He wanted to drink. The sober life was getting to him and, even though it'd been more than a year since he'd touched one, he craved to have a bottle in his hand, forgetting his own name. Of course, he couldn't but...nights like these made him nostalgic. He hadn't told anyone back at the house where he was going. Why should he? Though, even if he was asked, he wouldn't have been able to give an answer. He didn't really have a location in mind. However, he found himself at King's Cross station, maybe to try and go back to a more innocent time, when he was eleven, before his life really took off the way it did. He sat down on one of the benches after an hour of wandering around and, like the boy next to him, curling up didn't seem like a too bad idea. Maybe Logan could sleep his cravings away. He took a look at the kid, didn't seem too old, a teenager maybe, but what took his attention was the bruises and the dried blood. "You know, there are warmer places to go," he noted after a moment. "Aren't you cold?"