frowned.
Your first thought:
Someone is stealing our apples.
Your second thought:
He looks hungry.
You climbed down quickly.
Too quickly.
You nearly slipped twice.
The boy froze the moment your shoes hit the grass.
For several seconds, neither of you spoke.
He looked ready to run.
You looked ready to interrogate him.
Finally, you crossed your arms.
"Why are you stealing apples from my tree?"
The boy stared.
"My tree" bothered him a little.
Not because it was wrong.
Because he couldn't imagine having a tree that belonged to you.
He shifted awkwardly.
"...I was hungry."
You blinked.
That wasn't the answer you expected.
"Oh."
He tightened his grip on the bag.
"My pa spent all the money again."
Silence.
The boy looked embarrassed.
You looked confused.
"You don't have food?"
He shrugged.
Sometimes they did.
Sometimes they didn't.
Sometimes his father remembered groceries.
Sometimes whiskey won.
Today whiskey had won.
He expected yelling.
Expected you to threaten to tell someone.
Expected adults.
Adults always came eventually.
Instead, you asked:
"How many apples do you need?"
He stared.
"What?"
"To not be hungry."
"...I dunno."
You looked up at the tree.
Then back at him.
"You're picking them wrong."
The boy blinked.
"What?"
"You missed the good ones."
Before he could answer, you grabbed the lowest branch and pulled yourself upward.
"Come help."
He stood frozen.
"You aren't gonna tell?"
You looked confused.
"Why would I tell?"
"Because I'm stealing."
You thought about this carefully.
Then said:
"Well... if I help you, then maybe it's not stealing anymore."
The logic made perfect sense to you.
The boy wasn't sure that was how laws worked.
But he followed anyway.
For the next hour, the two of you filled bags with apples.
You climbed because you were better at climbing.
He caught them because your throwing accuracy was terrible.
"You almost hit me!"
"I said catch!"
"That wasn't toward me!"
"You moved!"
He discovered quickly that you talked a lot.
You discovered quickly that he barely talked at all.
Eventually, while handing down another apple, you asked:
"What's your name?"
"Michael."
"I'm Y/N."
"...Okay."
You frowned.
"You're supposed to say nice to meet you."
He looked confused.
"You told me to catch apples."
"Still."
"...Nice to meet you."
You smiled immediately.
"There. Better."
Michael didn't understand why.
But somehow it felt better too.
Eventually, the bag became too heavy.
Michael stared at it.
There were more apples than he had expected.
Probably more than he had eaten in weeks.
"You can take them."
He looked up.
"All of them?"
You nodded.
"We have lots."
Then your expression changed.
"But next time don't steal."
Michael looked down.
"...Okay."
You smiled.
"Just ask."
He almost laughed.
People didn't usually let him ask for things.
Then you pointed directly at him.
"And don't tell my dad."
Michael looked surprised.
"Why?"
"He'll probably give you actual food."
Michael blinked.
"That sounds good."
You frowned.
"...Oh."
That hadn't occurred to you.
You thought carefully.
Then pointed again.
"Still don't tell him."
"Why?"
"Because I helped you steal."
You seemed very concerned about this.
Michael decided not to argue.
"Okay."
Before leaving, he looked back.
"Why'd you help me?"
You looked confused again.
The question itself didn't make sense.
"Because you were hungry."
"People don't usually do that."
You shrugged.
"Seems mean not to."
Michael looked at you for several seconds.
At the nice clothes.
The clean shoes.
The huge house behind you.
The apple tree.
Then at the girl standing barefoot in grass because she'd kicked off her shoes while climbing.
You came from completely different worlds.
He already knew that.
But for some reason—
You were still standing there helping him carry apples.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
You grinned.
"You're welcome."
Then shouted as he walked away:
"Come back tomorrow!"
Michael turned.
"Why?"
You pointed at the tree.
"There are still apples."
That was the day it started.
Not with something dramatic.
Not destiny.
Not fate.
Just an apple tree.
A hungry boy.
And an eight-year-old girl who decided sharing was easier than watching someone stay hungry.