The Boy on the Swings

Shoto walks home from school late at night. On his route home, he passes by a swing set.

The swing set stands alone in a small field next to the sidewalk. The forest surrounds it on all other sides. Shoto had never seen any children playing on it before. Though, that would make sense since he only passes by early in the morning and late into the evening.

The once silver poles that held the swings up were now crusted over with rust. The chains attached to the wooden planks for seats weren't well-off either. Shoto would be surprised if the structure could handle his weight.

The swing set was one strong breeze away from crumbling into dust, yet it took root in its field. Shoto was greatly interested in the swing set, if you could not tell by now.

Which was why he couldn't help but stare at the boy sitting on the swings one night. Then, he turned left, strolled across the overgrown grass, and stood before the boy.

"That swing can't possibly hold your weight," Shoto says.

The boy tilted his head up, his eyes hidden by the fringe of his curly hair. His hands rested openly on his lap.

"It's strange, isn't it?" the boy said.

Shoto grabs onto the straps of his backpack, shifting the weight.

"It is."

The boy didn't move, and neither does Shoto.

Crickets began to sing in the woods around them, the moonlight bringing them out to share their song.

"It's strange," Shoto declares. He then pivots on the heel of his foot and continues on his way home.

He absolutely has to agree that it's strange.

The next day when Shoto was returning home from school, he was perplexed. That boy was on the swings again.

So Shoto spoke to him again.

"How could these swings hold your weight for so long?"

"I'm very light," the boy answered with the faintest hint of a smile.

The boy was very skinny, so this was reasonable enough to be an answer.

Shoto didn't know what possessed him to speak to this boy twice now. Maybe it was because of how even the moonlight decided to skip over him. He looked very lonely.

The street was silent behind them. The lamp posts were too far apart to shed light on the two boys. It was just Shoto, this boy, the moon, and a swing set.

The boy kept his head down and his shoulders hunched whenever he wasn't speaking. Shoto decides not to disturb the boy's night further.

"Goodnight," Shoto says.

"Goodnight," the boy whispered.

The next night, there the boy was again.

He was concerned. The swings were quite old, and Shoto remembered playing on them when he was younger. He wouldn't want the swings to break. Though he was also concerned for the boy. Why would someone choose to sit on those swings every night, so late at night? It was dangerous.

So, Shoto plants his feet in the obvious two spots of flattened grass he'd left last time.

"Don't you get cold?"

The boy was wearing a simple middle school uniform. Shoto is wearing that same uniform, but he at least has a scarf and a half of a fire quirk.

"I am cold."

Shoto raises his left hand, palm up, and lets a few swirls of heat jump from his skin.

The boy lifted his head and leaned forwards to peer into the flame. A wide smile crept onto his face. He then returned to his original position, the smile sticking with him.