He sat in the cell, seeming at home. The young man sprawled himself across the grimey metal bench, kicking off heavy boots as he did.
"Boy," the rotund officer warned, "this ain't yer livin' room. Put yer clodhoppers back on an' sit up straight… And fer the sake of the lord, at least pretend to act ashamed of yer tomfoolery!"
"Ay ay, cap!" the man mocked, pulling heavy leather boots back over hole-infested socks. He sat himself up, squaring his broad shoulders and crossing a leg over a knee peeking out of torn and faded denim. The officer huffed, but stayed quiet, not wanting to engage with what he saw as street rubbish.
Late into the evening, a lanky young man came to take the officer's place. The man would have appeared as a teenaged boy, had he not possessed the sharp, angular face, and bagged eyes that he did. The young man sat at the rotted wood desk, pulling out textbooks and a note book. He gave the work a hard glare, groaning and pulling at his chestnut hair.
"You alright, kid?" the jailed man questioned, making the other jump out of his skin.
"Holy shit!" the brunette screeched, undignified. His surprise was punctuated with the clattering of his light body falling out of the wobbling chair. The man's glasses slipped off his attractively upturned nose and slid across the concrete floor, not stopping until they hit the heavy boot of the jailbird.
The jailbird picked up the large, rounded glasses, holding them up to his own piercing cerulean eyes.
"Jesus kid!" he chuckled, "you're blind as a damn bat!"
The punk looked from the glasses to their owner, finally taking in the sight of him. The man was well dressed, in khakis and a checkered button up, though both were rather wrinkled and mussed. It almost looked as if they'd been slept in the night before, and their wearer had been running too late this morning to change out of his impromptu pajamas. The man's hair was ruffled, the ends of it whisping over tired brown eyes, further alluding to oversleeping. The man behind the bars felt his heart jump when his eyes locked with the other man.
The young man's face flushed at the jailbird's unrelenting stare, and squeaked out what was possibly a name.
"Hm?" The prisoner questioned, "What was that?"
"Peter.. M-my name is Peter," He replied with a soft voice, as if he was trying to mimick the sound of a gentle breeze.
"Nice to meet ya Petey, I'm the coolest guy you'll ever meet," the other smirked, pulling himself up from the rusted bench and sauntering to the bars, "but you can call me Wade for short." As he stepped into the light, the man´s full face became visible. Wade's face and neck were littered with scabs and scars. He pushed a calloused hand through his choppy blonde strands, sticking his other hand through the heavy iron bars.
Peter hesitated for a moment, put off by the rough appearance of the other, but took the large hand in his and shook it lightly. Wade flashed him a nearing feral smile at his compliant politeness.
"So Pete, tell me," Wade sat on the cell floor, gesturing the other to mimic him, "what's a guy like you doin' in a place like this?" He gave a comically unsubtle wink, pulling light laughter from the brunette.
"Well, uhm… you actually," Peter began, " I mean not you in particular but y'see, I'm writing a paper on the modern law system, and its effectiveness and-" Wade held up a hand to interrupt the ramblings.
"So you wanna write a paper on criminals? Well ain't this your lucky day Petes!"
"W-what? No! That's not what I was-"
"Shh now Petey, say no more! Guess who's got two thumbs and doesn't exactly see eye to eye with the law?" Wade paused, "This guy!"
Peter sighed, amused by the antics of the man. As he watched the man enthusiastically reenact the ridiculous stunt that´d landed him in the overnight jail, Peter felt something akin to fondness bud for the manic Wade.
It had been a week since Peter had met the enthralling Wade, but his fondness for the man hadn´t dulled in the slightest. He´d found himself seeing the shade of the man´s eyes in the color of the morning sky, even snapping a photo of it.
Peter had spent the day after his encounter rationalizing his emotion toward someone who he ought to have considered a hooligan. He´d convinced himself that it was only natural curiosity that he felt, and nothing more than that.
As the brunette wandered through Central Park, lost in his own brain, Peter managed to walk into a man waiting at a food cart. Peter´s head shot up as he was pulled from his reverie, he began to splutter out apologies until he was silenced by the face of the stranger.
¨Petey! Y´know, saying ´Hey´ is just as effective-and probably more socially acceptable- than runnin´ your newest pal over!¨ Wade gave a lopsided smile as he teased his flustered ´assailant´.
Peter gave a slight wave, knowing any attempt at speaking while he was so flustered would only end in more embarrassment. Wade, seemingly oblivious to Peter´s thoughts, slung his thick arm over the shorter man´s narrow shoulders. He lead his new companion to an aging park bench.
They sat together in silence for an unusual amount of time, considering Wade´s ever-running mouth. Peter was the one to break the silence.
"I didn't know if I'd see you again," he attempted to play it off as a simple fact, but his unconscious smile whispered the true intent of the words to Wade.
Wade ruffled the other's hair, "Y'know kid, we don't live in the stone age. You could text me or somethin' since you're missing my pretty face so bad," he pulled his phone out and snatched the one sitting in Peter's jacket.
"Oh!" Peter flushed, " I didn't want to seem weird or anything, I mean we did meet in a holding cell. And besides, you were just being polite and-"
"Jesus, Petey. You don't have a middle ground between stoic silence and anxious chatter, do ya?" Wade teased, laughing at the oddity of the man at his side. Peter covered his face, letting out a barking laugh at the musings.
"Hah, sorry," Peter replied, "my brain and mouth don't always get along.."
Wade nodded in understanding, giving a gentle pat to Peter's sharp-boned back. Peter, ever oblivious, leaned into the touch. While he didn't catch his actions, Wade had.
They sat in a more comfortable silence, letting the park move around them. Elderly couples passed by, seeming as disconnected from reality as the pair of almost-friends did. As they sat, a flock of small birds gathered near their feet, hopping and chirping at one another.
Wade tapped Peter's shoulder and pointed to the intruding wildlife, "You're just like them, Pete."
"What? Are you saying I'm a bird?" Peter joked.
"Naw, see, at first you're all jumpy," Wade moved his foot, demonstrating that the simple motion startled the birds, "but, if you give time, and you're just delicate enough..."
Wade moved slowly to the ground, allowing the birds to adjust to his presence. He outstretched his hand, beckoning the creatures closer. One slowly bounced forward, curiosity getting the best of it. It tilted its delicate head to the side, inspecting the calloused fingers with large, darting eyes. Peter found himself unknowingly holding his breath in awe of both the curiosity of the wild creature, and his companion's ability to call it to him.
The bird then hopped into the large hand, and plopped it´s small body down. It let out a gentle noise, and allowed it´s ever-watching eyes to slip closed.
Wade lifted his hand up to Peter's eye line, ¨Then you end up with an odd little friend,¨ Peter grinned at the uncharacteristically poetic words. He smiled.
¨If I´m a chickadee," the brunette started, locking eyes with Wade, ¨then you´re my jailbird.¨
These words took Wade´s rationality and threw it under a train. He took the younger man´s hand in his own and squeezed.
¨I´ll happily be that.¨