rickety old oak benches [|] bench trio runaway au

this avoids the stress of falling out of it

Voices are like fire, I like to think. They release words that could be someone's salvation and another person's purgatory, unpredictable yet absolutely necessary. And given the right environment, they can pop right out of existence, smother out so the only evidence they were ever there is charred wood and dying smoke and sparks. Maybe someone smarter and less impulsive would've left once the voices snapped quiet, thought twice about something for once in their lives. Ran, left before whoever it was decided to come back and take a closer look at the kid sleeping under a bridge.

I don't really have an intended target; I just leap once I see their silhouettes against the rising sun and hope for the best. The boy I end up tackling is the smaller of the two, barely left behind but still a closer target considering his shorter legs.

I've never really pinned someone to the ground before. Or tackled anyone. Or done anything to hurt another person other than maybe kicking and biting, but that was more like self defense. And I guess I don't really plan on hurting either of them, I mean they're kids- this isn't some action movie where I'm the chosen one, because the most interesting thing about me is what made absolutely everyone hate me and I have nothing of importance to my name that anyone who cared would ever want. So maybe tackling them like this is some NFL game might be a bit overkill, but it's a little late to be thinking things logically now.

Besides, something about waking up to two people you've never seen before just staring at you doesn't sit right.

Before I can even contemplate dealing any real harm, the taller one, his companion, gets it together and a hiss escapes me when he practically shoves his entire weight into sending me rolling a meter away and off his friend. The dirt is hard, compacted, and scrapes against my already aching back from a rest full of nightmares. Everything swims for a second, and it takes me a moment to realize it's probably just tears that's making everything blurry, not a concussion or anything major. Still, that bloody hurt.

I scramble to my feet, but there isn't another attack on either end, they aren't even stepping closer. I really thought that they'd hit me again; teach me a lesson, "don't hurt my friend or else" kind of thing since I think that would've made more sense than just staring at each other. We're all covered in dirt with a wary look in our eyes that I don't know how to describe. In the scenario where they decide to attack me, my only option would probably be to run. But they don't, none of us try to land another hit or shove the other to the ground, it's one of those moments where time just slows and we're left with the wonder of what the hell the other party wants.

The kid I tackled has chocolate brown hair and matching eyes, a few blistering scars litter where his skin is exposed; his face, arms, what's visible on his knees because of ripped denim jeans. Suddenly I feel bad for tackling him; that probably hurt like hell, even if his eyes don't show it. The other has dirty blond hair and grey eyes, built like a literal tree and fear clouds his face.

Animals. That's the word I was looking for, how I'd describe them and probably me as well; dirty and haggard and jumpy, desperate and scared, but monsters are most dangerous when they're afraid.

I break the spell first, slowly retreating my hands to the back of my head as we all catch our breath, ending up in a form of surrender, like I've just been caught by the police. To go on my knees feels like a death wish, and would be incredibly embarrassing so I stop there. They seem to understand.

"What do you want?" High. My voice is way too high, wavers way too much, exhibits way too much emotion. Fear and anger and anticipation hidden behind a white curtain, one that is already dripping wet, broken. The way their faces morph in a slight shock at how feminine my voice sounds in comparison to how masculine I hope I look with the beanie and oversized clothing makes me want to stab something. I clear my throat, try again.

More manly this time, come on, don't show any more weakness.

"What do you want?"

"I-I'm sorry," the brunette stutters. "We're runaways, the underside of the bridge had been deserted for the entire day, and we didn't think someone would be there until we saw you but then it was so peculiar because everyone in this town seems to have a home or something-"

"We were just shocked, is all. We can leave if that'd make you feel more comfortable." The taller finishes for him. There's an agonizing silence that continues as I process everything, as they wait for whatever my reaction may be. A year ago, I would've told them to get lost. Actually, that's inaccurate; yesterday I would've told them to get lost. In any other circumstance, I would've pushed them away. Probably. That seems like something I would do.

I can see their shoulders ease, their bodies lose tension as I let out a breath and nod. I don't trust them, and they probably don't trust me either unless they're complete idiots, which to be honest I wouldn't be too surprised, but a truce could work. My hands slowly inch back to my sides, arms starting to ache from the sudden fighting and time stuck fighting gravity.

"What are your names?"

-

the plot thickens