The boy in the park

Chapter Three

He returned to the park three days later. His mood was no longer sour, and he actually felt guilty. Really, she was just a kid. She couldn't have known. He sighed as he held another book to cover his face. He was actually stewing on possible ways to say he was sorry —then again, a teenager saying he was sorry to a five years old kid sounded extreme. Weren't 'adults' supposed to never be wrong?

Then again, he rather preferred spending time in the park rather than at home. He slipped into his world filled with ink words, when he heard the slight scraping of feet near his bench once more.

He lowered his book and looked at the girl —she was wearing the same sunflower dress he had seen on her last time— who was trying to apparently gather the courage to say something to him.

"I—" she hesitated and turned her gaze sideways, before crossing her arms together. "I'm sorry?"

He shook his head, and just as the girl's shoulders slumped down as if defeated, he replied.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," he said as he closed the book he was reading —leaving behind a footnote. "You want to play?" he asked then. Well, he supposed he could play with her if she—

The girl yanked him up from the bench with her hands that clasped firmly on his arm, making him yelp from the sudden way she literally hauled him halfway through the park and towards the swings. "Can ya push'me on the swings please? Cuz it sucks when there's no one and—" in the midst of the blabbering —excited blabbering— he understood she wanted to be pushed on the swing.

He was actually relieved.

The swings were actually free, and as the girl excitedly sat down on one with a bright smile on her face, he slowly moved behind her.

"Come on mistah! Push hard!"

He started slowly. First, he had to get the momentum right, and secondly, he had to be careful of where the 'return force' would end. The girl laughed happily, as she swung in the air and then back down, her hands clasping tightly onto the chains of the swing. "Faster!"

Her laughter was nice. It was a sort of giggle mixed with a high-pitched harmonic sound that resounded clearly in the park. He actually felt embarrassed at having eyes trailed on him —far more eyes than he would have liked. He didn't like being looked at.

"Mister! Faster! I want to spin around it!" she screamed at him as she dangled her legs up and down to try to help with the momentum. He wasn't actually going to help her on that. He'd push her, but to make the swing spin was hazardous —and the last time he had tried that with his sister as a lab rat, his mother had been pretty harsh with him.

"That's dangerous," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper as he felt his cheek flush. What was he doing there? Moreover, why were people looking at him? They weren't thinking he was a paedophile now, were they? He was just doing a kind action, really. He wasn't a paedophile. He liked women with hips and curves…not scrawny tomboyish kids! He actually began to slow down the swing, much to the girl's chagrin.

He didn't even know her name to begin with. Clearly, that was a clear sign he wasn't a paedophile, right?

"Hey! You're slowing down!" she accused him, narrowing her blue eyes on him. "It's not fun! I want to spin around the top!"

"That's dangerous," he repeated calmly as he stopped the swing by holding on the chains. "You'd hurt yourself."

"But it's fun!" she pouted. "Please? Pretty please?"

"No," he remarked. And he didn't count on his ability to actually push her with enough strength to make a complete turn round the wooden axis.

She kicked the ground and pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Party pooper."

"Proud of it," he dryly said as he walked to return to his bench, book in hand.

The girl followed him like a duckling, her eyes staring at him as he sat down on the bench. Just as he was about to bring the book up once more to read, the girl jumped on his lap. "So! What do we read today mistah?"

He exhaled shaking his head slowly, before tapping at the title of the book.

"Can't you read?"

She stilled —which was strange, because she never was still when on his lap. She dangled her legs, bounced around, sometimes she even dropped her head back but she never stood completely still like a block of ice.

"Of course I can, 'ttebayo!" she said out loudly, before grabbing the book and moving the cover in front of her face. The image of the cover showed a man holding on to a pair of paintbrushes while it painted on canvas natural scenery.

"H-How to…" she scrunched her face in curiosity. "How to paint! Yeah."

"The correct art of perspective in naturalism and arts throughout the years," he deadpanned. The girl squirmed on his knees.

"Yeah! I was going to say that 'ttebayo."

He chuckled and slowly opened the book, letting his finger rest on the first symbol of the page.

"The," he began, "Naturalism," he moved his finger to the second set of symbols. "Movement," he continued like that, amused and quietly chuckling to himself as the girl appeared now vividly interest. He wondered why his sister couldn't be as easy to pacify as this girl of whom he didn't know the name.

He blinked.

"Hey," he asked slowly. "What's your name?"

She blinked. She looked at him for a moment, before a smile settled on her face.

"I'm Naruko Uzumaki! And I'm going to be Hokage someday, believe it!"

He smiled briefly. "If that's your dream," who was he to tell her it was impossible? The next Hokage would probably be one of the sannin, just like all those before had been chosen from the team of the Hokage before them.

"Mistah, what's your name eh!"

"Me?" He blinked. "I'm…" he shrugged, and said his name.

And that was how they exchanged names for the first time, properly meeting.