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Only three weeks after Riko Moriyama’s death, Neil was very proud to say that he had renormalized a routine. He woke up at whenever hour he woke up, whether from a nightmare or insomnia or natural sleep; he changed his clothes; he immediately went for a run, usually to the nearby park; and he bought breakfast for Andrew and himself on his way home.
Andrew, recalling a conversation with Betsy Dobson, claimed that the running thing was a coping mechanism for having spent a lifetime running away. Neil didn’t care. It was probably true. Even after a year with the Foxes, the concept of a stable, safe routine he could rely on everyday, without fear of his past catching up with him, seemed at once strange and impossible and comforting.
So he did it. There was even a place he regularly stopped at— a single wooden bench overlooking the park, where he was now sitting after several laps.
He’d lit a cigarette out of habit more than actual need, letting it burn between his fingers while he stared out at the view. This early, there wasn’t anyone around, apart from a few people going running or walking their dogs. And it was quiet, the only sound being the occasional hum of a bird or crunching leaves. Neil liked it. The peace was a weak, fledgling thing he still sometimes didn’t know what to do with, but he liked it.
“Hey, that’s my fucking seat.”
Neil didn’t quite jump in surprise, but he felt caught off-guard enough to be annoyed at himself. He turned to see a teenager, panting hard as though he’d been running, and glaring at him something fierce. The glare only lessened very slightly, replaced with shock, when he saw Neil’s heavily scarred face.
“What?”
The boy reminded him eerily of Jean Moreau, spiteful and irritated. “I always sit there.”
Neil stared at him, dumbfounded. Well, I sure don’t see your fucking name on it, he wanted to say, before forcefully reminding himself that it was just a kid and he was an adult. “Well, you can still sit,” he said instead, gesturing to the space beside him.
The boy scrunched his nose up and sent him an are-you-stupid look. He reluctantly sat down—as far away from Neil as physically possible while still being on the bench— and huffed, “Alone.”
Neil waved the hand holding the cigarette. “Whatever.” He took one last drag from it before stubbing it out on the cement.
The boy stared at the cigarette stub. “If you were just going to waste that, you could’ve just given it to me.”
Neil blinked. The wild, flighty look in the kid’s eyes made him think for a moment that the kid might be homeless—but he was well-dressed, in a clean shirt and pants, and clean-faced in a cuttingly beautiful way. He supposed that not all young boys with an attitude or a vice had to be from the streets or on the run. Unlike his own younger self. “That’s not a good idea,” he said.
“C’mon,” the boy said, leaning forward. His eyes were unnervingly blue. “D’you have any more?”
“No,” Neil lied, already dearly missing the quiet of a few moments ago. “Leave me alone, kid.”
The boy was smirking. “If you really wanted me to leave you alone, you would have just left.”
“I was here first, you little shit,” Neil muttered. He took his phone out and half-heartedly scrolled through the new messages. “No one ever tell you about not talking to strangers?”
“I bet you still have more cigarettes. Fuck, I haven’t had one for weeks.”
At that point, Neil was irritated enough that he wanted to just toss the rest of the pack to him. He probably needed to go running again. “I’m not going to give a kid a cigarette.”
“You sound like you’re just trying to convince yourself.” The kid rolled his eyes. “I could even pay you for one, if you want. Or, if you like,” he said, and there was a dangerous, deadly glint in his eyes, “I could blow—”
“Nicaise!”
The boy jumped, jerking back from him, face turning ashen. The call had come from a blond-haired man several steps behind him, walking a German shepherd. The large dog bounded ahead of him and jumped up in front of the boy, tail wagging excitedly.
“Oh, great, did you help track me down?” the boy said, scowling. “Bad dog.”
The dog whined.
Though he still seemed annoyed, the boy—his name must be Nicaise—started petting him anyway. Eventually the man reached them, coming to a stop beside Nicaise, arms casually crossed.
“Ugh,” Nicaise said. “Don’t give me the judgmental silence.”
The man shifted to sit on the armrest of the bench, reaching out to pat the dog’s head as well. Nicaise shifted to move further away from him. Neil was starting to feel like he was intruding on something extremely private and was wishing he’d actually left when he had the chance. As it was, the man only gave him a single cool, assessing glance before pulling out a phone and handing it to Nicaise. Neil tried to pretend his own phone was more exciting than the conversation happening next to him.
“I know you like your very abrupt and alarming walks that last several hours and happen at very unexpected times,” the man said, “but next time, please just text us before you go so we don’t lose our minds with worry.”
“But I would love to see you lose your mind.”
“Nicaise.”
“Laurent.”
The man waved the phone. “Do me a favor and text Damen about where you’ve been. He’s been looking for you.”
Nicaise grabbed the phone, tapping into it furiously. “Fuck off, it’s not like you thought I wasn’t coming back.” He grinned. “If I was leaving, rest assured both your wallets would be empty, and I’d at least take a change of clothes. I’m not stupid.”
“Yes, well, you’ve been known to be a flight risk, and not always a very clever one.”
“Like I said: Fuck off.”
To his credit, the man did, choosing instead to look for a stick and call the dog to play fetch, which the dog happily did. Nicaise stared rather moodily into the distance.
It would all make a completely innocuous scene if Neil ignored the fact that Nicaise had been trying to proposition and bribe cigarettes off him just moments ago.
“Is he your dad?” Neil tried to ask as casually as he could. Which was not very much. The look Nicaise sent him was withering.
“Nope. You can fuck off too.” He made to get up, but Neil flung out a hand to stop him. The boy raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and if you’re planning anything on me, Laurent would castrate you, and then I’d slit your throat. Just a warning.”
The reawakened anxiety in the pit of Neil’s stomach was turning into bile, threatening to climb up his throat. He didn’t want to, but still he thought of Andrew, dead-eyed in the mornings after a bad night. He pulled his arm back. “Is he hurting you?” he burst out.
This time Nicaise seemed genuinely surprised, staring at Neil as though he’d said something completely absurd. “Is he—” He turned his head to look at Laurent, who was several feet away, arms full of dog. Nicaise snorted, derisive. “No. God, if I’d known you were gonna be the type to play hero, I wouldn’t have gone near you in the first place. You’re just like Laurent.”
“Listen, kid, if someone hurt y—”
A laugh, mocking. “And you’re a stranger who’s, what, worried? Aw, for me?”
Wymack could probably handle this better, Neil thought, and briefly entertained the idea of calling him right now, like a child asking for help. “If you’re not safe, I can help you.”
“Right, okay, sure.” Nicaise raised his hands. He looked endlessly amused, for all Neil was trying to get through to him. “But I’m fine, I’m safe, no need to call the police.” Before Neil could reply, the boy stood. “Laurent! I’m going home!”
He set off at once, not waiting for Laurent’s reply and turning his back on Neil. Neil gritted his teeth.
“About time!” Laurent called back, jogging to catch up with him. He seemed to take a childish pleasure in racing with the dog, who was at least twice as fast and bounded ahead to walk alongside Nicaise.
For all the younger boy’s outward prickliness, he was the one to lean towards Laurent when the other man finally caught up with him. Laurent seemed to take this in stride, but for all his projected aloofness, there was a happy sort of relief to the way he ruffled Nicaise’s hair, pulling him close as they walked.
Neil kept his eyes on them both until they fell out of sight, and then he stood to start the rest of his day.