zephyr.

                    She was petite, the girl, not tall enough to for her head to meet the horizon of the setting sun behind her, his eyes squinting, adjusting to the lack of light outlining her features. She had shoes–– what he would’ve called ballerina slippers around her neck and a purple book in hand. She appeared jittered most of all; fluttered, like a little hummingbird, but one suddenly perched, if there was ever a thing. He smiled, expression growing wider as he followed her finger to a patch of dense woods, shaded, and certainly no place for an afternoon doze, or so he thought. The blonde nodded his head in the direction of the dense trees, loosely extending a hand before he turned his head back to face her, “Over there… In the woods?” A laugh, small and boyish bubbled up to his lips, causing his bare, broad shoulders to twitch, “No offense, Miss, but I could name about half a dozen better places to read in this park,” He smiled, head lowering, hands shifting to focus back on the hook, but not without a lingering glance and a smile sent her way, “There’s a bench, just over the hill. The mosquitos shouldn’t be too bad, I don’t think,” He suggested, pausing for a moment, “–Not that you’re not welcome to go over there too.”

               She scolded herself for letting words fly out of her mouth before thinking. Responses coming out on autopilot as if to fill any potential traces of silence it was a terrible habit she possessed since it kept her mind wheeling at all the other responses she could have said instead. A normal response, perhaps, one that could have even sparked a laugh to echo from the boy’s lips because he found her words funny, possibly even witty - but definitely not because he found her funny and her response odd. She attempted to hide any traces of embarrassment with a half-laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her cheeks burning crimson as a digit reached to push her hair behind her ear, only to be met with the daisy she had placed there earlier, the small flower falling onto the ground. There was no hair to push, aside from a few baby hairs, the rest pulled into a tight bun on the crown of her head. Brown hues glanced at the daisy laying a top the dark soil before her eyes lifted, landing on the boy’s bare torso and diverting her eyes just as quickly; truly noticing just where she had pointed to. She nodded her head, polite smile littering her features, “don’t want to end up like little red riding hood.” the words came out softly, an attempt at a joke that she didn’t commit to, “um--Just over that hill?” Rowan asked, pointing to the opposite direction and already beginning to take small steps in the general direction and walking away from the blonde, before pausing and turning, “thank you, by the way.” she added in, again, an automatic response; the please's and the thank you’s and the sorry’s embedded into her mind as if she were sorry for inconveniencing anyone in the slightest. She paused longer than necessary, debating the next set of words to come out - or perhaps gathering the courage to. “I’m Rowan, by the way.” she murmured, meekly. 

                      “––Alright,” The word was spat out in a mutter, gruff and defensive beneath his breath. A looming pair of footsteps had been following him for some time now, winding and meandering through Westbrook’s side streets on his tail for a reason that, to him at least, had to be sinister. A deep drag of his smoke, a pivot in his footing, and he was turning to ‘stalker’, “Fuckin’ enough already.” Paranoia was a dear old friend to Jason Cash; the devil on his back, if you will. It was what you got when you dabbled in the felonious–– even worse when you lived it, breathed it, and drank it, too, “I know my ass is nice on the eyes, real nice, but it ain’t nice enough to be stalkin’ for ten blocks. So? The fuck you want?”

                    He had his rod leaned up against an elm tree, the boy sat on a bench just before the beach of the lake began and fed into the murky water. He’d figured he’d needed a new hobby. He just didn’t think he’d be resorting back to fishing, but the promise of some decent-sized bass in the ‘Haverford pond’ not to mention the deal he was cut, he couldn’t refuse. It was one Hell of a nice day, enough to lure him into running around the park’s track a few times before fetching his gear, slipping off his sticky t-shirt and grabbing his bait from the front seat of his truck. He got up from the bench then, eyes trained on the nightcrawler he had picked up, still worming between his fingers as he grabbed his rod and steadied the hook, a shadow finding his peripheral, causing him to look up, suddenly feeling cautious, “… You aren’t here to slap me on the wrist, or something, are you?” He began, shrugging a should, a crooked smile on his lips, “–I checked with the park before. Promise. I’ll just be castin’ the line here.” He gestured towards the area, opposite to the park.