Work Text:
Largo had a lot of thoughts going on in his head as he sat on a bench, kicking his feet.
For one, he was short. That made sense, for he was barely six years old. At least if he sat up at the very edge of the bench and tried his best, his toes could brush the ragged ground.
And he thought of how it was cold, one of the coldest evenings this autumn, and how he shivered in his short-sleeve shirt that he had begged to wear for the cool design on the front. He had been warned that he would freeze in it, and he had scoffed and said ‘no I won’t’, but besides the fact that he was obviously wrong about that, his scoff was too much of a sneeze to take seriously. And, when a cool thread of wind blew across the back of his neck, he thought of how his hair had been cut short recently and how much he hated that.
He was watching the door of the building his grandfather had entered as he saw him storm out, with a brush of greying-black hair knocked loose across his face and the rest hidden under a bandana. How long had he left Largo alone for this time? It felt like forever. And Largo was told it was time to go as he was grabbed by his wrist, stumbling to find his footing as he was pulled from the bench in a hurry.
“What were you doing in there?” he asked, his voice loud.
“Nothing you need to worry about.” was the response he got as they began the walk back home.
And that was hardly an answer, but it was one Largo knew how to accept. For he had heard it many a time, and he knew he’d keep hearing it for a while. Trying to push it would only make it worse.
But still, how was he supposed to stop himself from wondering?