[Since I'm rewriting this story, and the new version is a partial dual POV, I thought I'd share a little glimpse of it. Hope you enjoy. ❤]

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June hugged her limbs to her torso, shivering uncontrollably, so much so that she looked like a porcupine without the spikes, still bristling—though the bristle was from the cold. As if the howling wind snaking through the tunnels formed by the towering buildings wasn't enough to chill her to the bone, the little hole in the brush where she slept whenever Bax wasn't around was damp from the day before. The chill reached her from the ground up as well.

She tucked her chin deeper into the filthy jacket, trying not to cry. Crying got her nowhere, nowhere except looking far worse and still living on the streets.

"Where are you Bax?" she muttered, trying to distract herself from the thoughts of her parents.

Bax had been separated from her last night in his rush to find them shelter. He had not returned yet. She wondered why.

She had met the older man just a month into being homeless. After her initial reluctance to join him when he'd asked faded—quicker than her dyed blonde hair—she had remained with the older, more experienced guy as a survival tactic. Now, with her original black roots outshining the ratty blonde, part of her was glad that she had no money to dye it again. Whenever she caught a glimpse of her reflection, she saw a bit of her mum staring back.

She shivered as the wind slithered past her scarf and her teeth clattered violently. She could no longer feel her toes or her fingers. She even bet, if she found a mirror to look into—not that she fancied seeing herself anymore—her lips were blue. Her first winter out on the streets, and it had only just begun. She hated to think how much colder it was going to get.

She could kill for a coffee. For its taste. For its warmth. She peeked at the office workers powering past, styrofoam and paper cups in hand. It wasn't like any of them would give her their drink. Maybe a year ago, they would have, when she didn't look the way she did, a person she barely recognised. A homeless woman hidden beneath piles of oversized clothing. Clothes she was thankful for. No one glanced at her twice. No one could tell beneath them and the grim, was a young woman.

The streets weren't safe for lonely young women, homeless or not.

She pulled her collar up higher, sleep lingering in her bones. She hadn't slept all night, rattled by this noise or that or some bum hollering triad of abuse into the night. She'd hauled herself into the hole she'd made a few months back behind the park bench—a hole no one could see unless they'd peek below the bench and saw the cave of dried branches she'd broken to make a cave.

There was no escaping the chill, though how she wished, for a mere moment, she could steal some warmth. At times like these, when her teeth clattered in her mouth, when her limbs shook without her prompting, she missed it all. A warm home; her bed, in her own room, with walls and doors to keep the cold out, the damn AC blasting at the highest setting, and her parents yelling at her — 'Yumi-Joon! The house is a furnace!' To which she had often replied, 'Just 'cause you guys are weirdos and don't get cold!'

Her throat clamped up then at the thought of her home, at the thought of her parents in that home. Her parents. She missed them the most.

Yumi-Joon Amari, or June to her friends—the posh girl from Kirribilli, now living on the streets—how she had fallen.

She closed her eyes, trying to see if she could shut out the pain by falling asleep, but the constant slaps of polished shoes and loud clacks of heels on the concrete footpath kept her from drifting.

She saw one woman take a sip of her drink and she frowned in disgust before she threw her drink in the nearest bin with a, "What a waste of money!"

June gasped at the sight. "Fucking waste of a money is right! You could have given it here."

Tears stung her eyes and a sob escaped her lips. She had once been that superfluous girl who took things for granted. She had been guilty of throwing barely touched coffee or perfectly good half of a muffin in the bin because it was more than she could eat. Never had she thought about the people who could have done with that warm coffee, or the half eaten muffin happily because food was precious.

She caught sight of another douchebag headed her way for a change. He was not a hurried man. His mismatched attire and a satchel by his side screamed bookish—who carried a satchel these days?

He too had a coffee in hand. She prayed his coffee was crap and if he went to throw it, she would yell, 'Give it here, asshole!'

She watched him as he approached her bench and pushed herself further back into her cutout hedge. "Fuck! He's coming here."

The man sat down, dropping his satchel on the wooden seat with enough gusto to send it straight over the edge.

"Oh, shoot." He reached for it in vain.

The bag hit the ground with a loud crack, reminding her of the noises she heard that fateful night. Memories of the scorching fire flicked anew in her mind.

Unable to stay trapped in a corner, June wriggled out from under the bench with a scream.

"I'm so sorry," the man said in a small voice, taking a step away from her.

Is he frightened of me? She peeked at him, her own nerves replaced by slight amusement. Good. He can stay the hell away from me. She went to kick his bag, breathing life back into him.

He scooped his belongings off the ground. "Whoa. Please don't kick that. It has..."

"Valuables?" she fired back, a little more confident in herself. She didn't need Bax to sort this guy out. She could handle him. He was already shaking at the sight of her.

"Yes, I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, pretending to dust his bag. He looked her up and down and asked, "What were you doing down there, anyway?"

Trying to sleep, asshole! June glared. He recoiled further.

"What the fuck does it look like?" she barked. "I was trying to sleep. Is it alright with you? Or do I need your fucking permission?"

She pulled her grubby scarf higher up her face so only her eyes were visible between that and her beanie. She didn't really want him to see her face, or that she was scared shitless.

"You're young." The words tumbled out of his mouth as he gawked at her. His dark brown eyes set against a light, olive skin. Much like her own.

"I'm freaking twenty-three, mate, or what, you want to check my ID and call my parents?" she continued barking. It was the only way she could keep her teeth from clattering. She didn't need to show this guy how cold she was. She didn't need his sympathy.

"News flash, asshole. They're dead. No one's coming for me..." She bent down and pulled out her belongings from under the bench; a simple backpack and a small duffel bag. She had to get out of there before she had one of her panic attacks. Before she apologised to him when she wasn't the one that had intruded in her home.

"I don't see your name on it. I thought the park belonged to the public, and I am a fucking public!" she shouted, hot and angry, to cover the knot that threatened her throat. She sniffled and pulled her backpack on, hoisted her duffle on her arm and took what she hoped looked like an aggressive step towards the guy.