He was at the sandpit again.
Baz scowled, before rigidly pushing off on the metal sides and gliding down his favourite silver slide. He scooted off of the mud-stained bottom, wiping his hands on his jeans and resolutely staring everywhere but the other boy's direction.
The bronze haired anomaly had been coming here every Thursday and Monday for the past four weeks. Baz knew because this park was his; his escape, his haven, his place. But ever since that gloriously warm day in October, when the air had been rich and salty and the breeze had rumpled through the ruffles of drooping orange leaves, Baz had first laid eyes on him, and the park had lost its exclusivity.
Despite his best attempts however, Baz could not help but notice that this time the boy was alone. Normally an adult or two, with equally thick hair and less glossy eyes would be accompanying him, but not today. It made Baz's imagination stutter and smoke at the edges with all the possible scenarios that could have occurred. Did he have a row with his parents? Is he hiding from someone? Is he in trouble?
…Or maybe, he was here for the same quiet solitude that Baz was.
Baz frowned. The boy was scooping tan grains into his open palms, and squeezing them together between his fingers. His fingers looked soft, like the rest of him. Maybe he was about the same age as Baz, but he could be a year or two younger. Regardless, he shouldn't be in a public park alone.
Baz sucked in the air sharply through his nostrils and gritted his teeth. He refused to be responsible for this boy, but at the same time…there was something so vulnerable about him. So sweet and pure. The very dust motes around him seemed to quiver in fervour.
Puffing out his chest, Baz stood up and walked with an air of determination towards the object of his contemplations. But when he was about three metres away, he hesitated, his body tightening and gluing him to the spot in an uncharacteristic manner. He swallowed, his neck and face growing warm.
But just then the boy looked up from his busy sand doings, catching sight of him. His round pond green eyes grew even rounder, glinting in the sun, and his round strawberry lips opened in a small oval.
Baz shifted from foot to foot and looked back up at the boy. "Hi," he said, and cleared his throat.
The boy was silent for so long that Baz started to wonder if there was something wrong with him, his cheeks tinted cotton candy pink in the low golden sun.
"Hi." He eventually replied.
Baz bit his cheek and took a few steps closer, until he was perching on the wooden edge of the pit.
"How old are you?" he asked.
The boy blinked, taking in his lean form. "Eleven." He replied, a small indent forming between his brows.
Same age. He looked younger.
"I'm Baz." Said Baz, shoving his hands into his pockets roughly and glancing up at him. The other boy regarded him curiously, and then smiled, his cheeks growing round like ripening peaches.
"Simon." He said, and offered out a hand.