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Every Friday afternoon, right after soccer practice, Bellamy walks home, drops his gym bag off at the door, and walks to the park to feed the birds. It’s sort of a ritual he’s picked up after years of needing to blow off stress. From honor classes to varsity soccer to dealing with family, Bellamy Blake is one stressed-out dude.
There’s one tree he always goes to in the park, an enormous oak that hangs right over a long bench. The same family of tiny grey birds has been there for two years now, and Bellamy has mastered the art of feeding them. Of course, it might not be the same family—Bellamy doesn’t know a thing about birds except that they’ll eat out of your hands if you’re patient enough.
This time, though, when Bellamy rounds the corner on his way towards the tree, someone’s sitting at the bench by the tree, wearing a sweatshirt in too-warm weather, pouring over a thick book. Bellamy hesitates for a moment. He recognizes the boy from school, though he doesn’t know his name. Bellamy’s seen him around the hallways, either alone or with his taller friend, but they’ve never spoken.
And—yeah, okay, Bellamy thinks he’s kind of cute. In a strange, wears-too-much-black, loner sort of way. But… cute boys aside, Bellamy’s used to being alone when he feeds the birds, and after the long week he’s had, he’s not sure he likes the idea of sharing his spot with someone else.
Not—not his spot. It’s a public park, he tries to tell himself. He’s gonna feed the birds like any other day and he’s not letting this kid ruin it.
Bellamy sits himself down on the opposite side of the bench, next to the tree where he can already hear the birds chirping, and opens his brown paper bag, the plastic wrapping around the birdseed crackling.
The kid reading pauses from his book to look up and glare at him.
Okay. It’s not his bench, either, Bellamy thinks, at the same time as he thinks, this dude has really nice eyes. Sorta hostile, but also nice. Not wanting to be rude—this is his de-stressing time, after all—Bellamy gives him a smile. “Hey,” he says, waving and nodding his head.
The kid’s look falters. He opens his mouth, seeming flustered. “Hi.” Frowning, he dips his head and stares back at the book in his hands.
Bellamy breaks open the plastic on the bag of birdseed and scatters the seed on the ground around him for the birds to come. Within minutes four or five have flown down to the ground to peck around. Bellamy holds his arm out and waits.
He likes this ritual because while he waits, the world stands still. There’s nothing but him and the birds, and nothing is wrong, and the sun is bright and the sky is clear and he’s holding his breath a little, but a bird approaches him cautiously and he waits and waits and—
Suddenly, a loud voice next to him says, “Dude!” and the bird jumps out of Bellamy’s hand. He lets out a breath and glares at the kid from school.
“What was that for?”
“Sorry! I just—it ate from your hand!”
Bellamy glances up at the tree where the robin has retreated back into its nest. “Yeah, until you scared it.”
“Well, I didn’t expect some bird whisperer to just plop down on the bench and start—summoning them!”
“If you have a problem with birds, you probably shouldn’t be reading in a park. Next to a tree. You’re aware that’s where they live, aren’t you?”
The kid flushes. “Don’t patronize me. Anyway, I don’t have a problem with birds. I just…”
He’s closed his book, Bellamy notices. “Um.” The kid clears his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. It. The bird.”
God damn it. Bellamy likes it when the kid blushes. He sighs and smiles. “It’s fine. I’ve got a bunch more food for them. I just. I’m usually alone when I do this.”
“I’m usually alone when I read.” There’s no longer an edge to his voice. The kid looks up at the bird he scared, which has calmed down and resumed its twittering. “Do you… think I could try it?”
Bellamy blinks. “Um, feeding them? Yeah… yeah, if you want.” Bellamy holds out the bag of seeds. “Just grab some.” The kid sets his book down and hesitantly takes a handful.
“I’m Bellamy, by the way. I think we go to school together.”
“Murphy,” he replies, examining the mix in his hand. “And… yeah, I think we do. Uh, so I just…?”
“Here,” Bellamy says, getting up. “Sit by the tree and scatter some seed around the ground to get their attention.”
Murphy follows suit, and soon the birds are back. “Now what?” he whispers.
“Just hold out your hand and be very, very still.”
“Okay.”
“And quiet.”
Murphy gives him a side-eye. “Okay.”
The world stands still again, but this time, instead of watching the birds, Bellamy watches Murphy. He’s thin and angular, with sharp cheeks and a brow furrowed in concentration, long eyelashes and pale skin. He hears Murphy suck in a breath and immediately tears his gaze away, feeling guilty.
But Murphy just grins from ear to ear. A plump grey bird is pecking at his palm, resting on his fingers like a fucking house pet. “I can’t believe you got them to eat that quickly!” Bellamy hisses, sure to be quiet so as not to startle the bird. “Looks like you’re the sparrow whisperer.”
Murphy snorts out a laugh, his hand jerking, and the bird darts away just as fast as it came. Bellamy looks at him, confused. “Okay… what was that for?”
“That was a chickadee, genius.”
Bellamy feels indignant. “How am I supposed to know what it’s called?”
“You feed them.” Murphy laughs again. “How can you not know what they’re called? You’ve never looked it up?”
Bellamy knows he’s being laughed at, but Murphy’s eyes are shining and his smile lights up his whole face. He feels himself start to grin. “The birds aren’t even aware that they have names, so.”
“Hmmph. Still, you should know what you’re fucking feeding. I’m just saying.”
“Maybe you’ll have to teach me, bird nerd.”
Murphy glances up at him like he thinks Bellamy’s joking, but his expression soon melts into another smile. “Yeah. Maybe I will.”